The Never King

by James Abbott

  No, Elysia had no inclination to look back.

  *

  ‘So are we actually in trouble?’ Elysia asked.

  ‘You see danger, little sister?’

  ‘No. I mean are we twelve in trouble with the sisterhood? I noticed you brought the Staff of Shadows with you.’ It was a large wooden staff, shaped like a small tree branch with a thick-textured bark. In the top of it was set a black witchstone. Birgitta had crafted it herself and Elysia had seen the staff used only once before. Birgitta had wanted to show her how it cast their immediate surroundings into darkness and how it swallowed up the light from all angles. It was, as Birgitta put it, not a weapon, but more a distraction to get out of a tricky situation. ‘If they can’t see you, they can’t kill you,’ Birgitta had said.

  The bag of witchstones in the satchel around Birgitta’s shoulder suggested that there were weapons if they needed them, though.

  ‘The staff is to aid me walking up the hills,’ Birgitta said. ‘My legs still ache from yesterday. But now that you mention it, perhaps by now we may be in a little trouble. That’s if they care enough about the twelve sisters, which, given the situation . . . well. Our paths are set upon . . . no use regretting it. Now, I haven’t slept all night, little sister. We should take a rest now the sun is so high and the land is so hot.’

  ‘Where are we going to sleep?’ Elysia asked.

  ‘See how the questions out here are more useful!’ Birgitta clapped her hands. ‘This is what life is about. Remember this. You are a basic, functioning animal looking to survive. You need food, water and rest. Everything else is a luxury. You are lucky in that you have the source to guide you, but you are still the same as every other creature. Easy to forget in our old home, but not out here. To think like this makes you assess the matters of the world with more clarity.’

  ‘That’s all well and good . . . but where are we going to sleep?’

  ‘Nature will provide.’

  And so it did. They found a bed of soft grass in the shade of a willow tree. It was well beyond any villages and by a large pond that gave off a cool draught of air. The sun had grown intense, so the stillness of the scene and the relative sanctuary made sleep come easily. They took it in turns to rest, with Birgitta declaring that her advanced age gave her the right to go first. Before she did, though, she produced a strange arrow from her belongings. It looked much like any other arrow, but set into the tip was a tiny red witchstone.

  ‘It might create a bit of a commotion, that one, so only use it in an emergency,’ Birgitta said. And seconds later she was asleep in the long grass.

  Elysia smiled and held the arrow for a little while, wondering what it might do and what need there could be for Birgitta to bring such an item, before adding it to the bundle she had been carrying. What could the older sister be expecting on their journey? Not that Elysia even knew where they were going. There was something rather enjoyable about the fact that there was no strict schedule ahead of her. Was this the freedom she had craved all these years?

  Her belongings appeared rather meagre when she laid them out on the grass. A large leather satchel with some clothing in, a book of her neatest work from Jarratox, an attractive plain silver ring that Birgitta had given her a couple of years ago, her bow and a quiver of arrows. Elysia realized that she could now wear the ring – the sisters did not condone ‘personal decoration’ – and so she slipped it on her middle finger.

  While unwrapping a small parcel of food containing strips of salted meat, she noticed one of nearby trees was an apple tree, so she quickly gathered some of the fruits for the journey.

  For a while Elysia just sat there, enjoying the birdsong and the sound of the wind whispering through the grass around them.

  Then Birgitta began to snore like a hog.

  A little while later, after Elysia had taken her rest, the two witches prepared to set off again in the afternoon sun. Just before they moved off, Birgitta said to Elysia, ‘There’s something I have to do before we go. I need to send a message to someone. Would you mind waiting here?’

  Birgitta appeared self-conscious, but Elysia simply shrugged and sat back down on the grass again.

  The old sister removed her cloak, picked up the Staff of Shadows and then strolled through patches of herbs and thick-leaved plants towards the glimmering pond. From a distance Elysia watched Birgitta as she hitched up her dress and then waded into the waters of the pond itself.

