Magefall

by Stephen Aryan

  For all of his little birds, who whispered secrets into dark corners so that he might hear them, Kai’s reach was limited. Nethun had followers in every port and on every ship in the world. They would be crawling all over Perizzi which explained how he knew so much about what went on in that city. It was one of the reasons Kai avoided travelling there. Another was that it stank of fish.

  “Why do we care?” asked Kai. “The mortals have been killing each other since the beginning.”

  Nethun’s frown deepened. “Because Akosh gave the order.”

  “Attempts by the humans have been made to dissolve Akosh’s power by rededicating her orphanages,” said Vargus, stepping in smoothly. “It was a good start, but it’s not enough.”

  “We will ensure her end is final. We will rip her up, from root to stem,” promised Nethun, clenching his ham-sized fists. “All of us will do this.”

  The Blessed Mother and a few others made noises of agreement which was a surprise.

  They had been planning this. Vargus, Nethun and at least four or five others must have met earlier to discuss a plan of attack. Normally these meetings were a waste of time. Just an opportunity for the new faces to bask in the glory of their elders. To hear them speak wisely, make decisions without asking for their opinion, and be given warnings about not interfering. Asking everyone to get involved was new and unexpected. Moving forward Kai would have to be increasingly careful.

  “What do you want us to do?” asked one of the youngest, eager to please.

  “Find every orphanage belonging to Akosh, in every country, and make sure it is converted to another faith.” Nethun’s tone of voice left no room for discussion. In a hundred years she would cease to be, but she wouldn’t receive such a period of grace. They intended to utterly destroy her much sooner than that. “She was also responsible for replacing a number of significant people in Perizzi with her own followers. We must ensure she’s not done this in other cities. Report any such interference directly to me,” said the old sailor.

  “What will be done about Akosh in the meantime?” asked the Blessed Mother. “Kai will have to keep watch for her until I arrive,” said Vargus.

  “I will be happy to, brother,” said Kai, forcing a smile. He knew exactly where she was at the moment, running scared from a mortal. It was so pathetic he almost laughed out loud.

  “Is there anyone else in the Zecorran capital?” asked the Blessed Mother, turning towards the Lady of Light. After all the country was her stronghold but she sadly shook her head. Everything about her was sad. From her droopy mouth to her sad eyes, always so full of compassion and love. It was sickening.

  Kai would have been offended by the Blessed Mother’s lack of trust if not for the fact that he despised the old hag.

  Of course, he was lying to all of them, but that was beside the point.

  “I am in Shael,” said the Lady of Light. “There are many here who are lost and dispossessed.” Her benevolence made Kai want to vomit onto her face. She’d been scared into her new subservient role by Vargus after he’d destroyed her consort. It had been a mask to begin with, but now she had become that which she’d pretended to be in the past. She was a prisoner and didn’t even realise.

  “Anyone else?” asked Nethun.

  Remarkably there were few in the country and no others in the city, a fact Kai knew very well. Those who had travelled to Herakion had mysteriously disappeared, a fact that no one had yet noticed.

  “Should we travel to Herakion to lend our support in the search?” asked a desperate youngster. He was like a hungry puppy, begging for scraps from his master’s table.

  Nethun barely considered it. “No. It’s not worth the risk.”

  Kai noticed he didn’t specify who or what would put them at risk. Even if they destroyed Akosh’s future she still had a large number of followers, particularly in the north, providing her with strength. A youngster bumbling into the city would be easily noticed and Akosh’s followers would warn her that someone else was on her trail. Nethun was also probably worried that some of the mortals might be murdered during such a battle.

  “I will do my best to keep you apprised of her whereabouts,” said Kai, his smile bordering on a grimace. Ever a monument of witty banter the old sailor merely grunted.

  “Is there any other business?” asked Summer.

  “No, we’re done,” said Nethun, talking over one of the youngsters who’d raised his hand. With that they were dismissed. The majority of those assembled immediately vanished, returning to the mortal world.

