It didn’t seem like much of a choice.
They followed.
Above, there was an ominous swoosh in the cloud, the hint of a wing unfurling above the smoke as a ghoulish shadow glided over them.
The dog groaned, barked, growled.
“He wants to know if you are feeling well,” the snake-tail said to Finn.
Finn wasn’t sure how to respond. He was in a smoke-filled plain on the Infested Side and had the feeling they were being watched from above. “Yes,” he said eventually.
“Good. Do mention any changes. Now the human will be at the tower.”
“Tower?” exclaimed Finn.
“Yes. He will arrive when the snow on the mountain above it turns completely black. No earlier. No later. You had better hurry,” said the tail. “Although I do not see that you have much choice. You have brought a lot of enemies in your wake. They are out there, in the forest, and the only thing they find more attractive than the smell of sausages is cooked sausages.”
The Legend walked on until it was enveloped in the smoke.
Finn glanced at Emmie and Estravon and knew they were thinking the same as him. There was no way back. No way out. No way that was safe. They shouldn’t even be contemplating the idea of following a strange Legend across a flaming landscape on the Infested Side. But they had no choice.
They followed the Legend.
‘The Three Explodings of Niall Blacktongue’
From The Chronicles of the Sky’s Collapse,
as told by the inhabitants of the Infested Side
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
“A war is coming,” Gantrua told Niall Blacktongue. “My war.”
The human had been spared death with a whisper heard only by Gantrua on a scaffold all those years before. What strangled words did he say that day? A promise perhaps. A secret. A betrayal. No one knew. No one wanted to ask because those would be the last words out of their mouths that did not end in “aaarrrrgghhhhhh”.
Whatever the truth, those words had contained a power that saved Blacktongue’s life and seeded a strange bond between the human and the great Fomorian. Gantrua would visit Blacktongue’s tower to converse with him, and the rumour of what they talked about would ripple afterwards through the ranks of guards outside.
“There are seven rulers of Legends in this world, and we fight each other more than we fight the humans now,” Gantrua said on one such visit. “But there is room for one ruler only.”
Blacktongue was quiet. Even when left alone, only two sounds were heard from the tower. One was a murmured mantra during his meditations. The other was the incessant scratching of his nails on the wall, where it was said a mural was growing, from floor to ceiling, formed from the dust and clay pressed by scrawny human fingers.
It was a vision, said the guards. A prophecy of some terrible event yet to happen.
“And there are other enemies,” Gantrua continued, the grim light of day throwing out a great shadow of muscle and armour. He picked up a wet, clay-smeared stone from beneath the mural, clasped it in his palm. “There is a resistance growing, a rebellion. It will be crushed.”
Gantrua opened his hand. The stone was dust.
The human listened, silent. It was as if that explosion all those years ago was still settling within him. When he had first ignited in the forest, it had appeared accidental, triggered by a spear, a tiny puncture from which a shockwave emerged that destroyed half an army, a forest.
The effect was described as akin to being kicked by every one of a Sleipnir’s hooves at the same time, while being shot out of a catapult, pulled backwards by a giant and hit in the face with a mountain.
At least that was what it felt like to those standing half a league away.
“Out there,” Gantrua said, motioning behind him, “those lug-headed idiots wonder why I keep you alive. They hear your chanting and ask what possible power such puny words can hold. But I know it’s not the words that hold power. It’s the opposite. The words keep your true power at bay.”
Blacktongue’s eye twitched. A truth had been struck upon.
“I know that the energy you let wreak havoc when you first came here is still within you, that it takes all your effort to contain it.” He brought his face so close to Blacktongue’s that the teeth of his grille pressed against the human’s skin. “I will offer you a deal.”
Gantrua raised himself again. Blacktongue breathed deeply, evenly, masking the tremor within his lungs.
“I will help you find the boy again,” said the Fomorian, “to stop him before he destroys everything. But, before that, you will do something for me.”