  Birgitta dipped the witchstone on the tip of her staff into the water, circling it slowly, creating a black whirlpool within the waters. The darkness was a sharp contrast to the surrounding water that reflected sunlight. Elysia could not understand the words Birgitta said, but she grew convinced that the older sister was engaging in a conversation with someone.

  Eventually she withdrew the staff from the water and waded gently back onto the grassy bank.

  Birgitta composed herself and approached Elysia. ‘That’s that, then.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘A chat with an old friend.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘You’ll see. But for now, little sister, we have a destination. We head further north, to an old watchtower many weeks away. We should keep to the main roads.’

  ‘For our safety?’

  ‘There’s no guarantee the roads are any safer. No, I would like news of what is going on. Jarratox can be selective in providing information and I want to know what’s really happening in the world.’

  *

  Two nights on the road and there was barely a change in the land around them. They eventually came upon a stream and followed it until it became a river. The sound of the rushing water grew stronger as it crashed along the rocks of the riverbank. Signs of habitation began to present themselves. First a small, rundown cabin. Then, as the oaks became sparser, Elysia could see twenty or thirty structures made of stone, many of which featured round windows and arched doors. Several of the buildings were whitewashed and well-maintained. Among the dirt-track streets, people in brightly coloured clothing were milling about. Some were walking to and from the river, which cut through one part of the settlement where there were larger buildings and the noise of activity. Several colourful boats were moored to one side. Traders were unloading small boxes from the larger vessels and piling them on the riverbank. Towards the centre of the village was a large timber mill, and half a dozen workers were heading to their homes as the sun dwindled behind the canopy of the forest.

  ‘What is this place?’

  ‘It’s a village called Dweldor, if my memory is correct. It’s strongly affiliated with the Goddess, which is usually an indicator of a few kind folk to be found here. In fact, many people think the place is blessed by the Goddess directly, due to its relative prosperity.’

  ‘I would have thought its prosperity was down to that timber mill and the river to carry away all the wood.’

  Birgitta chuckled and placed a tender hand upon the young woman’s arm. ‘You are as cynical as me. That may indeed be the case, but no doubt we can find food and rest here. Where there are workers there’s usually a tavern close by.’

  The two sisters strode through the main street, which wound itself in a gentle spiral towards a stone temple of the Goddess, with steps leading up to a large metal door.

  Birgitta paused. Elysia looked up to her and then across to the door of the temple. ‘What is it?’ Elysia asked.

  ‘The door. Do you notice anything strange about it?’

  She shuffled forwards to the bottom of the steps and looked up. ‘There are scratches across it. Looks as if someone was desperately trying to get in.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Birgitta replied. ‘And to add to this, it is not often the doors of a temple are closed, either. The Goddess is usually more welcoming than that. We may find an answer over here.’

  Birgitta gestured to the large two-storey building to the right of the temple. Hanging from a metal frame on its second storey was a sign displaying the words ‘The F
at Hog’ in faded gold lettering on red.

  ‘A promising name,’ Birgitta said, ‘and something I can aspire to after our travelling.’

  Birgitta showed no hesitation in pushing the heavy doors open and marching inside.

  The locals were dressed well, in fine and bright tunics, with a couple of hunters in more rugged attire the colours of the forest. Elysia noticed they also looked healthy, so clearly none of the sufferings of other villages she had seen were being felt here.

  Conversation petered out around them. Elysia suddenly became conscious of the two sisters’ bright blue eyes, and tried not to gaze at anyone directly. The place smelled of spilled ale and sawdust from the mill. An occasional waft of food came through from the kitchen when a serving boy skittered nimbly around the tables to deliver meals to the tavern’s guests. A flaming hearth either side of the establishment filled the room with warmth.

  ‘Don’t mind us,’ Birgitta announced brightly, her accent noticeable different from usual, as if she was putting on a more down-to-earth tone. With all the eyes fixed on them it felt an eternity until they reached the bar. The chatter returned.

