by James Stone
‘I was hoping to catch you here,’ she said. ‘You and your uncle are leaving now, yes? I didn’t want to intrude…’
‘It’s quite alright. Can I help you?’
‘I only wanted to wish you luck,’ Nurcia remarked.
‘Thank you.’ Magmaya curtsied awkwardly. ‘Is something of the matter?’
Nurcia shrugged. ‘It’s a long way to Mansel territory,’ she said, ‘and Shalleous is a hardy man.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘How long has it been since his lady died?’
‘Four… five years?’ Magmaya recalled. ‘I still don’t understand—’
‘From one woman to another… be careful around him,’ she replied.
‘Nurcia…?’
‘In truth, my lady, it’s that last night, he…’
‘He…?’
‘I woke to find your uncle in my chambers,’ she said at last. ‘He had his breeches down, I had to shoo him away. He said, um.’ She paused. ‘He said he wanted to fuck me.’
‘What?’ Magmaya exclaimed.
‘It is only the nature of men,’ Nurcia answered. ‘I just want you to be careful, my lady.’
‘I…’ She was struggling for words, looking to her feet. Shalleous tried for her bedchambers? That wasn’t at all the uncle she knew. ‘Nurcia—’ she began again, but when Magmaya looked up, the chancellor’s advisor was gone.
The battalion stormed through the night, fastened to the hides of shaggy silver deer which were said to be able to take a man around the world and back. But each step sent a jolt up Magmaya’s legs and through her spine, only furthering her desire to get off the bloody thing. Around the world and back? she asked herself. I’ll barely last a mile.
There were hundreds of them too, jutting and wailing and reeking like something feral. Sometimes, a convoy would wander off, hauling their foodstuffs with them. And each time, the entire host would have to stop for half an age to rally them out of a ditch.
They hadn’t been delayed in over an hour, but (as if to compensate) the storm was getting worse; the guardsmen ahead were fading into the white of the clouds, and the snow was biting at her lips. It was cold, yes, but it filled a pit in her chest that nothing inside the city gates could have ever done. When she’d snuck out of the city as a child, she’d felt nothing but excitement. It was the same now, but it felt like fear this time.
Shalleous was riding a few men from her left, edging farther forward. Magmaya had never ridden for more than an hour, and so as the night grew closer and as the snow cast ghastly shadows across the mountains, her inexperience began to take its toll. It wouldn’t be long until they arrived at the Sultide, but that watery plain stretched out for miles, and by then her back would have surely broken in two.
They would find refuge in the caverns at its shore, though; there, the heavy thermals would warm them better than any fur would, and perhaps then Magmaya might get some sleep. They would set off again at midnight and reach the Mansel stronghold before sunrise, but she was already feeling herself grow limp under her own weight (she had almost slipped from the reigns twice already). Her dream of leaving the north wasn’t so sweet anymore—if she couldn’t even brave a few hours out in the Deadfields, she hadn’t a chance at surviving the journey south.
She looked over to her banner boy as he rode shortly on ahead; he was no older than sixteen, and the brass sigil he jabbed at the heavens seemed likely to crush him at any moment. His name was Gilbus, but Magmaya had only remembered that because of how reluctant he had been to tell her. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was more of a giggle. Still, even he appeared more comfortable in the snow than she.
‘Steady.’ Shalleous veered over and gripped hold of her deer, steering it straight. ‘You won’t want to find yourself separated.’
He had his breeches down, I had to shoo him away. He said he wanted to fuck me.
‘Sorry.’ She recovered timidly, and the two began to ride alongside. ‘How long until we reach the Sultide?’
‘An hour, perhaps,’ Shalleous replied. ‘We’re ahead of schedule—we’ll arrive before nightfall.’
‘We’ll barricade the caves, yes?’ Magmaya asked. ‘Kharon told me wolves lurk out here when the sun’s down.’
