Destiny's Rift (Broken Well Trilogy)

by Sam Bowring

  ‘Does he disturb you?’ Jaya said quietly. ‘I know a worried warrior when I see one.’

  Bel shook his head. ‘What disturbs me is this . . . connection . . . I apparently share with Losara. I keep imagining a thin strand of myself running away over a great distance, all the way to Skygrip.’ He frowned. ‘A shadowy strand it is too. As if the worm left a trail when it crawled away.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jaya, ‘whatever it is, it’s fortunate for us, else we wouldn’t have Fazel. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . it was enough when I realised that Losara’s life is tied to my own. And now this.’ He turned to her. ‘Not seeing some slick of shadows under my skin, I hope?’

  ‘Would it matter?’ she said, sounding more contemplative than reassuring.

  ‘All right,’ called Gellan, waving them over, ‘let’s smooth out that riddled skin of yours.’

  As evening set in, they gathered around the fire. Fazel sat at the edge against the darkness, his black skull gleaming in the flickering light.

  ‘I take it you don’t eat?’ said Hiza, tearing a leg of rabbit from the spit.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Now,’ said Bel, ‘you must tell us – how is it that you come to be here? Do you know where the Stone of Evenings Mild is?’

  ‘I do,’ said Fazel.

  ‘Do you have it with you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where is it, then?’

  ‘In a dragon’s lair.’

  Bel almost choked on his food. ‘What?’

  ‘Perhaps we’re getting ahead of ourselves,’ said Gellan. ‘Should we not simply ask Fazel what happened to him after the fight in Whisperwood?’

  Bel pulled the bone from his mouth and tossed it away. ‘Good suggestion,’ he said. ‘Fazel?’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Fazel. He sketched at the ground with a bony finger, choosing where to begin.

  •

  Well did he remember the horror he’d felt at being pulled back together in the dust. Despite his being little more than ash and bones, the enchantment tying him to ‘life’, for want of a better word, had held strong. Oh no, he remembered thinking, over and over. Oh no, oh no, an eddy of troubled awareness swirling around burnt remains.

  ‘I came back not long after the fight ended,’ he said. ‘Arisen from the ashes as the thing you see before you. I do not think that anyone, even me, expected such resilience. Battu certainly didn’t, and must have believed me dead ever after, otherwise he would have willed my return.’

  Stupid indeed of Battu, Fazel thought. Just because the bug-eye that had connected his sight to Fazel’s had been destroyed, Battu had assumed that the mage too had perished. Fazel, for his part, had never ceased worrying that a Battu-shaped shadow was going to billow out of the rocks and compel him ‘home’.

  ‘As it was,’ he continued, ‘I still had my orders from Battu, to find and retrieve the blue-haired boy. They were orders that had become nigh on impossible to fulfill, for the boy had been split in two and taken to opposite ends of the earth. One part, gone to the shadow, was accounted for, but the other was away in the Open Halls. Without a clear way forward, I was able to think, shall we say . . . sideways about my task.

  ‘I could not return to Fenvarrow, for I had neither succeeded nor failed. I did not journey towards the Halls, for I’d be captured within minutes of crossing the wards, and how would that serve my aim? Besides all that, I was supposed to retrieve the blue-haired boy, not boys, which confused the matter even further. The only thing I could imagine in the world that would make it possible to put the two boys back together, and thus complete my orders, was –’

  ‘The Stone of Evenings Mild,’ said Bel.

  ‘Yes. I had an idea that’s what the pendant I saw around your neck might be, and certainly I knew it was responsible for whatever had happened to you. Thus I hunted for it and found it quickly enough where it had fallen amongst the trees. Immediately I felt the wood . . . well, worrying at me is the best way I can put it. There are souls in that place, not gone to either Well, and another presence too, which did not like me taking the Stone. They were too depleted from the battle to concern me overmuch, but nonetheless it became my priority to protect the Stone from them . . . and indeed protect it from any who may covet it for purposes not in line with my mission – even Battu.’

  That had been a good bit of sideways thinking, he’d always thought.

