Dragonfire

by Charles Jackson

  “There y’ go, then!” He agreed happily, pleased he’d gotten his point across. “Like I said, we’ll talk it all through tomorrow when we’ve got full bellies and a clear head. He rose from the crate and moved back to the rucksacks, pulling free a large bedroll from the pile. “Here’s a bag for y’: you can sleep out back there where those shutters are, if you like.”

  “Thanks,” she replied with a nod as he tossed the bedroll across and she caught it deftly in both hands.

  “Take these as well,” he added, handing across a metal flask and a small canvas bag. “There’s water and a few strips of jerky to eat. It’s not much, but you won’t be able to sleep if you don’t eat somethin’ to keep your guts happy.”

  “Thanks… thank you…” she repeated, giving the words more emphasis this time as she tucked the bedding under her right arm and accepted the food and drink with her left hand, holding it awkwardly. “I – I think I should get some sleep, now…” she added, taking a tentative step toward the shutters at the rear of the barn.

  “You know, I don’t think you ever told me your name…” Godfrey pointed out, staring expectantly with hands on hips.

  “I – um – my name…?” She stammered, suddenly fighting the urge to blush once more. “I’m… uh… my name’s Nev… Nev Anderson…”

  “Nev, eh…?” He asked rhetorically with one eyebrow raised. “First Percy, and then Nev…” He shook his head, the twinkle back in his eyes now. “This world you come from must be a strange place…”

  “Why do you say that…?”

  “Well… so far all the womenfolk seem to have men’s names…”

  “Goodnight, Godfrey…” She said softly, giving a wry smile as she nodded her farewell and turned to move into the rear of the barn.

  “G’night, Nev Anderson…” he replied softly, sending an innocent wink with it that went completely unnoticed.

  She unfurled a thick, canvas roll that seemed to be packed with down or something similar, with extra stuffing sewn into a separate compartment at one end to form a makeshift pillow, and Nev found it to be surprisingly comfortable once it’d been laid flat and covered by a woollen blanket. She’d taken off her cloak to also use as a blanket, and as she lay down for the night, the shutters shielding her from most of the fire’s glow, it made for a reasonable bed, all things considered.

  Nev had transferred her phone to one of the pockets of the leather vest as she’d changed clothes, and she took it out now, hoping there might be some last, slim chance of a signal. She was met with the same connection error message, and in frustration she opened its settings and switched the phone over to airplane mode, at least ensuring it wouldn’t keep pestering her with notifications reminding her of the lack of a network she so desperately needed.

  She thought about maybe making a short video log of what she’d experienced so far, but even as her finger hovered over the button, she found she had neither the heart nor stomach for it. She was tired, confused and almost certainly depressed, and none of those conditions made her feel at all like recording anything at that moment. As she closed the apps and returned to the lock screen once more, Nev noted the time – 11:00pm – and was no longer surprised over the levels of exhaustion she was feeling.

  “My god… eight hours…?” She murmured, finding it hard to believe that eight hours had passed already since she’d first entered that clearing with Percy. “Almost seems impossible…”

  But then, in a strange world where impossible things seemed to be happening all around her, what was the small matter of a few missing hours here or there? Reopening the phone menus once more, she activated her clock app and set an alarm for 4:30 in the morning, then lay the phone down beside her head and finally allowed herself to surrender to the sleep that had been calling out for her for some time now.

  As Nev had gone about setting up her bedroll, Godfrey had moved across to one of the pillars near the rucksacks and sat down with his back to it, his sword in easy reach with its scabbard laid atop the rest of the gear to his right.

  “You all right up there, Toadface…?” He asked genially, calling out just loud enough for Lester to hear him through the closed hatch above.