Blacktongue paused in his scratching and looked at him.
“You will destroy my enemies,” Gantrua told him. “And, when that is done, we will kill the boy. Together.”
It was a case of so far, so good.
Or, at least, a case of so far, so not as horrific as it could be.
The Legend was guiding Finn, Emmie and Estravon, and neither the dog at the front nor the snake at its tail had eaten them. Or bitten them. Or pawed them or poisoned them. It hadn’t delivered them into the jaws of an army of Legends. It had instead carefully led them through what it called the Fire Spits.
“Do not worry about the stones you can hear falling,” the snake-tail had told them. “It is the ones you do not hear that will get you.”
Sweatier, with their lungs suffering but not scorched, they cleared the smoking earth and entered instead fields of tall hard reeds that jutted from the ground like spears. After the claustrophobia of the Petrified Forest and the gloom of the Fire Pits, this wide stretch of open ground, bathed by grey light, was oddly welcoming.
The Legend made straight for a path of broken reeds, crushed into the sand by what Finn guessed must have been years of passing feet. Or paws. Or claws. Or all of them together.
Either side of the fields were the remains of more giant trees, long dead, half-light reflecting off branches turned to glass. At this remove, there were glimpses of colour in them. Dull emerald, deep brown, a hint of yellow in blotches along their length. They were the colours of nature, apparently long buried in this most unnatural of landscapes. It was as if the Infested Side was a world in decay. A place where colour had given up.
From the depths of the trees came growing sounds of life. A howl, some grunts, the occasional scream. They carried a worrying edge of impatience which put a scamper in Finn’s step. While Finn hated to admit it, even just to himself, Estravon was right. Why hadn’t the Legends come to attack them yet? What was holding them back?
Finn, Emmie and Estravon followed behind the dog-snake Legend, at a cautious distance, while the snake-tail kept its eyes on Finn even as it bobbed behind the rest of its body.
“What do you think this Legend is?” Emmie asked Finn as they walked.
“Not sure. A Chimera maybe?” he responded.
“A Chimera?” spluttered the snake-tail as its dog’s body stopped and growled. “As if we would be so common. You can hardly move ten paces in this place without bumping into a Chimera. We are not a Chimera. How many goat heads do you see here?”
The Legend turned, like a catwalk model, to show each side. Dog and snake then waited for an answer.
Estravon took another picture.
“None,” admitted Finn.
“Precisely.”
The Legend walked on again.
“You’re a Cerberus,” announced Emmie.
The dog bucked a little, growled. “Steady, Cornelius,” the snake said to him. “Why must everyone presume we are the Cerberus? Do they see three dog heads? No. Lion paws? Absent. But everyone goes on about the Cerberus. It is always about the Cerberus. We are not the Cerberus.”
“Sorry.”
“We are the Orthrus.”
Finn looked blank.
“The Orthrus,” the snake-tail repeated, clearly expectant of a positive response.
Finn struggled to recall any mention of such a Legend, but Estravo
n seemed to have heard of it before. “Aren’t you supposed to have two dog heads at the front?” he asked it.
The dog snarled.
“Cornelius says we will do our best to grow another one before we next meet,” said the snake-tail.
The Orthrus recommenced its march along the path, the snake-tail grumbling. “A Chimera, honestly. Three heads and not a brain between you.”
“What’s your name?” asked Finn in the hope of mollifying the Legend. “Is Cornelius like your, erm, front end?”
“We share a body, but we don’t share a soul and we don’t share a name,” said the snake. “Hiss.”
“But then what’s your name?” Finn repeated.
“Hiss.”
Finn didn’t respond at first, but the penny finally dropped. “Oh, your name is Hiss.”
“Why would it not be?” Hiss asked, bobbing along behind Cornelius. “It is a family name. What does Hiss mean in your world?”
Emmie shrugged. “It means, well, hiss. Something snakes do.”
Estravon spoke. “It would be like calling your dog part Bark.”
The dog barked.
