by Dave Morris
‘When you northerners came,’ said Wuraq.
‘But in that case...’ Caelestis sighed, close to exasperation. ‘How can that be? The sailor must have been lying—and yet how did he come by the peg?’
‘I always thought that was just a silly story,’ said Wuraq. ‘But it’s true, then? The horse really can fly?’
Caelestis twisted the peg a fraction of an inch and the horse rose a few feet into the air.
‘We’d better not put it to the test now,’ said Altor. ‘It’s dark, and we’re all tired. Let’s try it out in the morning.’
While Wuraq and his grandmother slept, Caelestis sat up and stared into the dying red embers of the fire. He could not help brooding about the peg. He had got it so cheaply because the sailor said the horse had brought him enough misery already. But if the sailor’s story was not true, that also cast doubt on his motives for selling the peg... Caelestis furrowed his brow. It was all very confusing.
Altor came and sat beside him. ‘Can’t sleep either,’ he said with a yawn.
They sat in silence for a while. ‘It’s been quite a day,’ said Caelestis, ‘even for us.’
‘Yes. I wondered how long it would take the Magi to get onto us.’
‘Only Green Flame so far. He’s usually the first of them to play his hand.’
‘Except for Blue Moon, who’s often so subtle that you don’t notice what he’s done until it’s too late.’
They were both smiling. ‘Listen to us,’ said Caelestis. ‘Six months of adventuring and we’re think we’re the world’s experts.’
‘Yep. Caelestis, this horse is just what we need, but...’
‘But what?’
‘We can’t possibly pay them what it’s worth. A flying horse—and it’s an old family heirloom.’
‘If Wuraq hadn’t ruined the Roc’s feather that would’ve been a fair exchange.’
‘Hardly. And maybe they don’t want to sell it.’
Caelestis clicked his tongue. He looked at the horse, still hovering silently in the shadows at the back of the cottage. The firelight splashed along its ebony flanks, made gleaming amber of the ivory hoofs and teeth and eyes.
Off to one side, Menira and her grandson snored contentedly, fast asleep.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Altor. ‘No.’
‘It’s one act of theft balanced against the fate of the world.’
‘Caelestis, we cannot save the world by sinning. Heroes’ actions should never be unjust.’
‘Heroes? We’re two youths on a quest that’s far too big for us. Tell me which is more important: that we find the Sword of Life, or avoid upsetting Menira and Wuraq?’
‘Maybe I don’t want to make that kind of choice.’
‘Maybe that’s the kind of choice that heroes have to make. If the only decisions were easy ones then anyone could be a hero. In any case, I can tell that deep down you’ve already made up your mind to steal it.’
‘How is that?’
‘Because you’re still whispering.’
That stopped Altor in his tracks. For a young monk with high ideals, it was not pleasant to face up to unworthy thoughts. After a moment’s thought, he crossed himself. Speaking quite loudly, he said: ‘I pray that God will forgive me if, even for a second, I considered committing any sin.’
Menira raised her head. ‘I’m sorry if I woke you,’ said Altor.
‘I was already awake. I hope you don’t mind, but I overheard what you were saying. I can’t pretend to understand all of it, but I know you need the horse for something important. Of course you must take it.’
Abashed that Menira had heard him planning to rob her, Caelestis said: ‘A flying horse is a great treasure. We would pay you if we could.’
‘Once you have flown off on the horse,’ said Menira lightly, ‘the news will soon spread and people will come from miles away to hear the story and look at my daughter’s tapestry—and they’ll pay. So I’ll get my reward, don’t worry.’
‘Excellent,’ said Altor. ‘This is an arrangement that suits everyone. You see, Caelestis—virtue is always rewarded. Now that’s settled, I think I’ll get some sleep.’
Where the mountains met the night sky, a sinister figure in robes and armour of half a world away stood looking down at the village where Altor and Caelestis slept.
‘In my country there is a saying,’ he murmured, more to himself than the man who stood beside him: ‘The soundest slumber comes on the day before one dies.’