  “Well enough, Westy… well enough…”

  “G’night then, y’ ugly little bugger…”

  “‘Night, Westy…”

  Godfrey sat for a while longer, staring deep into the crackling flames of that small fire and thinking even deeper about everything that had happened that day. He didn’t come up with many answers, but then his job wasn’t to contemplate the meaning of life itself: he was just a ranger with a single mission to complete, and it sometimes paid not to think too hard about things. Long after Nev’s soft snores could be heard from the back of the barn, he too drifted off into a restless sleep, his dreams filled with strange majik and even stranger women.

  Cardinal De Lisle, Chief Primus of The Brotherhood of the Shard waited patiently as a carpenter and three peasant assistants carried out the final assembly of his ceremonial communion chair. He rarely travelled nowadays but when he did, De Lisle always insisted on bringing the chair with him. The quarters he’d been provided at Fortress Cadle weren’t as spacious as his private suite back at Kraal, but it would suffice for the next few weeks as preparations were made for the coming celebration.

  The cardinal, clearly an old man, had also held a given name once, prior to his acceptance into the life of The Brotherhood, but he’d been a brother so long now that even he could barely say what it had been. De Lisle had been a cardinal for so long it was unlikely anyone could even remember what life within their order had been like without his guiding presence. For the same reasons, no one really knew his true age either, although the look of his greyed hair and wrinkled features suggested that he’s seen at least sixty summers or more… something unusual in itself in a world where most were lucky to make it past forty-five.

  Tall and solid of build for a man of his age, he still moved well, although arthritis had begun to set into his joints in the last few years to his dismay, making his movements painful on occasion, particularly during colder weather. De Lisle had faced many challenges and challengers during his time as cardinal, and he’d seen all off with similar drive and purpose. Under the guidance of his steady hand, the Brotherhood of the Shard had grown from quite humble beginnings to become a powerhouse of influence and control, spread right across the expanse of the Osterlands and beyond.

  He made a particular effort to thank both the artisan and his workers as they completed their job and then personally escorted them to the door, only to find the Cadle prelate waiting for him outside.

  “Prelate Roland…” he acknowledged tiredly, standing back to allow the younger man entry. “It’s been a long day and a long journey before that: I’ll ask you to be brief, whatever the issue…”

  “Nothing of consequence, Your Grace,” the prelate assured, bowing his head slightly in greeting as he stepped through the doorway and past the De Lisle himself as he entered the room. “Nothing more than a few minor matters of state I need your decision on in preparation for Endweek.”

  Prelate Roland was tall, thin and fair haired, with narrow, angular features and piercing eyes of pale blue. He looked to be in his early-thirties, and like De Lisle, he wore the black ceremonial garb customary of higher ranks within the Brotherhood, rather than the more common brown robes worn by lower level brothers and novitiates. De Lisle had met the prelate just once before, but the man, his zealotry and his unbridled ambition were all well-known throughout the Kraal hierarchy and the cardinal’s secret and carefully-handwritten personal files on Roland filled a number of thick volumes.

  “I believe I was clear in my earlier letters that there was no requirement that any special accommodations be made for this Endweek?” The Cardinal replied coldly, his recollection very clear on that matter.

  “Err… Quisitor Silas…” Roland began awkwardly, suddenly left all at sea.

  “…Can be overzealous at
times…?” De Lisle suggested with a raised eyebrow, completing the sentence for him. “One would imagine an occupational hazard on occasion, considering his position, however the Inquisition is not tasked with managing my daily schedule so far as I’m aware… not yet anyway…” He added definitively, ‘not while I still have any say in it’ remaining unsaid but definitely clear in implication.

  “Of – of course,” Your Grace…” Roland acceded instantly, his face a mask of perfect serenity.

  “I will be in attendance, naturally…” the cardinal continued, giving at least a little ground “…but I do not intend to officiate or be present in an official capacity. This is Huon’s time to shine, and the less there’s any perceived outside interference the better.”

  “I understand completely, Your Grace,” the prelate nodded sagely, knowing well enough when to cut his losses. “Consider the matter closed.”