Hiss tutted. “Well, here the name Hiss means Great Serpent of the Northern Climate Whose Name is Itself a Source of Wondrous Power That Tremors Like a Quake Through the Annals of the Ages— Stop that!”
Cornelius was scratching violently at its backside to rid itself of a buzzing insect.
When the Orthrus moved on again, Hiss grumbled as he swayed behind Cornelius. “You might be trapped in this world, but I am trapped here, between these legs. All hopes and dreams at the mercy of his bladder and itches.”
Finn and the others once more let a small gap grow, while keeping alert to the sporadic noises from the woods. When they stopped again, Cornelius barked at something in the ground while wagging his tail excitedly. Or rather wagging Hiss, who screamed, “You will make me sick!”
Cornelius stood back from where he had dug a hole and maggot-like creatures poured out of it. The dog shoved in its snout and began to feast noisily.
“He does not even offer you any first,” Hiss said to the humans, but their disgusted reaction said it all. “You do not want scaldgrubs? More for Cornelius then. Be thankful he found those. When he is hungry, he can get a little bitey.”
Cornelius licked his lips. The rasp was of tongue on sandpaper.
“I have food,” Finn said to Emmie and Estravon as he pulled his bag to the front and reached in for his own supplies. He pulled out an apple so blackened and soft it practically disintegrated in his hand. Then an orange: shrivelled and white, almost entirely devoured by mould. His sandwiches looked like they might crawl from the lunchbox and slither away. Each of them had been fresh and tasty when put there only hours previously, but now looked like they’d been left to rot for weeks.
There was only one thing left to try. “I’ve a packet of crisps,” he said. “They’re sort of immortal, I think.”
He opened the pack, the foil popping as the bag deflated, and pulled out a crunchy, salty sliver and ate it. Sure enough, it was perfect. He shoved some more into his mouth, passing the bag to Emmie while he licked his fingers and picked at the crumbs that littered his chest.
“These taste so good,” said Emmie through a mouthful of crisps.
“Well, isn’t this great?” said Estravon, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “I’m trapped here with two kids. I’m violating approximately forty-seven separate rules about fraternising with the enemy. And the only food on offer is a choice between fresh maggots or heavily salted snacks. Hardly a balanced diet. At least if you had something sweet I could...”
He relented and took the crisps.
For the first time since before the Fire Spits, Finn felt the charge through his arm again and struggled to hide his discomfort as it ran through his veins and shocked his shoulder. He could see that Hiss had noticed, but said nothing.
Finn diverted attention, asking as calmly as he could, “Why are you helping us?”
“Sausages,” said Cornelius.
“I wish he’d stop that,” said Estravon. “It sounds like he’s reading a menu.”
“He means,” said Hiss, “that the other human sent word out that, if you ever showed up, there would be a reward for bringing you to him safely.”
“What reward?” asked Emmie.
“Sausages,” said Cornelius.
“Actual sausages,” confirmed Hiss. “Quite a delicacy here.”
“But how do we know you’re bringing us to the right human?’’ Estravon asked, picking bits of crisp from between his teeth.
“How many humans can there be wandering around, hiding among the Legends, avoiding capture?” asked Hiss. “Believe me, your very presence has boosted the numbers significantly.”
From the massive trees, there came more movement and noise. A kkrrnch. A taheeeeetahee.
“And those Legends, why don’t they come out?” Estravon asked the Orthrus. “They’re out there, but they don’t show themselves.”
“Legend is the human word,” said Hiss as Cornelius lapped up some scaldgrubs that were trying to escape up his cheek. “Some of us find it quite offensive, to be honest, just presuming we are all the same like that.”
“What do you call yourselves?”
“By our names or by our type,” said Hiss, seemingly irked by the need to explain all of this. “And, when we need to describe all of us collectively, we personally prefer a word that you could not pronounce.”
“Try us,” said Estravon.
