by Taylor Leigh
There was rumbling among the Druids. No-one moved. The Blaiden man turned to look at them, incredulous. ‘Move!’ he shouted.
A woman shook her head. ‘We do not take orders from you.’
The Blaiden man hefted his spear, the size of an unfortunate small tree. ‘Oh?’ he said in mock-surprise.
Flynn pushed away from Tollin and stood. He waded through the ferns to the group, shoulders back. ‘They take orders from me!’
The Blaiden stared. ‘You? You’re supposed to be dead,’ his voice trailed off.
‘Oh, am I?’ Flynn snarled. ‘Was that your plan? Drug me up and send me on a suicide mission to get revenge against the Tartans?’
The Blaiden man spat black slime from his mouth. ‘You would have gone even if we hadn’t pushed you. Your mind was broken before we got there. We simply gave you the courage you lacked.’
Flynn laughed darkly. ‘Oh no, you did not give me courage. You destroyed my caution.’
Tollin came to stand next to Flynn. There erupted a new muttering from the Druids. He knew that his presence might cause a stir, but Flynn seemed so small standing alone that Tollin had to do something. Now that he was standing before the Blaiden, he realised just how intimidating the man was. Tollin was tall to most people who met him, but this man dwarfed him completely. His teeth clacked together noisily in the stillness as that fact crashed in his brain.
‘You brought a Tartan with you?’ the Blaiden man gaped.
‘What? Me? A Tartan?’ Tollin asked, acutely aware of how loud of voice sounded in the tense quiet. He let out a hooting laugh in disbelief. It was a little insulting! ‘No, not at all! I’m not even from this world, honestly!’ He looked round at the staring faces, smiling widely. No-one appeared to be amused. He cleared his throat, dropping the attitude. ‘But I am with Flynn. I stand in solidarity with him. My name is Tollin, I’m known as the Traveller and the stories about me span many years across many Realms. Enemies of me hear my name and accept defeat. I stand up for good and can’t abide it when evil triumphs, those who get on my bad side know they’re in trouble. And Blaiden, I’ve watched you these months, I’ve seen the way you operate, and I can say that you are on my bad side.’
The man stared at him. He let out a tight, unconvincing laugh. ‘Am I supposed to be impressed by that?’
‘Oh yes,’ Tollin growled in a low voice. ‘And if you’re not,’ he shrugged easily. ‘Doesn’t matter. You’ll see soon enough what happens to those who are against me.’
The man crossed his arms, still holding his spear. ‘And how are you going to manage that?’
Tollin smiled grimly. ‘Oh, I already have. You should have guarded your spores more closely. It’s over. They’re gone.’ Tollin sincerely hoped Victoria was doing all right. If she failed getting the pods, then this whole plan would come crashing round his ears. ‘There’s no bargaining, I’m afraid. It’s all cold turkey from here on out. No more highs; you’re going to have to manage on your own.’
The Blaiden man howled, eyes wild. ‘Lies!’
He raised his spear, ready to heft it through Tollin’s thin body. He never got the chance. Flynn moved fast, faster than Tollin would ever have figured, considering the weakened condition he was in. He grabbed the knife Tollin always kept on his belt and hurled it at the man. The triangle blade flipped through the air and buried itself deeply in the man’s neck.
The Blaiden dropped his spear with a choking gag and fell to his knees, clawing at his throat with his long, grubby fingers. His yellow eyes bulged as an impressive glut of blood bubbled from his mouth. He tipped forward, eyes rolling up into his head, and fell nose-first into the mud, unmoving.
Tollin stared at the body and blinked several times. ‘Uh,’ he swallowed. ‘Well, that’s not exactly the way I planned things going.’
Flynn stepped over the body and into the centre of the Druid’s tight circle. ‘I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans,’ he raised his voice. ‘Our relationship with the Blaiden is over! From this point forward we will no longer be on friendly terms with them. This man, Tollin, has assured us that he will negotiate on our behalf before the Tartans. I believe him. If he turns on us, then things will simply go back to the way things were. For now, as odd as it may sound, we must work with the Tartans to push the Blaiden away for good.’
