The Edge Chronicles 11: The Nameless One: First Book of Cade

by Paul Stewart

  ‘Put your left foot in the stirrup,’ said Celestia, taking Burrlix’s halter and holding him steady. ‘That’s it. Hold onto the reins, then swing your right leg over the saddle.’

  Cade did as he was told, trying to ignore the way his legs were shaking.

  ‘Relax,’ said Celestia gently. ‘Trust your prowlgrin.’ She smiled. ‘When you were ill, you talked about how you used to watch the Freeglade Lancers riding through the streets of Great Glade, wishing that you could be one of them. Remember?’

  ‘I do,’ Cade admitted.

  ‘Well, imagine you’re a lancer,’ said Celestia. ‘Grip with your legs. Flick the reins . . .’ she instructed, demonstrating the actions as she spoke. ‘And hold on tight.’

  With a sudden lurch that threw Cade back in the saddle, Burrlix trotted across the veranda and jumped down onto the lakeshore. Cade held on with his hands and legs as tightly as he could. Celestia, on Calix, cantered past him, with Rumblix scampering behind.

  They crossed the meadowlands behind the cabin at full tilt. And with the wind in his face and the lakeside a blur of blue and green, Cade revelled in the sense of speed as the two great prowlgrins pounded over the soft, reed-spiked ground and leaped up over any rocks and bushes in their way.

  A moment later, Cade’s heart leaped into his mouth as he realized that they were approaching the treeline. A giant lullabee tree, its trunk as broad and lumpy as a stone wall, rose up in front of him. Instinctively he tugged at the reins, yanking them backwards to slow the galloping prowlgrin down. But if anything Burrlix seemed to gather speed. The side of the tree got closer and . . .

  ‘Whoa!’ Cade cried out as Burrlix braced his powerful back legs and kicked off, and Cade found himself soaring up vertically into the air.

  Gripping on tightly with his hands and legs, Cade looked up as the trunk of the lullabee tree smudged past in a blur. Suddenly Burrlix thrust out his front legs, clawed paws outstretched, and they landed on a branch, with Calix and Celestia on one side of them, and Rumblix on the other – but only for a moment. Before Cade had a chance even to catch his breath, Burrlix had flexed his legs and jumped again – this time soaring high through the forest to the jutting branch of a huge lufwood, twenty strides away. And from there, without hesitation, he leaped again, onto the bark-stripped branch of a mighty ironwood pine.

  Higher and higher they climbed through the shadowy forest, tree after giant tree, until all at once they burst through the canopy, and Cade was momentarily blinded by dazzling sunlight. When his eyes adjusted, Cade saw that all around, like a mighty green carpet, the Deepwoods extended as far as the eye could see. Without a moment’s hesitation, the prowlgrins bounded across the treetops on feet sensitive to the sway and give of the highest branches.

  The sensation of hurtling across the top of the forest on prowlgrinback was like nothing Cade had ever experienced. Nothing could have prepared him for it – not the leap from the Forlorn Hope, nor the swell of the skytavern, nor the speed of Gart Ironside’s phraxlighter. All of them paled in comparison to this sensation. This was wild and wonderful. It was like riding the wind – and Cade hoped it would never end.

  Then suddenly, up ahead, Calix and Celestia disappeared from view. Then Rumblix . . .

  And seconds later, when Burrlix reached the same spot in the dense green forest canopy, he too leaped through the gap in the branches and down into the leaf-scented shadows below. They were descending now, coming down through the branches of the trees as sure-footed as on their ascent, and even faster. A copperwood blurred past, followed by an ironwood, a lufwood, a sutterpine, a redoak, and what could have been a couple of white-willows – Cade wasn’t sure. Then all at once they came to a halt, just above the forest floor on the edge of a large clearing.

  Celestia, Calix and Rumblix were waiting for them, perched on one of the stout lower branches of a spreading bucknut tree. Celestia pointed to the massive trunk of an ironwood pine on the far side of the clearing.

  ‘Welcome to my little tree-cabin,’ she said.

  · CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX ·

  CADE PEERED INTO the green gloom, puzzled for a moment. And then, looking up into the branches of the massive ironwood pine, he saw it: a vast construction that resembled a skyship, some thirty strides in length and three storeys high, each storey separated from the next by finely carved pillars.