  Birgitta grinned at the tall, broad woman behind the bar who looked as if she could wrestle, and likely defeat, most of the men in here.

  ‘How are you for rooms?’ Birgitta asked cheerfully.

  ‘We got some.’

  ‘Are they available?’

  ‘Might be,’ the woman said gruffly, eyeing them with disdain.

  ‘But not to our type?’

  ‘We don’t deal with types. Only money.’

  ‘Well, rest assured,’ Birgitta produced a pouch from her sleeve with a flourish, ‘we deal in that too.’

  Birgitta dropped the pouch into the hefty hand of the woman, who inspected the contents with all the scrutiny of a master jeweller examining a strange new stone.

  ‘We have a room,’ the woman declared briskly, ‘for your type.’

  ‘That is good news,’ Birgitta said. ‘We’ll just seat ourselves by the fire, if that’s okay with you.’

  ‘That’s fine. One of the boys will be along shortly. Mainly fish on the menu.’

  ‘Right you are,’ Birgitta said, and the two sisters strode away to claim their table.

  Birgitta made a thunderous sigh as she sat on the cushioned wooden chair, taking a view that faced the rest of the room. Elysia could feel her muscles aching as she sat down opposite her, staring into the flames of the hearth.

  True to the woman’s word, one of the serving boys, dressed in a drab brown tunic that reminded Elysia of those worn at Jarratox, came to take their order. There was only trout or perch on the menu, so they ordered one of each, with a loaf of bread to share and a cup of wine.

  Birgitta closed her eyes and the two sat in companionable silence. Elysia was so tired that she just stared at the dancing flames. Only when she glanced at Birgitta a few moments later did she suspect that the older sister was not asleep at all, but rather concentrating.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Elysia asked.

  ‘I’m listening,’ Birgitta said. ‘A place like this is a valuable source of news. I’m trying to find out what the local concerns are.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because such knowledge might come in useful. Besides, we’ve spent far too much time with other sisters, and the world has been experiencing strange events of late. What people say may influence the road we take.’

  ‘What have you heard so far?’

  ‘Not a great deal, I must admit. The timber mill is doing a good trade, as reliable hardwood is in short supply in more northerly territories, well beyond the borders of Brintassa and along the Forests of Heggen where there have been diseases and fires.’ Birgitta closed her eyes again and sat back with a peaceful look upon her face. ‘The metal merchants and mine owners are all richer than ever, apparently,’ she continued. ‘This tells me of very industrious activity somewhere, if wood and metal are required. Someone mentioned fighting in northern Burgassia, where Stravimon’s borders now lie after having overcome the nation of Fallobrock. Perhaps it is looking to expand further south.’

  Food was brought to the table and their conversation ceased. Huge metal plates of freshwater fish in a thick sauce. And a chunk of local cheese was declared ‘compliments of the house’, which made Birgitta frown. The two sisters ate heartily. Elysia mopped up the thick sauce with hunks of bread vigorously, as if it had been her first proper meal in weeks.

  Eventually, once sated, and leaning back in her chair, Elysia asked, ‘What do you suppose the cheese is for?’

  ‘A good question,’ Birgitta answered, stifling a belch with her fist. ‘That barwoman was a surly-looking lady, and I’m not entirely sure she knows what complimentary means. I’d suspect someone has paid her to give us a little token, something to put us in a good mood. To make us feel welcome. Given the wariness with which most people treat us, I can only imagine that someone is likely to ask for a favour at some point.’

  Elysia scanned the faces of the locals to see if any of them was showing an interest in the sisters, but mostly the men were looking at her, not Birgitta; some smiled and winked and muttered something crude to their friends. She glared at them icily and the men soon looked away uncomfortably.

  ‘When someone wants us to feel welcomed,’ Birgitta added, ‘it suggests ill news of some kind, or that they want something from us. Or both.’

  ‘You don’t know that for certain,’ Elysia said. ‘The people here could be genuinely friendly.’