  “Was there anything else, then…?” De Lisle ventured with a narrowed stare, all matters closed for that evening so far as he was concerned.

  “Nothing that can’t wait until the morning, Your Grace…”

  “Very good, prelate,” he nodded with a tired smile, Roland already heading for the door now. “Tomorrow I’ll be happy to be at your disposal for as long as you need me. Right now I intend to take my communion with The Shard and retire to bed; as you’re no doubt aware, the journey up from Burnii is a long and tiresome one.”

  Five minutes later, De Lisle had changed into some grey, loose-fitting woollen evening robes and had taken the time to wash his face and brush his teeth before bed, using the gold-handled horse-hair toothbrush he’d been sent as a gift from the then Prelate to the Sun Empire. The only thing that remained to do before he climbed into his badly-needed bed was to make his usual nightly communion before sleep.

  Reaching inside the neck of his robes, he took out the Holy Pendant hanging there. Identical to the brooch Percy had worn at the clearing, it was nothing much to look at in itself; little more than a small blue gem set into a metal mounting, suspended from a thin steel chain. Initially dull and seemingly lifeless, the crystal embedded there suddenly glowed with a strange, pulsating light as he slowly lowered himself into the communion chair the workmen had assembled earlier, positioned up against one wall beside his single bed. A similar but larger blue stone was also fixed into the high back of the chair itself, positioned directly above De Lisle’s head as he took a seat, and this too began to flicker with life as he took his position and closed his eyes.

  The girl has failed… again…

  The words boomed like thunder at the centre of his mind, dazing him slightly with their intensity and making him feel happier about the fact that he was sitting down. Although the Shad Gods generally got straight to the point if there was something to be discussed, the news was disconcerting to say the least.

  “I – I had my doubts as to her usefulness from the beginning…” De Lisle reminded quickly, thinking it prudent to at least throw that out there right from the onset. As cardinal, it was unlikely the gods would lay fault upon his head without cause, but one could never be too careful.

  Your misgivings were noted at the time, it replied instantly – almost too quickly – and he was surprised to find a hint of defensiveness in the tone. This is of no consequence now. The purpose of this discussion is not to apportion blame, but rather to neutralise the damage done…

  “Damage…?” He asked quickly, caught off guard. “What damage?”

  The girl returned through the portal with another… one that I foresee as a source of great danger to Us… De Lisle knew instinctively that the Shard God was referring specifically to itself in that sentence, however it mattered little in the long run as the fate of The Brotherhood was in any case tied directly and irrevocably to that of the Shard for better or for ill.

  “We were expecting her to return with someone…” he ventured, not yet comprehending. “What is it about this individual that makes him so dangerous? Is he some great warrior… some persuasive heretic that might challenge our power?”

  She is little more than a child… yet so much more… It answered cryptically, catching the cardinal completely by surprise. She has a prescient mind – one that cannot be controlled…

  “Are not all witches prescient to some degree… the real ones, anyway…?” De Lisle suggested calmly, not seeing any great need for concern. “Surely this - this girl is of no greater threat than any other witch…?”

  The creatures you send to the purifying flame have lived their entire lives under the guidance and the watchful eye of The Brotherhood… it shot back instantly, sounding almost exasperated now, as if being forced to explain something simple to a fool. Were she of this world, her years of conditioning since birth might’ve been enough to nullify her power. She is not of this world however, and is already at such an age that Endweek conditioning would be of no use. Her mind would not respond to anything short of burning… it added, referring to one of The Brotherhood’s most hideous mental tortures rather than any physical act of immolation …and even that might not be effective.

  “Burning would not be effective?” De Lisle snapped, shuddering at the thought and not sure whether to be sceptical or apprehensive. “When has burning ever been ineffective?”