  The rounded roof had a platform at its centre, and had been clad with red, yellow and black wooden tiles set in intricate diamond-shaped patterns; a tower to the left was crowned with a high chimney, white smoke coiling out from the top. There were jutting domed structures at each end of the building, complete with balconies, balustrades and steps that linked one storey to the next. The uppermost floor had a row of eight arched windows, all but one closed to the outside world by shutters; the middle floor was set back a couple of strides and enclosed by a veranda, while the lowest floor was open to the elements.

  The building was truly magnificent. It wouldn’t have looked out of place among the palaces and academies of the Cloud Quarter, or the opulent mansions of New Lake – apart from one thing. Unlike the buildings in Great Glade, which were anchored to the earth, either on stilts or stone foundations, Celestia’s home was suspended high above the ground on metal chains that were bolted to a broad, sturdy ironwood branch. A cluster of giant ironwood cones had been attached to the bottom of the building by ropes, weighting it down and preventing it from swinging when the wind got up.

  Cade let out a long low whistle. ‘“Little tree-cabin”, you said,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve never seen anything so grand.’

  Celestia laughed. ‘It took my father and Thorne ten years to build,’ she said, then nodded thoughtfully. ‘And at the end of it, my father had taught Thorne everything he knew. My father was a skyship builder in Great Glade. A master craftsman,’ she added. ‘You see, that’s how it works out here in the Deepwoods. We help each other and pass on whatever skills and talents we have freely. Not like in the big cities where everyone is only out for themselves.’

  Cade turned to Celestia. ‘I’m not sure I have any skills or talents,’ he said ruefully.

  Celestia smiled. ‘Don’t worry, city boy,’ she told him. ‘I’ll teach you. Now, come and meet my father,’ she said, twitching Calix’s reins. He leaped off the bucknut branch and down to the ground.

  Cade, Burrlix and Rumblix landed on the forest floor beside her, and the three prowlgrins trotted across the clearing to the immense ironwood tree towering above them. The lowest branches were too high even for a powerful prowlgrin to reach. But wooden pegs had been hammered into the bark of the trunk in a rising spiral, and it was these the prowlgrins used to climb the tree, leaping from one peg to the next.

  Arriving at the branch that the tree-cabin was slung from, Celestia set off along it until the red, yellow and black tiled roof was directly beneath her. Then she twitched the reins again, and Calix jumped down onto one of the cabin’s jutting balconies. Cade followed, and was relieved when Burrlix landed squarely and steadily on the wooden boards.

  ‘Jump off, then,’ said Celestia, who had already dismounted.

  Cade did so, and Celestia tethered the three prowlgrins to cross-posts, gave them water and some dried offal. Then the two of them headed down the short staircase to the storey below and through an arched door.

  The smell of the chamber struck Cade first. It was a heady mixture of spice, woodsap and pungent spirits. The windows were shuttered, and as he followed Celestia through the darkened chamber, Cade glimpsed shelves, cupboards and cabinets crowded with bottles, vials and pots of all shapes and sizes. From hooks overhead hung bundles of dried roots and feathery clusters of medicinal plants.

  ‘This was my mother’s chamber,’ said Celestia. ‘She taught me the art of healing. It’s mine now,’ she added. She stepped through the doorway at the far end of the room. ‘Come on, Cade,’ she called back to him, and Cade had to tear himself away from the mesmerizing display.

  He entered a lon
g, narrow study lined with shelves of barkscrolls and bound parchments. Ahead of him, a figure was perched on the seat of a floating sumpwood desk. The light from an open window streamed down on a range of barbed arrowheads he was inspecting one by one with long-nailed fingers. He was thin and spidery. He wore wire-framed glasses with small round lenses. His head was large and bald on top, but with a ruff of thick white hair that stuck out over his ears. He had the bushiest eyebrows Cade had ever seen.

  ‘You’ve found more arrowheads,’ said Celestia.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said her father, without looking up. ‘Except I’m beginning to think they might be harpoons.’ His nimble fingers darted over one of the objects. ‘See the grooves here? See these barbs?’

  ‘And they’re from the caverns?’ Celestia said.

  ‘Farthest in I’ve been so far,’ he said, and laughed, the sound high-pitched and flutey, ‘though I still haven’t come across a single white trog.’ He hesitated. ‘Which isn’t, of course, to say they’re not there. The caverns are enormous, Celestia. Miles and miles of tunnels. I can’t begin to imagine how deep they go.’