‘You are talking nonsense!’ one of the Druids shouted. ‘How can you trust this man?’
Flynn turned to look at Tollin. Tollin’s steady brown eyes locked with his. ‘Because,’ Flynn said. ‘Story trusted this man, and I have learnt to trust her instincts. Had I listened to her before today, things would have ended differently.’
The other Druids shifted uneasily. ‘Defeating the Blaiden will not be easy,’ a woman said.
‘No,’ Tollin agreed, shaking his head. ‘No, it won’t. But no enemy is undefeatable, and we have surprise on our side.’
‘The Tartans might attack us.’
Gingerly rolling the dead Blaiden man over, Tollin extracted his knife, wincing in loathing. ‘There are honourable men among the Tartans,’ he said. ‘Honourable men who will fight with you, not against you.’ He walked forward and studied the faces around him. ‘Today is a day for leaps of faith and bravery and doing things you never thought you would ever do. People, my friends, are all learning that for themselves, and they are working to save you. This world is too precious to be left to rot by spores and war. You all can stop it now! The sickness can be stopped and it will start with you!’
An older Druid smiled thinly. ‘You speak strangely, Traveller. But to me, your words mean truth. I remember stories about you from my childhood and I never thought I would see the day our paths would actually cross. If you mean to help us, and Flynn trusts you, I will follow you.’
A few others nodded. Then, slowly, the entire group agreed.
Tollin smiled and turned to Flynn. Things had gone much smoother than he’d imagined. ‘Right then!’ He clapped his hand on Flynn’s shoulder. ‘Time to show the Blaiden what you’re made of!’
Flynn jumped up on a rotten stump and looked down at the group. ‘We’re going to the village!’ he shouted. ‘And the Blaiden won’t know what hit them!’
Tollin watched the group round him as he ran his hands through his wild hair. Flynn dropped down and broke into a run, accepting a bow and quiver of arrows from a Druid on his left. Tollin blew his cheeks out in apprehension. ‘Right, now this is where things get messy.’
Chapter Forty- Seven
The light had miraculously led them up out of the darkness to the top layer and the palace. Arkron and Marus had continued to insist that they couldn’t see the light, but Reginald didn’t care. Whatever it was and wherever it had come from, it had saved their lives. Now it was gone, vanishing as abruptly as it had arrived. He was sad to see it go, missing its comforting glow and guidance, but they were where they needed to be. They were at the palace. The light had done what, he supposed, it had been sent to do.
The palace was a horrible sight to behold. The whole structure trembled almost imperceptibly, vibrating with an angry energy. Overhead, a small pinhole was punched through the dark clouds, letting in the evil eyes of the stars, glowering down on the palace. From the palace to the sky was a beautiful, rippling ribbon of flickering, pulsing energy. Reginald didn’t know if it was his imagination or not, but he could have sworn he could see images in the waterfall, another world, completely alien, enchanting.
Marus gave him a friendly shove. ‘Well, kid, I don’t know what you did, but I’m amazed. You got us out. Though my shins will never be the same.’
‘What is that?’ Reginald gasped, staring at the waterfall of colour.
Arkron groaned. ‘It’s like the palace is downloading the Realm into itself. This place no longer applies to the normal rules of Realms. Once we step onto these grounds, things are going to change.’ She swallowed nosily. ‘It’s a place where anything can happen. We’ll no longer be in Scrabia. We’ll be nowhere.’
Arkron nodded grimly.
‘How is that even possible?’ Reginald stammered.
No-one provided him an answer.
The long, flat expanse between the palace and where they stood now, at the edge of the darkness, looked much too long and daunting. The air throbbed before them in an invisible barrier, pushing back the blackness into a vertical, flat wall.
Reginald wasn’t sure what held them all back. Nothing stirred on the other side of the barrier, no life flickered. It was completely dead.
‘What happens when we cross over?’ Reginald asked quietly.