  I do not blame you that you cannot understand, it responded thoughtfully, sounding far more magnanimous than the cardinal would’ve imagined possible. This creature is something We have never encountered before. Our connection with its mind was momentary during the process of transference through the portal, yet it was enough for Us to see that much at least. There were others we encountered in the past – before The Cleansing – who displayed similar powers, but they were all male and were therefore easily controlled. This… girl, as you put it… is something very different.

  “What would you have me do?”

  Find it and terminate it… it replied coldly. I do not need to remind you that this is not the time for distractions: not when so much is already at stake.

  “Of course... and the other girl: this Persephone…?”

  The Blackwatch have her. Keep her alive for the time being… We feel that she may yet be of use.

  “Surely we cannot trust her judgement any longer…” De Lisle began.

  Was there anything in Our last order that was unclear? A sharp reply came immediate, powerful enough to again leave him feeling slightly woozy.

  “No… of course not…” he answered immediately, backpedalling for all he was worth.

  You need to understand that We do not see time as you do, it explained further, deciding at least some elaboration was reasonable. We are ageless. Time does not pass for Us in the same fashion that it does for your pointless species. While We cannot see the future with certainty, We can see the paths of possible futures, and at the moment of this girl’s arrival, a number of possible outcomes were created – utterly improbable as they are – that might foreseeably result in Our defeat. This obviously cannot be permitted, and the creature must be destroyed as a result. You will send word to Harald that it is to be done: she must not leave the Blacklands.

  “It will be done…” De Lisle confirmed, asking no further questions.

  On another matter, it continued without missing a beat, what progress have you with Phaesus? No further elaboration was needed on that topic: the cardinal new exactly what it was referring to.

  “None, I am afraid. He has refused outright to heed my warnings. Huon is obsessed with this new-found ‘science’, and I do not believe there is anything that can be done now to prevent the spread of their machines.”

  There is one thing that can be done… that is being done… it pointed out darkly. If it is permitted here, other kingdoms will also see this as an opportunity to disregard the will of The Brotherhood. Already, there is dissent spreading in Huon: these depictions of the Nethug daubed on city walls and carved into trees of the forests.

  “These machines create spare time for idle hands…” De Lisle mused
. “Is it any wonder they turn to the evil one’s work…?”

  Perhaps you do not take this insurrection seriously? It admonished severely. You speak as if this were the thoughtless acts of children at mischief, yet so far the Endweek ceremony has uncovered no culprits. These ‘pranks’ are the seeds of insurrection… of blasphemy… and through this the Nethug will seek to gain succour in the dark recesses of a heretic’s mind. It is no coincidence that the increase of these incidents coincides with the spread of machines in this kingdom, and it will be purged, one way or another.

  “Then we proceed as planned? The Kings’ Council will not react well to unprovoked warfare…”

  You may make one more attempt to convince him – in deference to the ‘council’… it growled in return, tone heavy with sneering disdain …but do not cease preparations… We do not believe he can be dissuaded.

  “It will be done…”

  One more thing…

  “Yes…?” the cardinal asked evenly, taking care to keep any hint of weariness or disinterest out of his tone.

  Phaesus’ daughter, Charleroi… We suggest you keep her under scrutiny: we have… concerns…

  “Surely, she is no heretic nor witch…?” De Lisle blurted, eyes open in surprise now as he baulked at the idea. “Roland’s an experienced prelate: to conceal such thoughts from him would be impossible!”

  Nothing is impossible… although it is nevertheless extremely improbable. It conceded reluctantly. We have no certainty in this, only suspicion… her Endweek patterns have been ‘erratic’ of late. Were there real evidence of anything, we would not be having this discussion, however we have none, and as she’s a princess, discretion is required. We have also not ruled out the unlikely possibility of read errors on the part of your prelate and for this reason, We have decided that you will perform this coming Endweek: a different read will allow Us to compare results.

  “It will be done,” he acknowledged yet again, quite sourly this time in recognition of the fact that he’d now be forced to do exactly what he’d been hoping to avoid.