  “I’ll see you soon,” said Vargus, making it sound like both a promise and a threat. With that he too vanished. If Kai didn’t know any better he would have said his old friend was distracted.

  A few of his brethren had stayed behind and a group of four were having a frantic whispered conversation. They were too far away for Kai to overhear but he actually didn’t care. Their petty concerns were of no interest to him. He’d lingered to ponder what to do about Akosh and how to manoeuvre Vargus when he eventually arrived. It was when the four youngsters concluded their discussion and finally vanished that Kai realised he wasn’t alone.

  Sat only a few seats from the head of the table was Elwei. He’d not spoken a word during their meeting and Kai had to admit he’d forgotten he was even there. His head was still turned away, staring at something in the distance, perhaps half a world away. Kai might have thought the old Pilgrim had lingered for him if not for the distracted stare.

  Ignoring him Kai returned to the world, stepped around the blind beggar and hurried away down the street. It wouldn’t take long for Vargus to arrive in the city. A few weeks at most. It might be possible to delay him for a few days, but Kai knew he was relentless. It was better to deal with Akosh now, make plans for when Vargus arrived, and hold a few plans in reserve in case those failed. Experience had taught him to prepare for the unexpected when his brethren were involved.

  Garvey, the blind beggar had watched with his mouth agape, as the man-shaped being paused in front of him on the street. It moved like a man but it wasn’t human and he doubted it was even mortal. It was more akin to a chalk outline of a man. Inside it was filled with a vast ocean of swirling energy that was both alien and somehow familiar. Even without the use of his eyes his remaining senses were being flooded by the creature in front of him. Energy radiated out from the being in waves, like ripples on a pond, which he translated into feelings. Darkness, despair and a sea of blood across time were the strongest impressions he received. The number of deaths connected to it seemed endless. There was so much blood he could taste it in the back of his mouth. Garvey would have screamed if his throat hadn’t been so constricted with terror.

  Everyone else on the street seemed oblivious to the weight of its presence, but he could feel a pressure against his mind. Its immense power made his teeth ache and his bones hum. Being so close it felt as if his skin felt were on fire. Thousands of hot needles were scratching across every part of his body.

  It was also what he’d been searching for since escaping from the palace. The first time he’d sensed it had been his cell. And somehow it had noticed him reaching out across the city with his newly evolved senses. If not for Tianne’s distress Garvey would’ve been discovered and he suspected torn to pieces. It was malicious and he knew it could crush him like an insect, but like a moth to the light he was drawn to it. Such a being was far beyond anything he’d encountered before. Its existence was both terrifying and intoxicating.

  He’d expected the being to move away down the street, but something had happened. It had paused right in front of him, staring off into the distance. Even masking his own magic Garvey had sensed a peculiar shift in the air around the being. Energy unlike any he’d felt before saturated the area and a doorway had opened. The being of light remained immobile, staring into space, while the larger part seemed to travel elsewhere. He felt its focus move away from the street and decided to take a risk.

  Reaching out to the S
ource he drew energy into his body. His fatigue and the pain in his muscles instantly vanished. His hunger became a distant niggle and the strain from being so close to the being also faded away.

  In the rest of the city time seemed to be standing still. All sounds were muffled and stretched. Hawkers voices stretching on and on in an endless shout, never wavering. Overhead a seagull cried out, its mournful cry grating on the ears. Garvey seemed to be caught within a bubble as he could hear his heart beating normally.

  Carefully, with delicate strands of power, he explored the surrounding area, noting the subtle changes. Only a few minutes had passed when Garvey’s instincts began to scream at him to run. He instantly severed his connection to the Source and masked his power as the doorway to the other place reopened. The being returned to the present and marched away down the street, muttering under its breath.

