by Ashley Capes
“Are you sure?” Kanis asked. There was no hint of the usual flippancy in his voice.
“This is where the tracks led.”
“No, I mean, are you sure about this? You left Pevin and that weasel Grav behind, doesn’t that suggest you think this won’t end well?”
“Nothing’s ending here, Kanis – except maybe that thing.”
He gripped her shoulder. True concern darkened his eyes. “How? And no more bravado this time. How are you planning to stop it? The damn thing nearly had us both; I still don’t know why it took off.”
She lifted a thrice-lantern from her pack. “I asked Dinnav to include one of these.”
“Well then, the creature is finished. You have a light,” he said as he folded his arms.
“It’s a thrice-lantern, it’s brighter than most. Didn’t you see how it reacted to the explosion?”
“The acor didn’t even scratch it.”
“No, but I think the flash of light stunned it. I think we can do the same, and then get in close. Try to find a weak spot.”
Kanis scratched at his cheek. “It’s not much, Flir.”
“You let me know when you come up with a better plan.” She lit the lantern, squinting against the light; it really was harsher than a regular lamp, even in the daylight. “Just make sure you do it before I get inside.”
He swore and followed her, mace held ready. Flir gripped a dagger in her free hand, slowing as she approached the rent in the earth. Possessing immense strength and miraculous healing did not make her indestructible.
This… thing was an unknown, and that wasn’t something she was used to. “If I can distract it with the light, you have to get close.”
“I will.”
“Right.” She lifted the lantern and stepped into the nest.
The light showed a bend in the earth, nothing more.
She started forward, straining her ears, and soon came to a place where the woven walls stretched around a deep, wide depression of sandy soil; doubtless where the creature slept. Not a single scrap of light filtered through the roof or walls as river mud and the grey web from its mouth had been used to shore up any gaps in the reeds. There were no bones – human or animal – no blood, no trace of the creature itself, even.
“This is impressive in its own way,” Kanis whispered. “With the roof and the bends in the entry, so little light would reach this point. What is this thing?”
Something flashed in the sandy pit as she approached and Flir knelt, sifting through the sand. Coins and twisted pieces of steel. One piece may have once been a belt knife. She held up a palm full of coins; most of which were the new, triangular currency. “Look at this.”
Kanis moved closer and his eyes widened when he saw what she held. “How did... no, forget I asked. I think we should leave, there’s nothing here we can use. What if it comes back while we’re in here?”
She dropped the coins. “Then we stick to the plan. Or break our way out – think you’re still a match for these walls?”
“Good point.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“But you’re probably right about there being nothing useful here.”
“Then we should leave. The Conclave already has your theory about bright light, which is probably accurate, so we can get back to what we came home for.”
Flir flicked the sandy earth. Was it the right thing to do? Plainly Kanis had decided. But when it came to conflicting loyalties, how by the Gods did he make the decision so quickly? Perhaps he simply didn’t care. And Seto’s quest was important – vital in many ways – but did that mean it couldn’t wait for a time while she hunted down a deadly monster that threatened her countrymen? All the years in Anaskar... it had been enough to forget a lot, even some of the bitterness that she felt for her old home.
But it was not possible to simply turn away.
“Flir?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Let the Conclave worry about this; you have a duty to Seto.”
Still she hesitated. Was he right? More likely he was just telling her what he thought would get him out of the nest as soon as possible. Mishalar, it was probably both. “Fine. But I haven’t finished with this thing.” The sight of the belligerent merchant being covered in the grey webbing flashed in her mind.
“Good,” Kanis said. “Tell me all about it – outside.”
They exited the nest and headed back along the river, rejoining Pevin and Grav at the road, where they mounted up and started southeast. “But just because the nest was empty, don’t assume it’s gone,” Flir said as she finished explaining what had happened.
As before, the chill in the air seemed to keep most travellers indoors. When they stopped at a roadside inn that nightfall, all anyone could talk about was the bad weather and the poor harvest. No-one had even seen such a creature. And nor did they see sign of it the next day or evening, when camped in a stand of trees set off the highway.
“I guess it’s sticking close to the river,” Kanis said with a shrug, when Flir woke him for his watch one night.
Not long after dawn the following day, Flir caught a glimpse of rising smoke from Ithinov, and soon after they crested a small hill to look down upon the village. It was no more than two dozen homes with a single, two-storey inn, and an earthen square ringed by a few merchant stalls. A statue and a well waited in the centre of the square but there was little else of note.
It was what reared up beyond the village, a little ways out of town, that drew the eye.
The First Lighthouse.
Looming above the coastline, it was a towering creation of black granite, easily as tall and broad as one of the towers in Anaskar. But it stood in a state of disrepair – there was no glass in the windows that wound their way up to the crumbling roof, the ancient terracotta tiles patchy over its frame.
As a girl, Flir had climbed the steps to the top only once, and even then the room had been falling apart. Creaking floorboards and pigeons roosted above, the droppings staining the walls and floor. The massive lantern had been missing, only shards of the crystal housing remained.