“Tell them, Cornelius,” said Hiss. The dog swallowed whatever scaldgrubs were in its mouth and let out a long, strangulated sound that seemed to come from deep in its belly, via the spleen and bowel, and which rattled round its jaws for a couple of seconds after it had finished.
“How would you spell that?” said Estravon, searching for his pencil and notepad.
Finn felt that buzz through his arm again, the same one that had held the crystal in Darkmouth. It was like he was grabbing an electric fence, but couldn’t let go. “I’m friends with a Legend,” he said, in a strained voice, but hoping that talking might distract him from the strange sensation. “Well, sort of. And he never told me any of that.”
“You are friends with one of us?” said Hiss. “I doubt that.”
“Yeah. A Hogboon. Broonie is his name. We got to know him quite well. Maybe he lives around here somewhere.”
“You do not know Broonie,” said Hiss.
“We do,” insisted Emmie. “We even helped him escape back here.”
Estravon looked sharply at her and Finn’s heart sank that she’d let go of that secret. Estravon took out his notepad and wrote something down.
“Broonie can help us,” continued Emmie, undaunted.
“No, he cannot,” said Hiss.
“He can,” said Finn. “Maybe.” The strange feeling in his arm wouldn’t leave him, but seemed instead to be spreading across his shoulder blades.
“No,” insisted Hiss. “He cannot. There is only one Broonie among the Hogboons here and right now he is not in a position even to help himself.”
There was a howl from deep in the forest.
“You never answered my first question,” said Estravon. “We’ve been followed by Legends since we arrived here, but they don’t attack us. Why?”
“Perhaps they wish to avoid infection,” said Hiss. “Not so many years ago, a human was brought here and half this world ended up with a very nasty rash.”
“That doesn’t sound right,” said Estravon.
“Trust me, it was not a pleasant place to have an itch.”
“No,” said Estravon. “I mean, that can’t be the reason they don’t attack us. We’ve little armour. We’re low on weapons. I didn’t spend a year studying Higher-level Tactical Warfare to believe they’re just ignoring us. I’d guess it has something to do with the boy, doesn’t it?”
They all looked to Finn. As their eyes turned on him, he felt woozy – but not because of
their attention. Instead, the strange energy was still vibrating in his arm, pulsing through his shoulder, his neck.
He found it hard to see. The light was dimming, a chill creeping across the Infested World. Away from them, he could make out the ridge of mountains, among which rose a great peak hugged by the carpet of cloud. He could just about focus on its snow-cap, a sliver of darkness eating into it.
Emmie hoovered up the last of the crisps, picking up the crumbs with the tip of her finger. “Are you OK, Finn?” he heard her ask as she turned to him.
His head swam. He opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.
“Finn?” she said.
A bolt ran through his chest, down his back.
Then he was gone. Out. Like someone had pressed an off switch in his mind.
“Wake up, Finn,” Emmie was saying. “Finn, come on.”
He had already woken. He thought he had anyway. He couldn’t be entirely sure.
“That’s what happens when you rely solely on crisps for nutrition,” he heard Estravon proclaim and Finn knew for certain he was awake.
He jolted upright.
Emmie and Estravon stood over him, either side. She was obviously concerned, biting her lip as she jittered back and forth, unsure quite what to do to help. The Assessor just looked a bit annoyed.
The Orthrus was watching, but Cornelius had nervously backed away a couple of steps while Hiss quietly whispered reassurances to him.
Finn heard the snake-tail say, “We must stay.”
Stay for what? thought Finn and it seemed to kick-start his mind again. Clarity flooded back into his head, normality into his body, vitality into his legs. He sprang to his feet, feeling almost like he didn’t have much choice about it.
“Don’t do that again, Finn. Please,” said Emmie. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” answered Finn. “The crystal, I think. When I opened the gateway.”
Without even realising it, he was holding the right side of his waist, just above the belt of the fighting suit. Finn had fallen on something sharp and the growing pain of that was only now beginning to nag at him.
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