  ‘It’s my father’s latest obsession,’ Celestia told Cade with a smile. ‘Exploring the caverns behind the Five Falls.’

  Her father spun round, almost tipping himself off the buoyant desk seat. ‘Company,’ he chirped. His beady black eyes fell on Cade. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘This is Cade,’ said Celestia. ‘Cade Quarter.’ She smiled reassuringly at Cade. ‘And this is my father, Blatch Helmstoft.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Blatch squeaked, and thrust out a hand to Cade, who went to shake it, only for Blatch’s hand to dart back untouched to the objects on the table. ‘Quarter. Quarter. Quarter,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You’re not related to the notorious descender by any chance?’

  ‘He’s my uncle, sir,’ Cade told him.

  ‘When I say notorious, don’t get me wrong,’ said Blatch Helmstoft quickly. ‘I have a lot of time for descending. And descenders. Their quest for knowledge is an inspiration to us all . . . Mind you, not that those fools back in the Cloud Quarter agreed. Made it all but impossible for them. And their sympathizers. That’s why I decided to leave Great Glade.’ He paused. ‘I built several skyships for descending expeditions and the School of Flight objected. Made my life impossible. So I came out here with my dear wife and little baby Celestia to pursue other interests . . .’

  Cade smiled politely.

  ‘I spent the first ten years cataloguing the tree species of the Western Woods. Rather useful, I might say, since I was building my little cabin at the time. Of course, I’m a skyship builder so I did rather go over the top. Once I’d started I just couldn’t resist adding a cabin here and a balcony there – what with all this beautiful timber at my disposal. Did you know that there are seven previously unknown sub-species of sumpwood in this very room.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Cade replied, looking around uncertainly.

  ‘For the last five years, I’ve been studying water-spiders around the shores of the Farrow Lake. I found one particularly fascinating specimen drowned at the bottom of the falls. It could only have come from the caverns. I’d been meaning to explore them for years, but had been so busy with other things I’d simply never got round to it. But now I’m making up for lost time. I’ve been investigating the caverns for . . . let me think . . . three weeks now!’ He gave a thin tinkling laugh. ‘You really must come with me, Celestia dear, and bring your young friend.’

  ‘It will have to be another time, Father,’ said Celestia. ‘Cade and I have other plans – I’m taking him into the Western Woods to gather shriekroot.’

  ‘You are?’ said Cade, surprised.

  ‘Well, do take care, Celestia, dear,’ said her father absentmindedly.

  ‘I shall, Father,’ Celestia told him. ‘Come on, Cade.’

  She headed back down the narrow study, and Cade followed. When he looked back, the small figure was hunched over the arrowheads – or harpoonheads – once more, as though he’d already forgotten Cade and his daughter had ever been there.

  Back on the rooftop balcony, Celestia unhitched the prowlgrins and jumped up onto Calix’s back. Cade climbed onto Burrlix, with Rumblix scurrying excitedly round the prowlgrin’s feet.

  ‘What is shriekroot, Celestia?’ he asked. ‘And where exactly do we gather it?’

  ‘Follow me and you’ll find out,’ said Celestia, her green eyes sparkling, ‘city boy.’

  · CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN ·

  THE WESTERN WOODS were darker and even more brooding than the forest that fringed the meadowlands. The trees were taller and seemed to grow closer together, plaited to one another with swathes of dark-leafed and tendrilled creepers. Shards of sunlight twinkled in the forest canopy, though little penetrated the shadowy depths below.

  In the saddle, Cade gripped the reins and pressed his legs tightly to Burrlix’s flanks as his prowlgrin leaped through the forest. There were creatures all around them. Cade could hear them. Fromps emitting their strange coughing call. Screeching quarms and filbits. Insects with iridescent blue or green or orange wings flashed past. A black and orange lammerkeen came swinging through the forest, its huge golden eyes scanning the branches for fruit. Seeing the prowlgrins and riders, it unfurled its long, curling snout and hooted at them mournfully before disappearing down into the forest depths. In the distance, a swarm of woodwasps droned round a massive, papery nest as big as Cade’s cabin, and Celestia changed course to give it a wide berth.