  ‘They could, little sister, they could.’ Birgitta smiled, wiping her knife clean on a chunk of bread, and cutting into the cheese. ‘But in my experience, very rarely do people offer anything without wishing for something in return.’

  The House of Blood

  The two sisters were shown to their room on the first floor. It was a simple wooden affair, with just a table, a chest and two small, comfortable-looking beds smothered in red blankets. The window overlooked the side of the temple to the Goddess and, as she peered out of it, Elysia noticed how empty the streets were.

  ‘Does nothing happen here at night?’ Elysia asked the boy who had shown them up. ‘There’s no one outside.’

  The boy, who was no older than fifteen summers, was busy lighting candles around the room. When he finished he looked awkwardly to the floor and shrugged. ‘Not for me to say. Goodnight, ladies.’

  With that he gave a slight bow and walked out of the door.

  ‘Ladies,’ Birgitta repeated sardonically. ‘They most definitely want something from us. I haven’t been called a lady in . . . well, never you mind how long, but something is most definitely amiss.’

  A few moments later a young woman could be heard outside singing a sorrowful song. Elysia looked down to see a veiled figure in front of the temple. She was holding a censer and leaving a waft of fragrance in her wake.

  ‘I don’t understand what she’s saying.’ Elysia turned from the window and looked across to the bed where Birgitta was resting.

  ‘It’s an archaic language called Ascendella, not commonly spoken. Many of the Goddess’s books are read out in that tongue. It’s said to have come from the end of the First Age, when the seven founding mothers of our world ascended to the seven heavens – if one believes in such celestial matters.’

  ‘I do. Why else would there be celestial witchstones?’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How?’ Elysia folded her arms.

  ‘They can return people to the source.’

  ‘It sounds very similar, if you ask me.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t. The source is where witchstone energy returns once that stone, or a sister even, is broken down. Like a river flowing to the sea. It is a practical matter, not some ethereal nonsense.’

  ‘Anyway, what’s the woman saying?’ Elysia asked.

  ‘She’s singing a lament for her mother who – if I understand the words correctly – passed away two nights ago.’

  Elysia loo
ked back at the mourner as she paced past the temple and through the empty streets. ‘I don’t even know who my mother was, never mind being able to mourn her. Sometimes, when I think about it, I feel like a story with no beginning.’

  ‘Most sisters are the same,’ Birgitta sighed. ‘I did not know my own mother. We do not talk about it. That way, the matriarch becomes mother to us all.’

  ‘I don’t want to be like the others and just accept this lack of knowledge. And I don’t like how the sisters always talk about the subject as if we’re bred like farm animals. Our lineage is all known though, isn’t it? It must be. By someone.’

  ‘By someone,’ Birgitta added softly. ‘So many questions tonight.’

  There came a knock at the door. Birgitta rose with a groan as Elysia marched across to open it.

  A man stood there dressed in the black robes of a priest of the Goddess. Upon his chest was one of the symbols of the Goddess – seven silver stars arranged in a circle. He was lanky, and the robes did not seem to fit him well, and his gaunt face led to a pointed chin. A bald man, he looked about forty or fifty summers, but it was hard to be certain in this light.

  ‘I am grievously sorry to have bothered you ladies.’ His voice carried well and was full of confidence – even if he did not look entirely sure of himself right now. ‘But I wondered if I may speak with you in private for a few minutes.’

  ‘Fine,’ Birgitta said. ‘Come inside, then.’

  The man stepped into the room and Elysia closed the door behind him. He moved cautiously towards the window and glanced out at what Elysia presumed was in fact his temple. He whispered something about the seven heavens – a heaven for each of the founding mothers.

  ‘Well?’ Birgitta asked.

  The man hesitated before he began. ‘Your eyes suggest to me that you are witches.’

  ‘We are of the sisterhood, yes.’

  He appeared relieved at the answer. ‘My name is Helkor, and I am a priest affiliated with our blessed Goddess. That’s my temple, just there.’