The other man stepped forward, a Ta’ashim sailor in ragged clothes. For a long time they had been gazing down without a word being spoken, with only the wind and the moonlight for company. The loneliness of the spot had made the sailor uneasy. He took the other’s words as an invitation to say something. ‘Have I not served you well, master?’
The other man slowly turned his head, as though to look at an insect. ‘You have done as I told you. If you had not then you would already be dead.’
The Ta’ashim smiled. To cover his nervousness, he sucked at the pipe he always carried, though it was not lit. ‘I gave him the peg, master. Just as you said.’
‘By now they will surely have bought the horse—or stolen it, more likely. Tomorrow it will fly them to their rendezvous. It will be a ride with no returning.’
‘There is one thing, master...’ The Ta’ashim sailor hesitated under the lambent scrutiny of those cruel almond-shaped eyes. The silence grew too uncomfortable to bear, so he went on: ‘How did you know? Where they’d be, I mean, and that they’d find the horse at all?’
The other took from his belt a silver bottle chased with finely wrought runes. ‘I had three glimpses of the future; three questions answered by a dead man.’
The Ta’ashim bit on his pipe to keep his teeth from chattering. If not for the sheer drop behind him he would have backed away.
‘Those answers served me in good stead,’ went on the warlock, ‘but they were not enough. Now I need three more...’
The curved blade was in his other hand, but by the time the sailor saw it his heart had already been pierced.
Eight:
The Devil’s Runner
‘Astounding,’ said Caelestis, looking down at Altor. ‘It really works!’
Altor wore a dubious frown as he watched the horse bobbing up and down in the air. ‘The peg makes it go up and down, but what about steering?’
‘I just use my legs—see?’ Caelestis made the horse perform a slightly shaky figure of eight, then twisted the peg to bring himself back down to the beach. ‘It’s just like riding.’
‘Except not on terra firma.’
Caelestis laughed. ‘You were keen enough to put reins on the Roc, as I remember. It’s a bit different when faced with the reality of flying, eh?’
‘I am no coward,’ retorted Altor, nettled. ‘I merely think that if God had intended us to fly, he would have—‘
Caelestis held up his hand. ‘Please. I suspect that in future times that will become a cliché, and in any case this flying horse is what Providence has seen fit to provide. Don’t look it in the mouth!’
Although the hour was early, a crowd of astonished fisher-folk had gathered at the top of the beach to watch. Everyone was too in awe to get close. Wuraq strode up and down beaming with self importance, telling anyone who would listen the tale of his great-great-grandfather.
Menira hobbled over. ‘I suppose you’ll be anxious to get off,’ she said.
Altor looked from her to the horse and gave an uneasy smile. ‘Caelestis is anxious to be off; I am merely anxious.’
As Altor mounted behind him, Caelestis said: ‘Once more I have to thank you for your hospitality, Menira. When I think of what I said last night, it makes me quite ashamed.’
She shook her head. ‘In my old age I have learned to recognise goodness when it is present in people’s hearts. I recognise it in you. May the peace, safety and success that are granted by the Maker of All Things fall to you in abundance.’
/> ‘And may He bless you for your kindness,’ said Altor.
Caelestis touched the peg again and the horse soared up into the air.
The crowd gasped and stared. As the horse dwindled to a speck in the sky, Wuraq spoke to his grandmother: ‘Will we ever see them again?’
‘Who knows?’ she said, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun. ‘We can only hope that the horse brings them more luck than it did your great-great-grandfather.’
Caelestis could not resist making a long sweeping circuit of the bay before heading out to sea. ‘Look at the city,’ he cried to Altor. ‘The buildings are just like toys. And see those people streaming to market? Don’t they remind you of ants?’
‘Um,’ was all Altor would say. He kept a firm grip on the cantle at the back of the saddle and was staring steadfastly ahead.
‘This is better than Augustus’s carpet,’ Caelestis said appreciatively as he veered the horse to the south-west.
‘I’d have to agree with you. If one has to fly, it’s better not to be flown by a madman.’
