by D. P. Prior
Ilesa’s eyes flashed like a cat’s in the dark. “We didn’t fight, if you remember.”
“No,” Nils guffawed. “You shat yourself and legged it before he could get hold of you.”
That shut her up. She just looked down at her dagger and twisted it in the earth. A heavy silence ensued, the only sounds the crackling of the flames, the spitting of fat, and the drum, drum, drum of Silas’s fingers on his bag. Finally, Silas sighed and took out the tome. He wetted his lips, took a deep breath, and began to leaf through its thick pages.
Nils looked at Ilesa out of the corner of his eye, but she had her head turned away, chin tilted to the sky, looking for all the world like she was lost in thought. Ain’t no fury like a woman slighted, Dad used to say. Nils reckoned he would’ve been right about this one. The thought of her sticking him while he slept gave him the jitters.
“What’s that then?” He shuffled closer to Silas and peered at the open page.
Silas narrowed his eyes and held the book out to Nils. “See for yourself.”
Nils recognised some of the letters but couldn’t make no words out of ’em. There were strange squiggles, too, and odd pictures made up of lines and numbers.
“Can’t read,” Nils said in a low voice, trusting Ilesa wouldn’t hear.
“Not at all?”
“No need for it, Dad said. Couldn’t see no use of it for a guildsman.”
“No use? But I thought you said your father was—”
“Boss of the Night Hawks. Yeah, he is. That stunted little freak Shadrak made him up just before he cleared off.”
“Shadrak the Unseen?”
“That’s him. You know him?”
“Heard of him.” Silas closed the book and let it rest on his lap while he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What’s he like, this dad of yours.”
“Top man in the guild. Reckon everyone knows him, and everyone respects him.”
Silas fixed Nils with an unnerving stare. His pupils had swollen to black pits that made Nils want to look away in case he saw something he didn’t want to see. Suddenly, Silas was racked with coughing. He put his fist to his mouth and when he stilled, there were dark flecks on the back of his hand.
“A man…” Silas coughed again, this time to clear his throat. “Man who doesn’t see the use of reading and writing.” He shook his head. “What kind of man is that?”
Nils felt his hackles rising. He was about to give Silas a piece of his mind but the wizard raised a hand and went on.
“Didn’t you ever want to learn? I mean, haven’t you ever seen a book or a letter and wondered what it says?”
Nils racked his brains. None of the kids in the neighbourhood could read, and books weren’t things you came across that much. Except at the school, that is, but he’d only been there a few short weeks, and Magistra Archyr hadn’t exactly been the most patient teacher.
“Reckon it’s enough to write my own name. Beyond that, don’t see much need for it. People that read too much go soft in the head, my dad says. It’s all just someone else’s ideas. Reckon I got enough of my own.”
Silas fished about in his pocket and produced a slim black tube flecked with green.
“That scarolite?” Nils bent forward to take a closer look.
“From the mines outside Arx Gravis,” Silas said. “Had it made by a mage called Magwitch the Meddler according to some instructions I found in the Academy’s scriptorium. You’ve seen a quill, right? Well, this does the same thing, only you don’t need to keep dipping it in ink. It’s called a pen.”
“Must’ve cost an arm and a leg,” Nils said. “What with it being scarolite and all.”
“It’s yours.” Silas tossed it to him. “If you can write your name for me.”
Silas reached inside his long coat and drew out a leather-bound notepad, like the sort Crapstan ‘the money’ used as a ledger for keeping track of the guild’s merchandise.
“Here, write it on the flyleaf.”
Nils took the little book and opened it with shaky fingers. “Well, I don’t know about—”
He watched as Ilesa rose from her spot by the tree and prodded Nameless with her boot. The dwarf groaned but remained perfectly still. She sat beside him and pressed her fingers to his neck, tilting her head to one side as if listening.
“Go on,” Silas said. “It’s all right if you’ve forgotten.”
“Look, mate,” Nils said. “I know what your game is, but I don’t need no help with writing. I told you—”
“Write it,” Silas said with an edge of command in his voice.
