by Amy Cross
High above, a crow caws as it wheels across the darkening sky.
Part Two
Storm Warning
Emilia
Rain.
Rain everywhere, crashing down from the night sky, pounding against the roofs of tin shacks, filling puddles and rivers that have begun to form where the dirt road once ran. So much rain, the landscape is probably going to be changed permanently. What was once an arid stretch of dirt is going to be a swamp by the time the sun comes up.
I'm soaked to the skin, but there are lights up ahead. I've been walking for five days without pause. Whatever that building is on the horizon, I think I might stop for a few minutes. I hope the natives are friendly.
***
“Another!” I shout, sliding my empty glass across the bar.
The barman glances at me, as if he's giving some consideration to the idea of serving me, but then he turns back and continues laughing with the drunk idiots who just came through the door. This place is busy, I get that, and the last thing I want is to stand out from the crowd and get special attention; at the same time, I want to be served properly, and the barman is clearly far more interested in chewing the fat with his friends. Glancing around at some of the other customers nearby, I realize that a few of them have been watching me for a while now, most likely because they think a woman traveling alone should be easy pickings in the mire-lands.
A shiver passes through my body.
Why didn't I kill Abby Hart when I saw her at Jagadoon last week?
I should have found a way, but...
I close my eyes, and I can see her face now.
I never knew it was possible to hate one person so much. She murdered Keller...
A drunk fool bumps against me from behind, and I feel a splash of cold beer hitting the back of my already-soaked shirt. I open my eyes, telling myself not to react, but a moment later the same thing happens again, and then again.
“Hey!” I shout, turning to punch some sense into the idiot, but there are too many people in this crowded place and I have no idea who just hit me. “Knock it off,” I mutter, turning back to see that the barman has finally started to refill my glass with more of the groggy, soapy sludge that passes for beer in this place.
“Sorry for the delay,” he mutters with a grin. “Busy night.”
I force a smile, even though I just want a drink. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out some coins and drop them onto the bar. There should be enough there.
“Here on your own, are you?” the barman asks. He's trying to sound casual, but I know there's more to it than that. In the mire-lands, people keep to themselves unless they think there's profit to be gained from talking. Picking up one of the more badly-damaged coins, he frowns and turns it around in his grubby fingers. “Where the hell's this from?”
“It's old,” I whisper.
“I can see that.” He holds it closer, trying to make out the lettering. He doesn't stand a chance. “You must've passed through some dark lands to get a coin like this.”
“Must have.”
He sets it down and collects a few other, more familiar coins as payment. “And now you're here, huh?” he says after a moment; again, he's trying to sound casual, but the coin clearly got his attention and I think he's pegged me as more than just a random straggler.
“Just passing through,” I mutter, looking down at the surface of the bar.
“Human?”
I turn and glare at him.
“Okay,” he continues, setting my drink down, “clearly not human. Didn't mean to offend. I can't quite get a handle on you, though. I always say I can guess the species of anyone who comes into this my pub, but you...” He frowns. “You're not a vampire, are you?”
I can't help but smile as I shake my head. As if I could ever be mistaken for a common vampire. I should tear out the imbecile's bowels for making such a foul suggestion.
“Werewolf?”
Rolling my eyes, I take a long, deep glug of beer.
“Are you from the Great Library?” he asks, leaning over the bar and peering at my left shoulder. “Is that a patch from the Soldiers of Tea on your shoulder?”
“Just something I got from a corpse I found on the road,” I reply. “I'm not from the Great Library.”
“Then what are you?” he asks. “Sorry, it's just... Well, me and Grimmer were talking a moment ago and, well, we've got a little bet going on. I reckon you're something distantly related to humans -”
I glare at him again.
“Not saying you are human,” he adds, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn't insult you, not like that. Just that you're vaguely, like, not a million miles from that neck of the woods.” He sniffs. “Grimmer, on the other hand, reckons you're from much further afield, like maybe even from somewhere we haven't heard of. That happens, sometimes. A traveler from a distant land wanders through the door, bringing an unfamiliar scent and...” He pauses for a moment, eying me with suspicion. “Unfamiliar coins.”
Looking across toward the far end of the bar, I see that one of the other drunk idiots is watching me with interest. I guess he must be Grimmer, all six-foot hulking muscle-pumped mass of him, looking like someone who spent far too long working down in the Culk mines without a day off. Even from here, I can see that beer's dribbling down his chin and onto his bare, curly-haired chest, and finally I look down at my beer in an attempt to keep from laughing out loud. The people of the mire-lands are just a bunch of worthless wretches, barely evolved from the scummy plankton that floats in the bogs. They're just fuel, to keep the rest of the world burning.
And if I told them the truth, if I actually proved to them that I'm a spider using a humanoid form for disguise, I'd clear the room in ten seconds flat.
No, five.
After all, everyone thinks my people are long gone. Panic would spread far and fast if they learned otherwise.
“Evening,” a voice growls suddenly.