  Garvey was about to follow when the air in front of him flickered again. Time had resumed its normal pace and yet a schism remained. No one noticed as he moved towards it and reached out with one hand. The second he made contact the street and the whole world around him disappeared. His heart seemed to stop beating in his chest and Garvey found himself standing inside a huge building. Even without his eyes he could sense the vast space surrounding him and the high ceiling above his head. His breathing echoed loudly in the empty space, rebounding off bare stone walls suggesting the room held little or no soft furniture.

  Something ancient and huge sat in the middle of the room. It held a distant echo of life. As soon as his fingers touched the surface of the table he knew the tree it came from had stood upon the world centuries before he was born. It was impossibly long and yet was a single piece of wood.

  At first Garvey thought he was alone, but eventually became aware of a tall figure seated at the table. The stranger stood up and approached on sandaled feet that whispered across the tiled floor. His presence was as overwhelming as the other being, but Garvey sensed it was being masked, to make it more bearable for him.

  “No mortal had set foot in this hall in over one thousand years,” said the tall man, his voice deep and sonorous. The other had radiated malice but Garvey didn’t feel afraid of the being in front of him, merely overwhelmed and intrigued. “And now, two Sorcerers have been here in only a handful of years.”

  “Balfruss,” said Garvey. “Who are you?”

  “A Pilgrim. More than that is not important.”

  As silence filled the hall Garvey thought the Pilgrim was waiting for him to speak. “Why am I here?”

  “I sensed you were nearby.”

  “I was following someone like you,” said Garvey. “But he was different.”

  “How?”

  “He’s coursing with malicious, dark energy. Blood and violence cling to him like a second skin. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  “Tell me more,” said the Pilgrim.

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  MAGEFALL

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  YOU DIE WHEN YOU DIE

  West of West: Book One

  by

  Angus Watson

  You can’t change your fate—so throw yourself into battle, because you’ll either win or wake up drinking mead in the halls of your ancestors.

  When his settlement is massacred by a hostile empire, Finn and his clan must make their escape across an unforgiving land, battling animals and monsters, determined assassins, powerful tribes, and each other to fulfill a prophecy that is their only hope.

  Part One

  Hardwork, a Town by a Lake, and Calnia, a City by a River

  Chapter 1

  Finnbogi Is in Love

  Two weeks before everyone died and the world changed for ever, Finnbogi the Boggy was fantasising about Thyri Treelegs.

  He was picking his way between water-stripped logs with a tree stump on one shoulder, heading home along the shore of Olaf’s Fresh Sea. No doubt, he reasoned, Thyri would fall in love with him the moment he presented her with the wonderful artwork he was going to carve from the tree stump. But what would he make? Maybe a racoon. But how would you go about …

  His planning was interrupted by a wasp the size of a chipmunk launching from the shingle and making a beeline for his face.

  The young Hardworker yelped, ducked, dropped the stump and spun to face his foe. Man and insect circled each other crabwise. The hefty wasp bobbed impossibly in the air. Finnbogi fumbled his sax from its sheath. He flailed with the short sword, but the wasp danced clear of every inept swipe, floating closer and louder. Finnbogi threw his blade aside and squatted, flapping his hands above his head. Through his terror he realised that this manoeuvre was exactly the same as his rabbit-in-a-tornado impression that could make his young adoptive siblings giggle so much they fell over. Then he noticed he could no longer hear the wasp.

  He stood. The great lake of Olaf’s Fresh Sea glimmered calmly and expansively to the east. To the west a stand of trees whispered like gossips who’d witnessed his cowardice in the face of an insect. Behind them, great clouds floated indifferently above lands he’d never seen. The beast itself—surely “wasp” was insufficient a word for such a creature—was flying southwards like a hurled wooden toy that had forgotten to land, along the beach towards Hardwork.

  He watched until he could see it no longer, then followed.

  Finnbogi had overheard Thyri Treelegs say she’d be training in the woods to the north of Hardwork that morning, so he’d donned his best blue tunic and stripy trousers and headed there in order to accidentally bump into her. All he’d found was the tree stump that he would carve into something wonderful for her, and, of course, the sort of wasp that Tor would have battled in a saga. He’d never seen its like before, and guessed it had been blown north by the warm winds from the south which were the latest and most pleasant phenomenon in the recent extraordinary weather.