Nils swallowed and pressed the pen to the paper. He glanced up at Silas and then made his mark as swiftly and confidently as he could. Silas turned the book round so he could see.
“That what you want me to call you from now on?”
Nils felt his cheeks flush again. “What’s wrong with it?”
Silas gave a good natured chuckle and turned the book back for Nils to read. “It says Mils Fuckwit.”
Nils shut the book. “No it don’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because…” Nils started and then saw where this was going. “I spelled it how Magistra Archyr showed me, all right. If you don’t like it, take it up with her.”
Silas reached over and put his hand on Nils’s arm. “You’re right, Nils. It didn’t say ‘Fuckwit’. I was just trying to make a point. It could have said that and you’d never have known.”
“I—”
“Would you?”
Nils dropped his chin to his chest. “No.”
Silas’s gaze wandered towards Ilesa and Nameless. Nils craned his neck to see. Ilesa had her hand inside Nameless’ chainmail and appeared to be rubbing his chest.
“You did spell it ‘Mils’, though. My point is, if you’re going to get on in the underworld, you need to be able to read and write, otherwise how are you going to know when you’re being duped?”
Nils nodded, all the while watching what Ilesa was doing. “Too late to learn now,” he said as she undid Nameless’ belt.
“It’s never too late,” Silas said. “Let me teach you. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s illiteracy in a grown man.”
Grown man? That’s something Nils hadn’t been called before. The sound of it made his chest swell. “Well, if you don’t take the piss—Hey, what you doing? Get your hand out of his trousers.”
Ilesa gave him a sultry smile. “I’m trying to rouse him. In case you two scholars haven’t noticed, he’s not moved an inch since we brought him here.”
Silas stood and went to frown down at Nameless. “Touching to see you’re so caring all of a sudden.”
“Like you can talk,’ she said. “Back there, you were just as ready to leave him behind as I was.”
“So. Can’t save everyone, you know. You could at least show some gratitude for me saving you from having your guts ripped out like a string of sausages.”
Ilesa turned her cattish eyes on him. “Yes, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. How come a half-rate sorcerer who whines about magicking up a bit of food can cast a spell strong enough to blow a hole through all those zombies?”
“Book,” Nameless mumbled as if in his sleep.
Nils got up and went to him, turning the dwarf’s face from side to side and peering into his eyes. Nameless blinked, and his lips parted, all dried and cracked.
“Water,” Nils said. “He needs water.”
Nameless muttered something and Nils bent closer so that he could hear.
“What was that?”
“Shog…water.”
Silas clapped his hands and a huge tankard with a great head of froth appeared in them. “I think I know what he wants.”
He went down on one knee, held Nameless’ head up and put the tankard to his lips. The dwarf’s tongue dipped into the froth.
“Mmmnnng,” he grunted, and then took a sip. The sip became a glug, and then he pulled the tankard away from Silas and poured the co
ntents all over his face, lapping up as much as he could.
“More!” he growled, and Silas produced another tankard out of thin air. Nameless sat up and downed the whole lot in one go. He let out a burp and then raised one bushy eyebrow at Ilesa.
“It’s OK, lassie. You can let go of my dwarfhood now.”
“What?”
Nameless nodded to his groin.
“Oh, I was just—”
“Aye, lassie, I know, but you’ll have to wait your turn.” A shadow seemed to cross his face then, and he looked deeply into the empty tankard. “How’s the magic holding up, laddie?”
“Need to take it easy,” Silas said. “I’ve used a lot of power already today.”
“I know,” the dwarf said. “Maybe more than you should have.” Nameless gave Silas a lingering look.
“I don’t—” Silas began.
“I’ve seen dark things,” Nameless said. “Darker than you can imagine. Just make sure you aren’t getting into something you can’t handle.”
Silas’s cheek twitched and he looked like he was going to say something, but then turned away towards the milky surface of Raphoe. When he turned back, there was something close to frenzy in his eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone as quickly as it had come.
Nils didn’t like the atmosphere one bit. “Silas is gonna teach me to read,” he said, offering his hand to Nameless. The dwarf gripped his forearm so hard Nils thought he might break a bone, and then clambered to his feet.