Arkron exchanged a look with them. ‘Anything.’ She took a deep breath and pulled out a smaller cylinder, similar to Marus’s, which was now smoking profusely, clearly near the end of its life. ‘We’re going to face Daemons in there. You won’t be able to kill them, but they’re still weak but they’ll probably be able to be in solid form; you will be able to wound any forms they take, at least momentarily. Try to keep your emotions in check. They feed off of them. And be aware that they will try to possess you. That’s what they do. Live inside of human bodies and feed off of their emotions.’
Reginald held his sword tighter, till it hurt his hands. Before him was the unknown, but he’d come this far. He’d recruited an army, he’d survived the battle thus far, he’d even navigated the darkness. He couldn’t turn back now. The light wouldn’t have led him here if it didn’t want him to go on.
‘Well,’ his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. ‘Well then, why are we still standing round waffling here? We’re running out of time.’
Reginald squared his shoulders and, with jaw clenched, stepped through the veil. It clung to him like a thick web, pulling against his face and chest, but it allowed him to pass inside. The difference was immediate. While the blackness, now behind him, had been choking, pressing, hot, this vastness was the exact opposite. It felt too free, deceptively vast and cool. It felt dead. A void full of impossibilities. And something else behind it all, something powerful, hungry and watching. That was the same. The same uneasy feeling of something creeping about in the darkness down below.
Reginald wasn’t sure if he could move. He had never felt so exposed in his life.
Behind him, Arkron and Marus pushed past the barrier, Marus swearing eloquently.
‘Goodness! It’s like passing into some giant cell, isn’t it!’ Arkron brushed her hair out of her face.
A lone howl echoed, whooping from somewhere above. Still, no sign of life.
Marus jogged across the expanse, Arkron and Reginald in tow.
Out of the corner of his eye, Reginald noticed something like smoke stirring across the ground. It spun up into the weak shape of a horned figure, before being dismantled again by the non-existent wind.
‘We might actually pull this off!’ Marus gasped, wiping sweat from his brow.
Arkron flashed a nervous smile. She clearly didn’t feel the same.
They made a beeline for the palace doors, which were ajar, gaping like a black, crooked mouth, twisted at an unnatural angle now. They were perhaps twenty metres away when a horrible, ear-rending bark echoed round them. Marus pulled to a sudden halt, causing Reginald and Arkron to crash into him.
Before them, something lumpy, spiny and huge was pulling itself out of the cobblestone ground. It did not break the earth, it simply slid out of it, struggling. They watched, open-mouthed, as a horrible, giant dog, with rubbery, spiked skin and glowing, fiery eyes, hauled itself upwards. It broke free from the street, snorted fire and broke into a teeth-rattling growl.
Reginald backed up with the others, horrified as the dog put one huge, slick paw forward. Its stinking skin was beginning to waft off vapours. Green liquid dripped from its jowls.
‘What the hell?’
‘Exactly,’ Arkron muttered grimly. ‘Hell hound.’
The great hound barked, dashing towards them, body bursting into flames. Its mouth expanded, revealing yet another set of jaws inside the first. Reginald could do nothing but stare.
‘Run!’ Marus roared, grabbing him by his shirt collar.
Reginald spun round, dodging round the monster, headed towards the only safety, which really was no safety at all, the palace. He staggered over the uneven road, the echoing barks of the beast ripping through his head. Arkron pulled up her small silver weapon. She fired it at the beast’s head and black liquid exploded out the back. The beast did not break stride. More horrible, the blood from the wound was hardening, turning into small, scrabbling things, which dashed over the cobblestones in frightening speed.
Marus was the first to reach the door. He lurched forward and grabbed Arkron just as the clicking little crabs swarmed her. He practically threw her through the doors. Reginald grabbed his extended hand as Marus leant back out. The hound hit the bottom of the steps just as Marus shot it full-on in the chest. The beast sank dizzily, a hole gaping clearly through its heaving chest. Still, it staggered forwards.
Reginald cast one last look over his shoulder at the strange beast he would never—hopefully—see again before Marus slammed the doors shut. The beast hit the wood with a horrible splintering noise. Reginald backed away from it in growing horror and then turned and charged after the two into the darkened, haunted halls.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Elberon’s heavy pace slowed as Victoria tried to decide which path she should take that was the least soggy. She guided the horse by his lead now; he needed a rest after their arduous climb. The seeping, uneven ground had become treacherous for the big animal. They had reached the fen, a dead quiet and stinking place.