‘You know little of the cold,’ Shalleous remarked. ‘After the Transmutany, the first northern travellers killed all the wolves. If anyone tells you otherwise, it’s a faery story Magmaya.’ He looked to his feet and back to her, wise eyes sunken deep in his head. ‘You would always dance about the sculleries as a wee child. Your father said, Aye, she will make good for her prince, but I insisted your dancing was good practice for swinging a sword and apparently, you did too.’ He was pleased. ‘Siedous taught you good,’ he said. ‘Are you happy with where the stars have taken you?’
‘The stars?’ she asked.
‘You may think me a rugged old man, but I have something still to pray for.’
‘My bastard brother’s birth caused the greatest scandal the city had ever known,’ she remarked, ‘until his death caused a greater one. What good have the stars ever done me?’ She remembered praying at the foot of her tree, praying there wouldn’t be war. Look at me now, she thought. ‘If they cared for me really, I’d be praying for a little warmth.’
‘If a girl says so, then certainly it must be true,’ Shalleous remarked, a flash of guilt about his lips.
Magmaya tried to say something, but the wind cut her off. Even her furs weren’t keeping her warm any longer, and it was beginning to grow dark.
‘We near the Sultide, my lord,’ a guardsman called through the snow. ‘Better us ride on ahead to scout the caverns?’
‘You and four others,’ Shalleous agreed. ‘May the stars carry you to safety.’ He winked at her.
Magmaya found the nerve to laugh at that.
There was a clattering of hooves and an incessant screeching of deer before the scouts carried on ahead. They rode in silence as glimmers of sunlight caught the edges of the world, silhouetting the peaks as they scowled down like the gods which Magmaya sought so hard to turn away.
I would pray for some silk tea, though, she thought. Gods know what they put in it, but at least that would warm me before going to my head.
Before long, the riders returned, deer wailing and snorting. The Sultide was clear, and so they rode on; the haze of the day began slowly dissolving until the clouds retreated to the mountaintops. As the sun struck them, they began shimmering like they’d been carved from iron and silverwater and not from the dull black rocks she’d found scattered about the palace grounds. But with the dying of the light, the day drew to a close, and with dusk, the valley grew sparse.
Magmaya looked back through the dark, finding nothing but endless plateaus and mountaintops; there was no sign of the brazen spires or glass domes she had called her home for so long—the sight made her wonder if it even had existed. There was a terrible fear that came with being alone and lost on a mountainside; it was a fear ingrained in her bones. It almost made her calm.
For a moment, she found herself remembering the silver vessel from the south, looming like a moon on the sea; she remembered the way the smaller boats had flocked out, disgorging those silvery faces from so far away. There had been boys with dark skin and girls with brown eyes, and they spoke of pearly angels and delicious fruits and stars and—
Magmaya watched the horizon, half expecting the ship to return, but instead, she was met with a face-full of snow. Sometimes, she felt as if her heart had sunk so far, it would beat as cold as brass.
‘We’re nearing the caverns,’ she heard Shalleous call, and she turned back to the cold. ‘Keep your wits about you.’
It was true; she had missed the opening to the Sultide through the valley. She was getting distracted.
‘Scout ahead and find a place to camp.’ Her uncle turned to the riders. ‘Thermals reach deep, so don’t dare leave unless you find them.’
Th
e thermals reached so deep in fact, they spread out beneath the whole of Ranvirus like a sprawling spider’s web. The ones beneath Orianne had for centuries been used as priest holes or sewers, but the pilgrims who’d first travelled north wouldn’t have survived to build the city hadn’t it been for the heat that rose from them. And neither would she if they didn’t find one to camp on for the night.
A couple minutes passed in silence, and Magmaya couldn’t help but feel anxious; she doubted she’d get rest anytime soon either—the temperature had only dropped since they had arrived at the Sultide. Was it not for the coat that kissed at her neck, she seldom would’ve had the strength to carry on.
She longed for even a feast with Kharon now, sat in silence and pushing meat around her bowl while she sipped from a goblet not made for women. She had often watched the Deadfields and wondered what the cold would make of her. Now she knew.