Turning, I see that the delectable Grimmer has pushed his way through the crowd and is now standing right next to me, sharing his delightfully fishy breath, which actually forms brief, faint greenish clouds whenever he speaks. I glance at the barman, but he just winks and turns to serve another customer. I can't help feeling that I'm being set up here.
“So,” Grimmer continues, leaning closer until the smell is unbearable, “what's a nice lady doing in a place like this?”
“No idea,” I reply, taking another sip of beer. “Why don't you go find a nice lady and ask her?”
He laughs. No, that's not quite the right word, it's more than a laugh; he bellows, causing the floor to tremble for a moment and sending a thick spray of spittle everywhere, including right into my half-drunk glass of beer. Before I can tell him to go to hell, he slaps my back so hard that I'm briefly pressed hard against the bar. I'd hoped to spend a few hours here, drying off and waiting for the rain to pass, but I'm starting to think I'd rather be out there. So much spit came from his mouth, some is still dripping from the beer pump.
“I've got a wager riding on you,” he continues finally, still chuckling to himself. “I reckon you're not from anywhere on the map. I've been watching you since you walked through the door, see, and you look like someone who's a long way from home.”
“You're right about that, at least,” I mutter. Looking down at my beer, I see fine chunks of Grimmer's spittle floating on the top.
“You also look like someone who doesn't expect to see home for quite some time,” he adds. “You've got that lost, lonely look in your eyes, like you spend every night in a different lodging house. All alone, like.”
“Well that's where you're wrong,” I reply, not even bothering to hide my irritation, not even as drunk morons start singing nearby. “I not only expect to see home soon, I know I'll see it. Granted, it's not exactly an easy task, but I'm going to find it eventually and there's no-one in the eight known worlds, or even in any of the unknown ones, who has a chance of stopping me. In fact, if any foo
l tries to get in my way -”
Laughing again, Grimmer puts an arm around me and pulls me tight until my face is pressed against his stinking armpit. Pulling free, I reach for my sword but hold back at the last moment. Killing this idiot would only draw attention, and I'm far too tired for that. I just want to drink my beer and hit the road again, but I guess I should have known better than to expect any peace or privacy in a rundown dump like this. Lifting my glass, I'm about to down my beer when I see the chunks of spittle floating on the surface, so instead I set the damn thing aside. Time to leave.
“So where are you from?” Grimmer asks, putting an arm on my waist. “Come on, why so secretive?”
“Trust me,” I mutter, “you don't want to know.”
“Try me.”
I shake my head.
“In case you were wondering,” he continues, “I'm from the Underworld.”
“I guessed that from the smell,” I reply, before instantly realizing my mistake. I close my eyes just as he starts laughing again, and as another spray of foul saliva covers my face. Note to self: never say anything even remotely amusing or surprising around this idiot.
“Do you know the Underworld much?” he asks, hugging me tighter.
“I can't say I've really had the pleasure,” I tell him. “I've passed through some of its less salubrious corners, but that's about it.”
“Where I come from,” he continues, slipping his hand across my thigh and between my legs, “everyone tries to get along, you know? Peace and harmony, that kind of thing. Of course, something that requires a little negotiation and compromise, giving people things to ease your own path. There were so many wars in the past, it feels good to live in an era of relative calm. I mean, no-one wants things to be how they were in the old days, do they?”
“And how was that?” I ask, once again feeling distinctly irritated by this goon. I slip back to escape his groping hand, but he's already fumbling to get a feel of my chest.
“Well, back when the spiders and the vampires were at each other's throats,” he continues, “it was like there'd never be any peace ever again, not anywhere in the eight worlds.” He gives me a squeeze, and I let him. I think I might need the anger. “I can't stand vampires, myself. I even heard one had been seen around here recently, but fortunately there's been no sign tonight. Nasty, brutish things, and they always act like they're so superior to everyone else. I mean, sure, I suppose we should be grateful to them for getting rid of the spiders -”
I immediately flinch at those words.
“- but they can't go riding on that wave of glory forever, can they?” he continues. “Would've been better if the vampires had followed the spiders into oblivion, if you ask me, although...” He pauses, and this time he seems a little concerned. “I was out at one of the trading towns last month,” he adds, leaning closer as he continues to crudely run his hand against my waist, “and I heard some disturbing rumors. Stories that mean a pretty young thing such as yourself maybe shouldn't be out alone.” He puts a hand on my waist. “You need protection.”
“Great,” I mutter, finishing the last of my beer. “I'm off.”
“I heard spiders have been seen again.”
Just as I'm about to turn and leave, I pause for a moment before slowly turning back to him. “You heard that?” I ask cautiously.
“People at the border areas reckon they've seen...” He looks around, as if he's worried he might be overheard, and then he leans closer. “They reckon two or three people have seen, actually seen, spiders crossing through the darker lands. Not little spiders like you always get, but the big type, the ones that tower over a man, the ones that aren't supposed to even exist anymore. I even met this old guy who reckoned he'd been out one night and seen three of the beasts on the Navarian ridge, silhouetted against the night sky, their legs all clicking and scratching as they made their way to, well, to wherever three spiders'd be going so late.” He pauses. “Now, I don't get spooked by ghost stories, but the idea that there are actual spiders still out there somewhere? That chills me to the bone.”