“Mixed blessing, if you ask me,” Nameless said. “Course, it depends on what you plan to read.” He shot a look at Silas before turning his gaze on Ilesa. It was a hard look he gave her, one that had her taking a step back. “Lassie, lassie,” he said. “We’re all friends here.”
Ilesa forced a weak smile. Nils wondered how much of their earlier conversation the dwarf had heard. Just because he’d been lying there so still didn’t mean—
Nameless clapped him on the back so hard Nils nearly coughed his guts up. “Proud of you, laddie. Mighty proud. Always said there was honour amongst thieves. Now tell me,” he gave Ilesa a beaming smile and then turned it on Silas, “what’s all the fuss about this place? Nightmares, my axe! I think I’m beginning to like it here.”
Both the dwarf’s hands went to his cheeks, and his eyes opened wide. “Where is my axe?”
“You dropped—” Nils started to say.
“I dropped it,” Nameless said. “Anyone fancy a ramble back to see if we can find it?”
Deathly silence.
“No? Oh, well, best press on then, assuming you’re ready to go?”
“Shouldn’t we wait until daybreak?” Silas asked sheepishly.
“Already here,” Nameless said, pointing at the twin suns on the horizon, where the three moons were sinking so quickly it seemed their strings had suddenly been cut.
“What the—?”
“The Cynocephalus dreams darkly, don’t they say?” Nameless set off towards the red and purple ribbons streaming across the brightening sky. “But maybe he’s not so troubled after all. If I’m not very much mistaken, Qlippoth is going to do me the world of good. World of good, I tell you. Oh, and laddie,” Nameless beckoned Nils over. “Ignore what I just said. Take this chance to learn your letters. Never did me any harm. Here, take this.” He unshouldered his pack and dug around inside, pulling out a black leather book. “Friend gave it to me. Said I should read it, but it’s beyond me. Maybe you’ll have more luck. And between you and me,” he leaned in close to whisper, “it won’t do your teacher any harm to have a change of subject matter.”
“What’s it about?” Nils asked, trying to work out the word on the cover.
“Gods and the like.” Nameless gave a bit of a shrug. “Love and peace, and a surprising amount of smiting.”
“Oh.” Nils turned up his nose.
“Don’t rubbish what you’ve not tried,” Nameless said.
***
The suns came up like a pair of malevolent eyes, retaining their crimson hue even when at their zenith. Grey clouds processed in front of them, misshapen islands floating in the cobalt sky. The paralysis had left Nameless’ limbs and retreated to the edges of his mind, where it still lurked like the darkness at the edge of a campfire. He refused to give it quarter, though. His black moods were an enemy he couldn’t face head on, but he’d found they didn’t take too well to being ignored. He may not have been in the best of spirits, but experience had taught him that manufactured jollity had a way of duping him into the real thing. He forced a grin as broad as a barn and set a brisk pace, all the while humming a jaunty ditty he’d picked up from the poet Quintus Quincy back in New Jerusalem. Back before Nameless and Shadrak had fled the city after the albino had got on the wrong side of the Senate. Back when there were still dwarves in Arx Gravis.
The thick green foliage they’d been traipsing through suddenly passed like smoke on the breeze and left them without warning atop a precipitous cliff above a roiling sea. White horses frothed towards a rocky beach hundreds of feet below, and here and there violent eddies a swirls sprang up with the randomness of pure chaos.
Nils let out a gasp and pointed to where huge cloak-like rays were skimming beneath the waves, and Nameless followed his finger to where half a dozen black dorsal fins basked close to the shore. Silas was wheezing from exertion and coughing into a pink-stained handkerchief, whereas Ilesa stood apart from the group, sullen in her dusky beauty. Her satin hair was whipped up by a surging gust of wind and she looked to Nameless as full of elemental ire as one of the wailing spirits the dwarves had told spooky stories about in the depths of the ravine city.