  ‘I left Whisperwood via the Nyul’ya river, which kept me safe for many leagues. By walking below the surface, I was able to avoid detection, and for a long time I strode slowly on, day and night, against the current. I might have been years down there, yet I was still in line with my task. I reached the Great Rass and the going became even more ponderous, for the river flows so strongly. All that time submerged gave me ample opportunity to think, and think sideways, about what I must do and where I should go.

  ‘I remembered a mission I’d had years ago. Battu was ever obsessed with sending out bug-eyes to increase his network of unknowing spies. He was bored, I suspect, and in need of purpose, for he was not allowed to attack Kainordas . . . he never told me why, but I caught a flicker of it once in a stray thought of his. At any rate, bereft of greater designs, Battu concentrated on seeing as much of Kainordas as he could though his bug-eyes.

  ‘Somehow he heard that a dragon, called Shebazaruka, had made her lair in the far eastern foothills of the Arkus Heights and was heavy with child. A rare thing indeed, for there are few dragons in the world since the breaking, and they do not often stray from their territory to meet others and mate.

  ‘Battu started thinking – a dragon would fly high and see much of the land. Imagine if he could get a bug-eye into one! There was no way the parasite could take hold in a fully grown dragon, but if he could get one into a baby, perhaps it would grow with its host.’

  ‘By Arkus,’ murmured Gellan. ‘What an appalling idea.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Fazel. ‘At any rate, Battu ordered the First Slave Tyrellan and I to journey into Kainordas and find Shebazaruka. We travelled up the eastern coast, accompanied by enough Arabodedas to carry a crate of bug-eyes and a golden statue, which was part of Battu’s cunning plan. I kept us heavily disguised, of course, and we went by rough, untravelled ways whenever we could.

  ‘Tyrellan wasn’t happy – although he’d never speak openly against Battu, he knew there was a madness to our mission. It was so overly grandiose, and with what reward? A view of treetops for Battu in some remote part of the world? For myself, I was glad to be back in my own lands, on a mission that brought no direct harm to those I still consider to be my people.

  ‘Weeks later we drew close to Shebazaruka’s lair. We left the carriers and the statue, and took the bug-eyes into the woods that run along the foothills. Soon we came upon an area that had been burnt clear, around a large cave mouth in the mountainside. We left the crate of eyes in the woods and went out from the trees, calling to the dragon. Well, she came, and was none too happy, either, to see strangers so close with her newborn in the cave. She would most certainly have attacked us, but Tyrellan shouted out that we’d brought a gift of gold, and that curbed her fury. Greedy things dragons are: to them treasure means more than the safety of a child.

  ‘Why, she wanted to know, did we bring her gold? We said it was in offering, like the days of old. We told her it was back along our trail, and she asked why we hadn’t brought it to her. We said we’d had to scour the mountain for many days to find her, and meanwhile left the heavy statue under guard to hasten our search. At the word heavy, the glint of desire in her eye became a lantern, blinding her to all else.’ Fazel sighed. ‘How can great creatures be so shallow? You’d think a thing so long lived would grow wise.’

  ‘So what happened next?’ said Bel.

  ‘Shebazaruka demanded that we take her to the treasure. We offered to get it and bring it to her, but now she would not let us out of her sight. This was, of course, exactly what we wanted,
to lure her away from her child so the bug-eyes could do their work.

  ‘She sniffed the air and declared that no one else was around – that was her only concession to assuring her offspring’s safety. She would not stoop to letting us ride on her back, and so we all walked together, a strange sight indeed. As we departed the area, I sent a spell sneaking into the trees to unclasp the lid of the crate and set the bug-eyes free. There were many of them, and we had little doubt that one would find the dragon child.

  ‘Meanwhile the three of us travelled in a wide circle around the woods. We eventually found the place where the Arabodedas waited with the statue and presented it to Shebazaruka. She was most pleased, crowing and cackling over her new prize. She did not thank us, but gripped the statue in her claws and took flight, knocking us to the ground with her wind. I almost did not pity her for the trick we had pulled so easily.