The sea whipping past below was a painter’s palette of grey and blue. Suddenly dipping the horse, Caelestis took them down in a steep dive that made Altor’s stomach churn. At the last moment he pulled up on the magic peg, so that the horse levelled out and flew along just skimming the waves.
‘Then again...’ said Altor queasily.
‘Is that better?’ Caelestis called over his shoulder. ‘I know you don’t like heights.’
Altor looked at the water shooting past just a few feet below. He glanced back the way they had come. Already there was no sight of land. ‘It’s difficult to say if it’s any better,’ he said. ‘It’s no worse. Either way, if the magic runs out then we drown, but at least at this altitude we cut out the fall beforehand.’
They flew on for hours while the sun climbed to its zenith and slowly began to slide down into the west. The day would have been blazing hot, but the air whipped at their clothes and swept cool gusts into their lungs. By late afternoon the glare from the sea had given them raw red faces and the constant rolling of the sea made them feel slightly sick, but they were exhilarated by the sight of an island ahead.
Caelestis slowed the horse to hover while Altor consulted the astrological chart Sussurien had given them.
‘It think we’re looking for an island,’ said Altor, struggling to read the chart while the sea breeze tried to tear it away from him. ‘There’s a note that says—oh blast it! Where... ah yes, it says “Isle of Sunset”.’
Caelestis nudged the horse over to the island. They touched down on a shore of coral-pink sand. Bare black rocks rose towards the centre of the island, which seemed barren of life.
‘Is this the Isle of Sunset?’ wondered Altor. ‘There’s nothing else marked anywhere near.’
‘Well, I made sure to get my bearings when we took off, and we’ve been going in a dead straight line. So, unless Sussurien was lying, this must be the place. How long have we got?’
‘The note on the chart says: “At the velvet hour the ship shall appear.” Which I take to mean between sunset and moonrise, Sussurien obviously having a poetic bent.’
‘A sure sign of villainy,’ laughed Caelestis, dismounting.
The sand crunched underfoot like tiny crystals of salt. Dead seaweed lay in tangled brown strands. Apart from the lapping of the waves there was no sound.
‘Look at this.’ Altor jumped down from the saddle, relieved to be back on dry land. He bent to pick up something that gleamed like old ivory. The upper part of a skull.
‘Some poor wretch must a got shipwrecked here,’ said Caelestis. ‘What a miserable place to be stranded.’
The sun declined further in the sky. As it touched the cliff-tops, the shadows turned the shore dark like blood. Altor and Caelestis were both gripped by a sense of impending destiny. They stood in awestruck silence as a thick bank of mist rolled in around the island. It was like being caught by the smoky exhalation of a slumbering ice-dragon.
Altor stood peering out to sea. Where only minutes before they had had a clear view as far as the horizon, now it felt as if the little island had been closed off from the rest of the world—as if the mist had cut them adrift from reality and placed them halfway into limbo.
Caelestis thought he sensed a deep vibration in the ground. Touching a rock, he felt it tremble under his fingertips. A sound too low for human hearing was rumbling through the bedrock of the island.
The dank air seemed electrified. Silent pulses of violet-blue light flickered in the fog.
‘It’s here,’ said Altor.
Caelestis turned to look. Against the luminous backdrop of mist, a ship loomed as big as a castle. Immense and unstoppable, it slowly slid past as they watched in awe.
Altor was the first to come to his senses. Rushing to the horse, he leapt into the saddle. ‘Quick, Cael,’ he said. ‘We only have a few minutes before the ship leaves this world.’
Caelestis placed his hand on the horse’s back and vaulted up behind his friend. ‘Don’t you want me to steer?’
‘I’m sure I can manage.’ Altor grinned. He had not much enjoyed the flight across the sea, but with the prospect of action he was himself again. Turning the peg, he caused the horse to shoot out across the water at breakneck speed. Another twist gave altitude, bringing them up level with the high rail of the Devil’s Runner.
Altor glided down rapidly to land on the deck. In an instant he was out of the saddle, sword in hand.
‘Steady,’ said Caelestis, swinging down beside his friend. ‘I can’t see any enemies yet.’