He’d heard everything they’d said back at the camp. His body might have been frozen by the dark sorcery of his mood, but there’d been nothing wrong with his hearing. Still, he told himself, lest he wandered down that precarious path, she owed him no loyalty. She was what she was, same as Silas. It didn’t pay to expect too much of folk, and besides, he wasn’t exactly one to be relied upon himself. Not according to his brother dwarves, in any case. Not according to his old friends, Shader and Shadrak.
“So what’s the plan?” Silas said between coughs. “Because I’d sooner we found another route. This sea air is killing me.”
“Maybe you should consult that book of yours,” Nameless said. “See if you can divine our passage.”
“It’s not that kind of book.”
“No, I figured that. So, unless anyone has a better idea, I say we fill our lungs with salty air and see what’s on the other side of these cliffs.” Nameless turned and took a few jogging steps, making sure to lift his knees high and pump his arms. He abruptly stopped and made a show of looking past Nils and Silas to Ilesa. “Unless, of course, you have anything to add, lassie.”
Ilesa pulled her hair back from her face and tied it with black ribbon. “Like I said, there are no maps. All we have to go on is hearsay.”
“But you’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
She nodded, chewing her bottom lip. “Came here once or twice with Brau. Got as far as the village we left behind. There were people there then. Ordinary folk we used to do business with. Course, we had to pay a fee to Shent, but it was good trade nonetheless.”
Nils stepped back from the edge, eyes full of wonder from the creatures he’d been spying on in the waters below. “What do you suppose happened to them?”
“Brau said he’d been beyond the village on a couple of occasions. Said there was some kind of plague that turned people into zombies. Last I heard the villagers were planning to uproot and move elsewhere. Guess they left it too late.”
“Good of you to tell us,” Silas said, wiping his mouth and thrusting the handkerchief in his coat pocket.
“Didn’t think it was going to be a problem.”
Nameless caught her eye, tried to read her, but found her as inscrutable as Silas’s grimoire. “Anything else we should know, lassie, before we get ourselves neck deep in any more of the Demiurgos’s
dung?”
“Actually, it’s the Cynocephalus, his bastard son,” Silas said.
“Doesn’t matter which shogger’s doing the dreaming. I just want to be forewarned.”
Ilesa held out her palms. “Village was as far as I got before. This is as new to me as it is to you. That’s all I know. Really.”
“Good enough for me,” Nameless said, turning his face to the chill wind gusting down the trail and wishing he’d not shaved his beard.
“But you didn’t hear what she said back there,” Nils said. “Back at the village.”
“Did,” Nameless said.
“You could hear?” Silas said, struggling alongside him. “Even back at the camp?”
“Uh huh.”
Silas put a hand on his shoulder. “Nameless, wait up. I think I ought to clarify—”
“No harm done, laddie.” Nameless gave him a pat on the hand. “All just doing the best we can.”
Nameless continued along the cliff-top path. He’d taken no more than a dozen steps when he felt a wave of vertigo. He swooned, and found himself mere inches from the edge, whereas a moment ago he could have sworn it was feet.
“What the Abyss just happened?” Silas called out, making his tentative way towards Nameless in a diagonal path that took him away from the precipice. Nils and Ilesa had felt it too, by the looks of it, and were stepping warily in Silas’s footsteps.
“Rock fall?” Nameless wondered out loud. Nonsense, of course, for he’d heard nothing, seen nothing.
“This don’t feel right,” Nils said, eyeing the cliff edge with suspicion. “It’s got the feel of magic about it.”
“Or dreams,” Ilesa said. “That’s what this place is, isn’t it? The land of nightmares? This sort of thing happens in dreams all the time.”
Nameless gave her a worried frown. “Not mine. If the Cynocephalus had half my imagination we’d be on our fifth round by now. What about your dreams, laddie?” He shot a look at Nils. “No, on second thoughts, best not answer that.”
Nils reddened and Nameless reached over to slap him on the shoulder. “Just joshing, laddie. Keeping the spirits up. Come on, if we back away from the edge …” The words died in his throat. Behind them, where there should have been endless greensward rolling away from the ocean, there was now rough sea. The cliff was no more than a narrow strip of rock hundreds of feet above the raging waters.