“It does, does it?” I ask, unable to hide a faint smile.
“Well think about it for a moment,” he continues. “Think about those horrible things scurrying about in the shadows, trying not to be seen, I mean... It's not like they could be up to anything good, is it? I've heard enough stories about those things to be damn sure I never wanna run into one. If I even see a little spider, one of the harmless ones, I always crush it, just to be safe. Don't wanna be giving them ideas, do we? Even the little ones, sometimes I wonder if they're thinking and plotting.” He takes another sip of beer. “Then again, you never know when you're safe, do you? I heard stories that some spiders are able to disguise themselves in different bodies, making themselves look like humans and other creatures. It's, like, who can you trust?”
I watch as he sips more beer.
“Who indeed?” I ask finally.
“So you see,” he continues, “it's best not to be out there all alone in the night, making your way along the dark trails far from civilization. You never know what you might bump into.”
“True.”
“Come on, then,” he adds with a grin, patting me hard on the back, “enough natter, I've got a bet to win. Time to confess. What species are you from? Or will I only find that out once I start peeling you out of those wet clothes?”
I open my mouth to tell him to get lost, but then I realize there might be a better way to deliver the news.
***
“Busy in there, is it?” asks a small, hunched Hoshkian as he passes me a few minutes later, heading into the pub just as I'm heading back out into the pouring rain.
“Not really,” I reply, stopping to wipe blood from the blade of my sword. “To be honest, it's a little dead.”
I hear the door creaking open, and I can't resist turning to see the Hoshkian standing in the doorway, staring at the scores of corpses that litter the bar area. Blood is dribbling freely from several of the bodies, splattering onto the floor, and even the barman is slumped dead against one of the beer pumps. Frankly, the scene is even more impressive than I'd realized, and I can't help but feel a little proud. All those idiots, removed from the world by little old me. I deserve a medal.
Slowly, the Hoshkian turns to me, his face drained of all color.
“It got a little rowdy,” I tell him, before turning and walking away into the night. “Spread the word, old man. Some of these remote little places aren't quite as safe as they once were. In fact, some people even think there might be -”
Stopping suddenly, I see a dark figure up ahead, standing in the rain and watching me calmly. After a moment, he turns and walks away into the shadows, but I know I have to follow. I guess I should have realized he'd show up around now. He's already let me run free for longer than I expected.
Emilia
“People are starting to notice us,” I mutter, as we sit beneath an oak tree by the side of the road. The branches and leaves above offer some protection from the night's rain, but not much. Ahead of us, a vast dark forest spreads to the horizon, hissing under the relentless rainfall. “I don't think we can hide our presence for much longer.”
I wait for a reply, but he says nothing. The only sound comes from the storm all around us.
“At the moment,” I continue, “it's little more than drunken gossip in small taverns. People spreading whispered rumors about spiders having been seen, nothing that a sane person would take seriously. There'll come a time when that changes, though. Eventually we'll be spotted by someone whose word is taken a little more seriously, and then things might become difficult.” I turn to him, watching the silhouette of his scarred face against the rain. A light breeze is blowing, ruffling the tattered strands of dead flesh that hang from his features. He has no eyes, no nose, and just a few torn gaps for a mouth, but beneath his flesh there's a brilliant white and blue light burning, occasionally visible through the thick cracks than run through his flesh. �
�Has the council planned ahead for that eventuality?” I ask. “We can't remain in the shadows forever.”
He pauses, before turning his face toward me a little, just enough to let me see the dark hollows of his eyes. At the same time, I can hear a dull creaking sound from within his neck. At times like this, I find myself wondering more than ever about his true form. Skellig isn't a spider, nor is he a vampire or a werewolf, so he should be from one of the lower species, except... There doesn't seem anything lowly about him at all. Just his gaze is enough sometimes to send a shiver through my chest. Father would never have sent a lesser being to advise me following Keller's death. Whatever Skellig is, he emanates a sense of great, calm power. There's something ancient about him, too, something that hints at deep experience. From the few things he's told me about himself, I get the feeling he has traveled extensively.
“What of Karakh?” I ask finally, trying not to let the desperation leak into my voice. “Has there been any word? Are we any closer to -”
Before I can finish, he raises his left hand and points out into the rain with a bony, almost skinless finger.
“What?” I continue, turning and looking out at the rain-filled night. Sometimes Skellig can be so inscrutable, I struggle to understand what he means at all. “It's a storm,” I continue. “I've never seen a storm like it, it's been raging all day and there's no sign of it passing yet. What's wrong, don't they have storms where you come from? Where do you come from, anyway?” I pause for a moment, feeling cold rain dribbling down my face and under my clothes. “It's nights like this that make me want a home more than ever,” I whisper. “That dumb drunk fool in the pub was actually right about one thing. I'm tired of living on the road, moving from camp to camp.”
I wait a moment longer, but Skellig's finger is still pointing into the darkness.