‘Something’s moving on the horizon,’ one of the guardsmen’s voices broke the silence, and Magmaya couldn’t help but be relieved. ‘A black shadow. It gets larger every second, my lord.’
‘Nothing moves on the horizon.’ Shalleous remained stern. ‘The glow of the water does something to the faint of heart. Look away if it scares you.’
‘Could it be a torgulus?’ another shouted through the heavy wind.
‘The torgulus are dead,’ Shalleous called. ‘The wolves are dead, the bears are all but dead—the oracles, for the sake of the gods, are dead!’
‘My—’
‘Don’t scare yourselves with the fantasies of long-dead men,’ her uncle interrupted. ‘You’ll catch a chill like no other. I can assure you of that.’
Magmaya pursed her lips together and waited. She too had noticed a grey shadow growing beneath the mountains, forged in the moonlight. She was more worried about the riders, though—they hadn’t returned yet. But there was something else too…
‘Shalleous…’ she said after a moment.
‘My lady, I swear to the chancellor himself, if this is more speculation about that bloody shadow…’
‘No, it’s not the shadow.’ She looked forward with dismay. ‘I can hear something. Some heavy stammer.’
‘It’s a small tremor. That or our riders have returned with eight legs apiece.’
Silence fell again. The shadow had grown larger, distinguishable without squinting; it was splitting across the horizon.
The stammer was getting heavier. Magmaya’s heart was sinking.
‘Shalleous,’ Magmaya began, ‘issue a rider to a taller viewpoint.’
‘No, the others are taking time enough,’ Shalleous barked, and Magmaya looked to him, but couldn’t make out the same man from the morning before. This man had lost his beauty; his skin was grey and cold. ‘We’ll ride on and inspect more caverns. You can get a better look at your cursed shadow from there.’
‘Then we do so now,’ Magmaya ordered, and to her surprise, the men began to pick up pace.
The Sultide was farther away than it had looked, though, and there was still no sign of the riders returning. The thin waves lapped feebly onto the icy rocks below, and the deer slowed as they approached, yapping and snorting wildly as they stamped at the thin streaks of light.
‘If the moon’s behind the clouds, then what’s casting the shadow?’ she asked him.
Shalleous didn’t reply. Instead, she found her uncle gazing into the distance; a look of horror was spreading across his face. He raised his left hand high, ordering the men to stop.
And so, the battalion stood still, cramming the gorge’s opening. The wind was near silent, but in time, the deer grew restless, and Magmaya heard every last heartbeat.
‘Fall back,’ Shalleous muttered quietly, and then louder, ‘Fall back!’
The deer began to call, the snow fell heavier, and water sprung up around them. Magmaya looked to the black shadow in earnest.
‘I’ve made a terrible mistake,’ Shalleous hissed. ‘That’s not a shadow, girl. Those are a hundred Mansel warhorses.’
‘But—but—we outnumber them, yes?’ Her eyes watered, and her expression turned to panic.
Shalleous smiled. ‘You and your brother were both summer children. You’re so young. You’ve only heard fables of these men, Magmaya. They’re merciless, cunning, cruel. They would have you skinned and hanged—eaten by their hunting hounds.’
‘So, what do you propose?’ Magmaya asked, flustered.
‘Vargul Tul is their castellan—he leads their cavalry,’ Shalleous said. ‘I’ll ride forward and take his charge. It may leave time enough to turn tails and spread news to Orianne.’
‘Shalleous, you know you can’t,’ Magmaya insisted. ‘We can’t outrun them.’
‘What other choice do we have?’ her uncle roared, and before she could hazard a reply, he tugged at his deer’s reigns and rode off.
She found herself looking to the horizon. The shadow had faded, but in its place stood the silhouettes of charging men, inching closer with every passing second. There would be little time to spare. She followed quietly on after the fleeing men, though by the time she pranced a metre, the Mansel were already closing in.
After a couple of minutes, Shalleous raised his blade and called into the night. Several of his men rallied around him and met the Mansel charge at the hilltop. They came together like a drum hammering through the sky, and after a moment of valiant charges, their fervour devolved into something terribly primal. Men went for men’s throats; horse hooves became intertwined with deer hooves. It was pathetic, the way they all fell. Like nothing she had heard in the faery stories.