The horse flicked his ears back and snorted nervously. Victoria shuffled slightly and looked round. The twisting, shrubby landscape bewildered her. She thought she heard the sound of trickling water and guided her horse in the direction of the noise. Water was, at the moment, her prime objective. The landscape was still rather rocky, though on the plus side, the ground had flattened out almost completely now. Spongy moss, flat leafed palmettos, pine trees and boggy pits dotted the area, all crusted in ice. Despite the snow, the ground steamed, as if heated below the surface by some subterranean boiler. Great boulders were scattered about, some so giant they could easily squash most of the houses in the village. Victoria wondered if they had been pulled from Scrabia.
A bitterly cold wind picked up, cutting through her. Victoria trembled onwards, nerves ready to spring. The great pines swayed above her, unhappy with her trespassing. Victoria could feel everything about the place was displeased with her presence. It was too watchful, the air thickly charged with a tense, hateful, emotion. Each breath Victoria took in felt wrong, filled with an actual sickness. Airborne spores.
Every direction seemed exactly the same to her untrained eyes. She had assumed that if the spores were as sacred to the Blaiden as she’d been led to believe, finding them would be fairly straightforward. Unfortunately, that did not seem to be the case. All she could see were the identical trees shrouded in the same dreary mist, which covered the ground in a chilly blanket.
‘How am I supposed to know which way to go?’ she whispered to the horse, who offered her no reply.
She felt dismay pull at her heart as fog drifted round her, dampening her clothes. She had come so far and now she was hopelessly lost. Her friends were back taking their final stand against the Blaiden and she was useless here. A raven cawed overhead, making her spin round. And then she saw it.
Plastered to one of the black pine trunks was a muddy handprint. And it was glowing. Glowing with a warm, golden light. Victoria didn’t know how to explain it, but she knew that it was the same light that had guided her to Flynn the night before. The handprint pulsed with cheerful, welcoming life. Victoria took a cautious step forwards towards the tree. The light shown brighter as she and Elberon advanced, seeming to come alive at her proximity. Victoria’s dark skin shone with the golden light. She reached
out her fingers, very slowly, towards the tree and watched as the light lifted from the print, twisting off lazily through the trees, like a disturbed butterfly. Victoria stared back at the now pale handprint. The sign of the print was obvious: Come no further. But to Victoria, it said just the opposite. She was on the right track. She let out a relieved laugh. Tollin’s light was still with her. Somehow she didn’t feel so helpless and alone now.
Victoria pulled Elberon forward and peered beyond the tree, where the light was snaking off, illuminating the fog. The ground sloped downwards and Victoria thought she could see the faint impression in the earth of a path many feet had walked over the generations. She squared her shoulders, cast a look round her, then took her first step beyond the ghostly handprint.
The wet ground beneath her feet was covered in spongy moss and black peat, making even the heavy tread of Elberon soft, which Victoria was grateful for. The uncomfortable feeling of being watched persisted to pluck at her nerves and Victoria wanted her presence to go as unnoticed as possible. She was dismayed to find that the light was fading away with each step she took down the path. It appeared to have fulfilled its purpose and was leaving her on her own now.
A quiet clinking drifted to her from ahead. As the sharp, snowy wind picked up, the noise persisted, in a gentle clink, clink, clack! She didn’t want to discover the sound, but she didn’t dare deviate from the path she was on. It could turn out to be the only path to the Blaiden’s sacred ground.
They rounded a large pine and Victoria, with dismay, saw what was making the clinking noise. Before her was a stunted shrubby tree, with spindly branches jabbed out in every direction. It was growing in the middle of the faint path on one of the few spots above the soggy mire. Tied to every branch were hundreds of strung up bones. Skulls of every conceivable animal were hung on each branch. Vertebra, leg bones, ribs, claws and teeth were all swaying slightly in the wind, bumping into one another, making the slight noise. Snake skins were stabbed onto some branches as well and they fluttered like tattered banners in the gentle wind.