  If any of the others—Wulf the Fat, Garth Anvilchin or, worst of all, Thyri herself—had seen him throw away his sax and cower like Loakie before Oaden’s wrath, they’d have mocked him mercilessly.

  Maybe, he thought, he could tell Thyri that he’d killed the wasp? But she’d never believe how big it had been. What he needed to do was kill an animal known for its size and violence … That was it! That’s how he’d win her love! He would break the Scraylings’ confinement, venture west and track down one of the ferocious dagger-tooth cats that the Scraylings banged on about. It would be like Tor and Loakie’s quest into the land of the giants, except that Finnbogi would be brawny Tor and brainy Loakie all rolled into one unstoppable hero.

  The Scraylings were basically their captors, not that any Hardworker apart from Finnbogi would ever admit that.

  Olaf the Worldfinder and the Hardworkers’ other ancestors had arrived from the old world five generations before at the beginning of winter. Within a week the lake had frozen and the unrelenting snow was drifted higher than a longboat’s mast. The Hardworkers had been unable to find food, walk anywhere or sail on the frozen lake, so they’d dug into the snow drifts and waited to die.

  The local tribe of Scraylings, the Goachica, had come to their rescue, but only on two big conditions. One, that the Hardworkers learn to speak the universal Scrayling tongue and forsake their own language, and, two, that no Hardworker, nor their descendants, would ever stray further than ten miles in any direction from their landing spot.

  It had been meant as a temporary fix, but some Scrayling god had decreed that Goachica continue to venerate and feed the Hardworkers, and the Hardworkers were happy to avoid foraging and farming and devote their days to sport, fighting practice, fishing, dancing, art or whatever else took their fancy.

  Five generations later, still the Goachica gave them everything they needed, and still no Hardworker strayed more than ten miles from Olaf’s landing spot. Why would they? Ten miles up and down the coast and inland from Olaf’s Fresh Sea gave them more than enough space to do whatever they wanted to do. Few ever went more than a mile from the town.

  But
Finnbogi was a hero and an adventurer, and he was going to travel. If he were to break the confinement and track down a dagger-tooth cat … He’d be the first Hardworker to see one, let alone kill one, so if he dragged the monster home and made Thyri a necklace from its oversized fangs surely she’d see that he was the man for her? Actually, she’d prefer a knife to a necklace. And it would be easier to make.

  A few minutes later Finnbogi started to feel as though he was being followed. He slowed and turned. There was nothing on the beach, but there was a dark cloud far to the north. For an alarming moment he thought there was another great storm on the way—there’d been a few groundshakers recently that had washed away the fishing nets and had people talking about Ragnarok ending the world—but then realised the cloud was a flock of crowd pigeons. One of the insanely huge flocks had flown over Hardwork before, millions upon millions of birds that had taken days to pass and left everything coated with pigeon shit. Finnbogi quickened his pace—he did not want to return to Hardwork covered in bird crap—and resumed his musings on Thyri.

  He climbed over a bark-stripped log obstructing a narrow, sandy headland and heard voices and laughter ahead. Finnbogi knew who it was before he trudged up the rise in the beach and saw them. It was the gang of friends a few years older than he was.

  Wulf the Fat ran into the sea, naked, waving his arms and yelling, and dived with a mighty splash. Sassa Lipchewer smiled at her husband’s antics and Bodil Gooseface screeched. Bjarni Chickenhead laughed. Garth Anvilchin splashed Bodil and she screeched all the more.

  Keef the Berserker stood further out in Olaf’s Fresh Sea, his wet, waist-length blond hair and beard covering his torso like a sleeveless shirt. He swung his long axe, Arse Splitter, from side to side above the waves, blocking imaginary blows and felling imaginary foes.