Damn it! she cursed. I won’t live to see tomorrow.
She could do nothing but watch as his men soiled themselves as they died, and their deer buckled and ran. You’re making a mistake, she thought and cantered on ahead, the others forming ranks around her. There was no time to think now, only to run.
Cries and curses echoed from behind, and the Mansel lurched forward; black lances met her company’s rear. They cut swiftly through the middle ranks before a second battalion emerged from the fog.
A terrible screaming cut through the night and then an echo and then a hailstorm. Once again, the horses reared, and the Mansel held. Her men weren’t so fortunate—their mounts betrayed them. In a mess of tangled limbs, they tossed their riders to the icy ground and trampled them as they fled.
Magmaya turned and drew her sword. It was lighter than what she was used to; it was a flimsy thing made for show. She was never meant to fight.
She peered through the field of mangled bodies, and then she passed the corpse of Gilbus, hands still clawed around that banner pole, and found some strength rise within her.
‘To your lord!’ Magmaya shouted, but she should have shouted louder. Though a loyal few rounded-back, several of her uncle’s guardsmen disappeared into the night. She wanted to scream the command again, but Nurcia’s voice was nagging away at her still: He had his breeches down, I had to shoo him away. He said he wanted to fuck me.
The snow was beginning to fall quicker, and so Magmaya didn’t see the next charge. The riders spared no time to cover the ground between them, and in a shower of upturned mud, a spear met the hide of her deer.
It was then Magmaya could almost feel the warm touch of the candlelight from her chambers and see the scorched bricks on the ceiling; the portraits that hung above seemed wiser now and the statuettes of naked maidens that lined the halls even more gracious. The snow began to fall, and the world grew white. A star flickered in the distance. She was home.
But only for a moment. She had been living by her mother’s love and dying by her father’s. Her deer had erupted into a wailing, thrashing about with its antlers. Its spasming limbs cut the air above, and Magmaya kicked out, but her feet found nothing but the wind. And as it tossed about, she felt something hard meet her chest, a hoof, and for but a second, a ringing burst through her ears and the world turned black.
A shoulder
blade met rock, and a hip met ice before Magmaya lay still, cupping her bloody gut as the water lapped at her. Her head was pounding as the men who had come to her side were slain, one by one. And as she finally accepted peace, the water didn’t seem so cold anymore. As her body sank beneath the waves, it was warm like milk from a mother’s teat. Her counterfeit blade had been lost in the fall, but she had no strength left in her to stand anyway. And as she folded her legs into her stomach and let the nameless gods take her, a fractured smile crept on her blistered lips.
And yet, more of her men came to defend her—why was her life worth so much to them? More than a banquet. More than gold, her mother had once told her.
All around her, bodies piled upon bodies in the tides, intertwined with the carcasses of horses and deer seemingly too innocent to live. The wind howled, and the night fell silent again—that was until Magmaya saw someone else emerge from the fray.
He was a head taller than the others, and he had copper skin, buried beneath layers of barbs and fur. The face was too hazy to make out between the falling snow and her failing eyesight, but at his knees, there was someone else: Shalleous, bloodied and alone.
‘Magmaya Vorr, my castellan.’ One of the Mansel pointed at her, his voice cold and dry.
She raised her hands to cover herself, smearing her eyes with her own streaking blood. But between red fingers she saw the bigger man nod and advance on her, dragging her uncle’s knees through the water.
He muttered something, and Magmaya shuddered; his voice was like cracking ice, and his eyes were like black pits. It wasn’t what he said that scared her—it was the way the words formed in his mouth—like something unnatural. ‘I want you to watch and listen closely.’
‘You dare touch her!’ Shalleous called, but his voice was a whimper, and his mouth was overflowing with blood. Yet her uncle persisted all the same, shouting, ‘She’s the heir to Orianne! Without her, you have no leverage.’