“Ithinov seems even smaller than the last time I bypassed it,” Kanis said.
Grav pointed west of the city to the rocky hills. “The tunnels are there, less than half a day from the village.”
“Let’s get settled here and then start on them. I want to take advantage of the daylight.”
“Because you think the creature prefers the night?” Kanis asked. “Do you think it followed us?”
“Perhaps it does like the darkness, though it was daylight when we saw it last.”
“Ah, I’ll find Aren so he can accompany us,” Grav said.
Flir tapped her heels against her horse’s flanks and led them down the hill and into the village. They passed no-one on the way to the inn, though smoke rose from two chimneys and she caught glimpses of movement between chinks in curtains.
The interior of the inn seemed even quieter since it was empty, but the owner welcomed them with a smile from where he stood before a polished bar. “Travellers, please rest here, if you would. I will send the boy to tend to your horses.”
“No need,” Flir said. “We’ll be setting out again soon, but we’d like to take rooms.”
His smiled flickered in doubt at her first words, then returned when he heard her request for rooms. “Wonderful. Let me find your keys. Two would be enough, I assume?”
“Four would be better,” Kanis said.
The innkeeper nodded slowly, as if considering Kanis’ request. It seemed unlikely he’d have a shortage of rooms. “Ah. Very well. Four rooms, I apologise.”
“No trouble. How much?” Flir asked, removing her purse. It bore a welcome weight, now that the Conclave was paying their way.
Again, the innkeeper paused. Then he chuckled. “Why don’t we settle up when you return – plenty of time for such matters then.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course.” He handed over four keys. �
�Just do come back; we have a wonderful trout dish.”
“Very kind, old boy,” Kanis said, and took a key from Flir, starting up the stairs.
Flir followed, and by the time they’d prepared and started off for the hills, Grav was getting anxious, since the innkeeper explained that Aren had not checked in.
“When I asked, he also claimed to be expecting the Ice-Priests back soon.”
Flir glanced at him as they crossed the square. “That’s odd.”
“Ask her about it,” Kanis said, pointing.
A young woman was drawing water from the well; it seemed she was having trouble working the rope. Yet she did not appear frustrated, a smile of determination perhaps, on her face. “Can we help you?” Flir asked.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, stepping back, releasing the rope as she did.
The bucket started to plummet back down – Flir caught it and pulled it up, handing the woman her water. “There you go.”
“Thank you,” she said. “You must be travelling?”
“Yes,” Flir replied. “We’d be grateful for any information you might be able to share with us.”
A slight frown marred her features. “Share with you?”
“About the Ice-Priests; we’ve heard they’ve been disappearing around here.”
Her smile returned. “Oh, no. They’ll be back at any time now. I think perhaps they were lost. Well, thanks for the help.”
“Wait, I’d still like to ask...” Flir trailed off as the woman scurried toward the nearest building, fumbling with the door a moment before entering.
“Strange folk here,” Pevin observed.
A man started across the square from a nearby smithy, greeting them but not stopping.
“He seemed normal enough,” Kanis said.
Flir shook her head. “Maybe they’re just a bit backward.” She didn’t think it would be very easy to gather information from them, if they were all so... oddly slow of thought. “Let’s finish what we came to do.”
She resumed their march through Ithinov, passing a house with a man standing at the window. His face was oddly familiar, but she could not place him. He was dressed as a sailor; had she seen him in Whiteport? Anaskar? He gave a nod as they passed.
A little ways out of town, before they were due to take the western trail at the upcoming crossroads, they met an older man with wild, red hair. He carried a bow and sword at his belt and his cloak was of white animal fur.
Flir hailed him. “Greetings. Do you travel this road often by chance?”
He appraised her with what seemed to be a mixture of curiosity and distrust on his face. “I do at that. Why do you ask, young lady? Come to see the Lighthouse, eh?”
“We’ve just come from Ithinov and we plan on staying there tonight actually. I wonder, do you know it well?”
“I do.”
“Then would you know if the people there are... well?”
Now he smiled. “If you’re staying there, you must mean the Boles the innkeeper and his daughter, right? They’re both a little funny, I suppose. Kind souls though.”
Flir relaxed a little at his words. “Ah. Would you also have heard about people disappearing around here?”
“Sorry, been away for some time. I’ll ask around when I get to Boles’.” He started moving again, calling over his shoulder. “You’ll find me in the common room tonight if you want to talk some more.”
“That set your mind at ease any, Pevin?” she asked as they resumed their own trek.
“Somewhat. A very quiet town, still.”
“True. They might just be a secretive bunch that doesn’t want attention.”
Kanis snorted. “So they ask for help with the priests and then lie about it when help comes?”
“Perhaps they’re in denial,” Grav said. “I hope you all still believe me; the Priests and other folk really have been disappearing. Aren has proof; he’s already visited Ithinov before. He spoke to the mayor.”
“Well, that’s who we’ll be speaking to when we return,” Flir said.
The morning wore on and the ground grew rockier with it, moss climbing across the bigger stones. The sun crept out from between the clouds only once, then it hid itself away again, sending the temperature plummeting.