It was true. The deck seemed deserted. With the fog drifting in tendrils between its colossal masts, the ship seemed to hang in a space between worlds. Glancing down, they could no longer make out the surface of the ocean or even hear the waves lapping against the hull.
There was one thing to be heard in the eerie calm. Intermittent moans came from far away—snatches of disembodied sound, like the lost cries of all the sailors ever lost at sea.
Shaking off such thoughts, they began to explore the deck. The ship was even bigger than they had first thought— bigger by far than the largest of the Crusader vessels, which could each hold a thousand men. Masts clad in plates of bronze rose up until their tops faded into the fog. The sails, cobweb sheets of mouldered canvas, hung in great swathes like the foliage of a rainforest.
‘It is a fortress afloat,’ said Altor.
‘Then where are the sentries?’ said Caelestis.
They came to a companion-way whose opening was adorned with scowling demonic carvings. It seemed to lead to the bowels of the ship. Just as they were about to venture below, Caelestis caught Altor’s arm.
‘Look,’ he said.
Up on the bridge, standing rigid at the wheel, was a figure wreathed in a long black cape. He was so still that at first they had just taken him for a scrap of tattered canvas.
With Altor leading the way, they climbed the steps to the bridge. Altor paused as he neared the top, where he could still jump down to the quarterdeck in case of attack. But the figure still stood unmoving, white hands resting on the wheel.
‘Is it Hunguk?’ called up Caelestis.
Altor peered through the fog, then wished he hadn’t. The figure’s cheeks were hard and pale and he seemed to wear a disquietingly fixed grin.
‘Are you,’ he said, ‘Hunguk?’
‘Hunguk the Pirate King? Not I!’ The voice was gusty and grey, a voice of storm-tossed seas and cold nights under lashing rain. ‘Hunguk’s not aboard. I’m Shambeer, his trusty steersman. None more trusty than I. See this wheel? My old hands haven’t left this wheel in seven mortal lifetimes. ‘Outlived his own flesh in Hunguk’s service’—that’s what they say of old Shambeer.’
Under the long coat, thin shoulders twitched in a silent laugh.
‘Ask him where Hunguk is,’ said Caelestis from behind Altor’s shoulder.
‘Where—?’
‘I heard, l
ad. I’m not so deaf as earless-looking. Why d’you want to know?’
‘Er... we were thinking of signing on.’
Shambeer fixed him with a disturbingly hollow gaze. ‘Nobody signs on, lad. Not these days. The navigator’s gone, and blind Destiny plots our course now. So my advice to you is scurry back where you came. And be quick about it—the Devil’s Runner will tarry on this mortal plane but a scant few minutes, and when we leave our destination is eternity.’
Before Altor could reply, Caelestis leaned forward and said: ‘We’ll do just that, good sir. And thank you for your advice.’
Suddenly Shambeer snapped his jaws and jerked his head to stare off into the fog. ‘Caligosums and luridors! They’re all about us! Be off, you two, for if I’m distracted now then Satan’s sharks will have our bones to gnaw on.’
Altor and Caelestis returned to the main deck. Altor glanced back at the steersman, who was now whirling the wheel to and fro with alacrity. ‘I don’t know what he can see in the fog, but it’s keeping him occupied.’
Caelestis nodded. ‘Good. Now’s our chance to find those emeralds. Hunguk’s cabin is the logical place to start.’
Caelestis stepped cautiously down the companion-ladder. A little light trickled up from below, and in it he could see that he was in a passage. The air was thick and musty, but at least it was a little warmer below decks than in the white mist above.
Altor joined him, running his hand across the mahogany panels of the wall. ‘These carvings are antique,’ he said. ‘This ship could have been afloat a thousand years!’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Caelestis pointed off down the passage, towards the faint source of light. ‘Let’s get a move on. I don’t relish getting caught by the Pirate King.’
They came to what seemed to be the crew’s quarters. Light, pallid and flickering, came from opalescent globes set into the bulkhead. It was a vast space, with bunks for at least a thousand men stretching the whole length of the ship, but the low ceiling and long wavering shadows gave a sense of claustrophobia all the same.