  ‘When we returned to Skygrip we found Battu cheerful, for a bug-eye was indeed working perfectly in the child, and the mother did not suspect a thing. Not long after, however, the eye failed. Battu was angry, but I think by then he had grown to realise that there wasn’t much to be gained from spying on mountainside and wood. It did not take long for him to forget it altogether.

  ‘And so, as I plodded along against the swirling currents of the Rass, my rib cage now home to a companion eel or two, I decided it was time to bestow another gift upon Shebazaruka. Even if Battu later found me, and forced me to tell him where I had hidden the Stone, it would not be an easy thing for him, or anyone, to retrieve it. A dragon’s lair is about as safe a place as any in which to store precious things. I would even be protecting it from my future self, in case I received new orders.

  ‘So, as the Rass thundered up into the Heights, I said goodbye to my eels and finally crawled out somewhere not so far from here. To eastern Dennali I went, once again looking for Shebazaruka’s lair. I was not sure whether to present the Stone to her as a gift, as before, for it was not as shiny as a gold statue and perhaps would not pique her interest. My other thought was to try to sneak it into her cave without her knowing. As it turns out, neither of those plans was ever necessary.

  ‘I was about a day from the lair, moving along a ridge, when a dragon descended upon me. I had not meant to be seen, but dragons are excellent at spotting trespassers in their territory. I was not concerned – either I would give Shebazaruka the Stone, or she would destroy me, and I would be gladdened either way.’

  ‘Unless,’ said Gellan, ‘you simply came back again.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fazel begrudgingly. ‘But I would hope that a dragon’s fire, which has no equal in the world, would be enough to burn the unlife from me.

  ‘As it turns out, the dragon who found me was not Shebazaruka, but her son. I wasn’t expecting to see him, for dragons are solitary creatures and he should have been long gone from the place where he was reared. As he landed before me he almost fell, and it was with great regret that I saw what had befallen him. The bug-eye was still in his head, though now I understood why Battu could no longer see through it. The parasite was malformed, grown enormous, disproportionate to the size of its host.

  ‘The dragon spoke to me strangely, demanding to know what I was doing there, then asked me a string of other questions which made little sense. I came to understand that he was mad – most likely the eye was to blame. If it existed inside his skull as largely as it bulged from his eye socket, then surely it was pressing against his brain. Perhaps that was why he’d never left the lair.’

  Fazel fell silent as he remembered how he had empathised with the dragon’s plight. Long had he carried a bug-eye for Battu, before it had been sizzled away in Whisperwood, and well did he know what it was like to have one’s existence inexorably altered by a Shadowdreamer. Perhaps, he hoped, the eye in the dragon’s head would be dead now that Battu had been toppled – but given its initial failure, there was probably no connection between it and Battu any more in any case.

  ‘Seeing little choice,’ he continued, ‘I offered him the Stone. At first he hardly glanced at it, although with his eyes rolling around independent of each other, I suppose it was hard to know where he glanced. He thought I insulted him by offering him a dull rock, but I held it up so that he could see the way shadows and light move across its surface, see the dark shine of the black gold. I told him the fate of the world may rest upon this very object – for a dragon, the fact that others covet something is reason enough to desire it for themselves. As soon as I told him the Stone was wanted by both Throne and Shadowdreamer, he was eager to take it into his possession. He asked me to tell him stories about it so that he could pass them on to his mother, impress her with the enormity of the gift. That was the last time I saw it, held in his claws as he took off into the sky.’

  The undead mage sighed – a habit he had never managed to shake, despite the lack of breath inside him. ‘I had managed, it seemed, to place myself in an even greater state of limbo. I still could not go to Fenvarrow or the Halls, although the Stone was now secure in case there ever was a way for me to complete my task. In the meantime I took up waiting, hiding in the woods and foothills. Without a way to accomplish my orders, I was freer than I had been in a long time. But now . . . you have found me.’ He could not keep the resentment from his voice. ‘And though it is within your power to free me, I suspect I must journey to the lair once again.’