Grav gestured to an open part of a nearby hill; it looked to have been cleaved by some monstrous blade at one point in the past. “There. It’s not far now. At the base there is an opening but it’s been sealed.”
“Then let’s see what...” Flir trailed off, stopping in the middle of the trail as a chill that had nothing to do with the cold fell over her. The man in the window, back in the village...
“What is it, dilar?” Pevin asked.
“Now I recognise him!”
“Who?”
“The sailor in the window,” she said. Yet he was no sailor – he was a merchant. And more, he was dead. She’d seen him die herself, mere days ago, on the bridge, at the hands of the spider creature.
“What damn sailor, Flir?” Kanis asked.
She spun onto their backtrail. “Something is very wrong in Ithinov.”
38. Flir
It was noon by the time they made it back to the village. Everything appeared as before. All quiet, all calm. More so, since there were now no people moving about in the streets. The doors to the inn stood open, inviting, yet it gave Flir a shiver.
But she did not head for it yet, instead she turned on the homes near the edge of town. “I have to see.”
“He might just have a brother, you know,” Kanis said.
“Heard that once before,” Flir replied as she knocked on the first door. No answer. She hit a little harder, and still nothing. “Is anyone home?” she called as she leaned toward a window. The curtains were drawn.
He was in there, he had to be. She folded her arms then unfolded them. “Hello?”
Pevin stepped beside her. “Dilar, perhaps—”
Flir leapt forward, thumping the door with the heel of her hand. It shattered, crashing into an empty kitchen.
“Dilar.” Pevin’s tone was disapproving.
“I’ll replace it if I need to.” She moved inside slowly, but no-one appeared to check on the intrusion. When she reached the bedroom, she found a sleeping figure – not the false sailor, but an old woman. Was it the wrong house?
But a more concerning question took its place – why hadn’t the woman woken?
“Forgive the intrusion,” Flir said. She approached. “Can you hear me, ma’am?”
No answer, just the steady rise and fall of her chest.
Flir bent over the woman, shaking her gently by the shoulder. Still the old lady did not stir, did not wake. Flir shook the woman again, a little harder – nothing. “Something is wrong here,” she said to the others as they joined her. “I can’t wake her but she’s breathing just fine.”
“Try a blade,” Kanis said.
“What?”
“Prick her finger.”
“I gave her a good shake; there’s something wrong, that should be clear by now.”
He shrugged. “Then we try another house.”
But it was the same in the next home; a balding man would not wake though he was breathing easily. His neighbour too, didn’t even twitch – Flir tried a house on the other end of the street while the others searched, meeting at the well.
“They’re all asleep. It must be magic,” Grav said. He licked his lips, a nervous gesture. “And there are certainly less people than last I was here.”
“Could be a drug,” Kanis added.
“Let’s check the inn then,” Flir said. She started toward it, the sinking feeling she’d been battling coming on strong once more. The village of Ithinov was no longer a village, that much was clear.
“Boles?” Flir called as she stepped inside.
The innkeeper did not answer.
“Check our belongings, Kanis. Take Grav,” she said. “Pevin, we’re visiting the kitchen.”
Kanis started up the sta
irs, a pale-faced Grav in tow; the man was nearly stepping on Kanis’ heels. Flir took Pevin around the bar and pushed her way into the kitchen. Beyond the swinging door rested a warm room, fire burning in a large stove and at the end of a long bench, piles of food covered in cloth. A back door, which presumably led to the stables, lay ajar. “Might as well check on the horses,” she said, heading toward it.
“Dilar?”
Pevin had not followed; he was staring at the bench.
“What?”
“Is that the innkeeper?” He pointed to what she’d taken for food, part of a hessian bag visible at the end. She frowned at it. There was a certain bulkiness... “Mishalar.” The hessian bag was hair – the man’s head was visible beneath the cloth.
“Boles?”
He made no answer. She strode to him and yanked the cloth free. The innkeeper lay – face down – on the bench, still in his apron, breathing freely.
The back door swung open, revealing the red-haired traveller.
His eyes were wide, and his wild hair sat in even greater disarray than before. He held his bow, arrow ready. “They’re all asleep,” he announced. “I’ve even been to some of the outlying farms...”
“We know,” Flir said. “Was anyone awake when you got here?”
He shook his head. “And I don’t plan on staying; you lot should leave too.”
The thunder of hooves grew close, voices calling to one another. Flir dashed back to the common room and leant between windows, glancing through the dusty pane. Soldiers were filing into the village. At least a dozen, all well-armed – but it was the leader that caught her attention.
Tall, a little older than the others, but familiar. She squinted; the man’s features were vaguely frog-like. “Bastard.” Govenor Mildavir led his men toward the inn, his complaints about the village clearly audible.
Kanis appeared on the landing. “Flir, this is getting ridiculous. The maid is sleeping on the wooden floor, right beside the bed...” he trailed off when Flir motioned him for silence. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, then held up her hands, all ten fingers showing, then repeated the gesture with only two fingers.