  They had been riding for an hour or more, and Cade was getting used to the swaying rhythm of his leaping prowlgrin. A tired Rumblix clung to the pommel of his saddle, eyes half closed. They left the nest behind them and were approaching a dense cluster of maroon-leafed lufwoods that rose up from the surrounding canopy like the walls of a stockade, when Calix and Burrlix both let out snorts of alarm.

  As they landed in the branches of the tallest lufwood, Celestia brought Calix to a halt and, holding tightly to the saddle, Cade felt Burrlix pause also. In front of him, Rumblix was now wide awake and whining softly, his grey fur standing on end.

  ‘They can sense it,’ said Celestia, dismounting. ‘The bloodoak. Its glade must be just below us.’

  Cade’s jaw dropped. Bloodoak. He remembered Gart Ironside speaking of the razor-toothed, flesh-eating tree in hushed tones that night on the sky platform – and of the parasitic tarry-vine that took root in its branches, slithering through the forest in search of prey to fasten onto, then drag back to feed to its host.

  ‘So why are we stopping?’ said Cade, with an uneasy feeling.

  ‘Because this is where shriekroot grows,’ Celestia said. ‘It is one of the strange but beautiful things about the Deepwoods that, even in a place of horror and death, you also find a plant of such powerful healing.’ She frowned thoughtfully. ‘If I’d had shriekroot back then, my mother would almost certainly still be alive . . .’

  She paused for a moment, busying herself checking her backpack and equipment. Cade climbed slowly down from Burrlix’s saddle.

  ‘Celestia?’ he said gently, and touched her arm.

  She looked up at him. Her eyes were filled with pain. ‘She was exploring the Farrow Ridges with my father,’ she told him quietly. ‘Climbing a cliff face – when a great slab of rock came away in her arms. She fell and landed badly. Very badly. Shattered the bone in her right leg. Father rescued her and carried her home, but . . .’ Celestia shook her head. ‘Infection set in. She developed a terrible raging fever and there was nothing I could do to cool it.’

  Cade watched as Celestia tried her best to pull herself together. She swallowed. She took a deep breath.

  ‘When nothing in her medicine chamber worked,’ she went on at last, ‘I scoured her scrolls and journals – which is where I discovered her notes on shriekroot, and how to find it. So I left my father tending to her and set off into the Western Woods.’

  Celestia’s voice had become so low that Cade had to strain to hear.r />
  ‘But I was so young. I didn’t know what I was doing . . .’ She sighed. ‘It took me for ever. And when I got back, she . . . my mother . . . she was dead.’ She smiled weakly, blinking away a tear. ‘But I’m older and wiser now,’ she said. ‘And I know what I’m doing. Come, and I’ll show you.’

  She adjusted the straps of her backpack and checked her phraxpistols. Then she turned and began to climb down the tree. Cade patted Rumblix, and the other two prowlgrins, who were visibly trembling, their whiplash tails down flat against their rumps, then he reluctantly followed Celestia.

  In the gloom at the foot of the lufwood tree, he found her waiting for him. As he stepped down onto the ground, Celestia put a finger to her lips, then beckoned, and the two of them crossed the forest floor. It was soft and bouncy, like a mattress, thick with leaf-fall and needle-drop. She gestured towards the ground, then got down on her knees. Cade did the same, peering into the gloomy clearing that had opened up just ahead of them.

  Cade became aware that the forest here was utterly silent and the air was still, and chill, and laced with a sour-sweet, almost metallic odour – an odour that seemed to grow more pungent with every second that passed.

  At the centre of the clearing was a solitary tree, broad-trunked and with four splayed branches at the top, which divided and sub-divided into a dark-leafed crown that cast the clearing beneath it into gloom. The tree’s pale bark was a mass of bumps and nodules that, in the poor light, gleamed with a red, sticky wetness, and made it look like nothing so much as diseased skin covered with blisters and weeping sores.

  Cade shivered as he stared at the bloodoak. It looked, and smelled, even more horrific than he had imagined it to be from Gart Ironside’s description. Cade scanned the branches of the bloodoak for the tarry-vine that he knew must be rooted there – but couldn’t make out anything in the shadows. In contrast, at the base of the tree, he could clearly see a white mound of jutting ribcages, angular hip bones and skulls with empty, staring eye sockets.