  With his tale ended, he watched them pondering his words. Perhaps, he dared to hope, his deliverance did lie with these folk. At least he could now follow the orders of one on the side of right; at least he would no longer be made to commit travesties in the name of Fenvarrow. And maybe one day, if the light prevailed, he would be free to die.

  ‘It seems we must seek dragons,’ said Bel. Glancing about the faces in the firelight, Fazel did not think their looks of trepidation misplaced.

  The Speed of Shadow

  The Speed of Shadow

  The Speed of Shadow

  Losara lay in bed with Lalenda snuggled against him,

  snoozing softly. He let his consciousness dissolve into the shadows that ran through the castle walls, and soon enough he was drifting through the Shadowdream. In previous nights it had been Fenvarrow he had dreamed of, little scenes of daily life – Grey Goblins working in fields, a boat of Arabodedas fishermen working rough seas as they trawled their nets, Graka children chasing one another around snowy peaks. These visions had made for relaxing nights, and he was grateful to have had no long important nightmares like the one in which Bel had caused the Cloud to rain away.

  Tonight, however, he was not so fortunate.

  He floated high above orange peaks towering out of woods far below. Beneath him was an immense valley through which a river ran, twinkling in the sun. Someone was floating beside him, and with surprise he took in the flapping collection of bones and rags. Together they moved towards the edge of a plateau where his other stood waiting. With Bel were his lover, his friend Hiza, and a mage Losara did not recognise.

  The dream blurred and now he was amongst them, listening as the undead thing spoke. It was Fazel, Losara realised, to whom no one had given a thought in years . . . How could it be that he was here, still alive – and speaking to his other? It felt odd to learn that Bel somehow commanded Fazel through Losara’s own connection to Skygrip . . . in fact it was strangely comforting to know they shared this something, when they seemed to share so little.

  Then it was night, and Fazel was telling a story. As Losara listened, it sent a spate of mixed reactions through him. Although he had once or twice wondered about the Stone of Evenings Mild, there hadn’t seemed much point looking for it; the thing had already done its damage. The fact that his other now searched for it – and wanted to use it to put them back together – was astounding. He knew that Bel did not think much of him, had been taught to believe that Losara was nothing . . . and he wasn’t sure himself whether that was untrue. So often he felt unnervingly detached from all around him, so often he thou
ght about what he lacked. Bel loved to fight, to kill, whereas Losara did not. Bel was directed in his focus, while Losara meandered thoughtfully, considering many options. Bel was openly passionate about his woman, which Losara measured against his own quiet fondness for Lalenda. If they were put back together, would Losara fade into Bel as Bel seemed to think he would, his subtler attributes overpowered, filling in gaps but not becoming? And yet perhaps subtlety was not the same thing as weakness . . .

  The talk turned to dragons, and it seemed that Bel was going to journey to find the one who now possessed the Stone. Losara took in this news with concern. Dragons had a fearsome reputation, and even his mighty other might fail against one. If Bel died, so would Losara – so effectively Bel’s plan risked them both. What would happen then: a return to the old balance, the old stalemate? The people of Fenvarrow deserved better.

  He pulled back from the dream into consciousness. Lalenda still slumbered on his chest, so he dissolved into shadow gradually, letting her slip down gently into the pillows. Then he sped through the corridors of Skygrip to the library where he spread wide, moving through books until he found the word he was looking for.

  Dragon.

  He condensed wholly into the book, becoming a fine film that bled across the pages, absorbing the words. The descriptions he found did nothing to quell his worries. Unyielding before both weapons and magic, with scales as hard as iron. Fiery breath, unlike any normal flame, which could melt metal to liquid. Added to which they were neither friendly nor reasonable, and they never willingly parted with treasure.

  Could Bel defeat such a creature? he wondered. Twice, in dreams, he had experienced what Bel felt during a fight, and knew something odd happened to his counterpart in such circumstances. Bel would lose himself in the heat of battle, and see patterns to be negotiated through his opponents. But is this ability, if it can be called that, reliable? Does it create victory, or simply point the way? What if there are circumstances in which it is simply impossible to succeed? How can a mortal man hope to bring down such a creature as a dragon? Two even, if mother and son still share the same lair.