The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  The sigils flared a dull red under her hands and the standing stones around her seemed to shimmer for the briefest moment. Then the light of the glyphs sputtered and died.

  “What happened?” Joran demanded. “It just stopped.”

  “I don’t think it has enough power,” Ylsriss said, guessing. “If this is the thing we were looking for, it has power channels running to it from all over the city.”

  “So what do we need to do?” Joran asked.

  She looked down at the glyph-inscribed stone, then back to his eager face. “This is probably a bad idea, you know?” she said, although she wasn’t sure if she was speaking to Joran or to herself.

  ***

  It was two full days before she let him talk her into trying again. She’d barely seen him. He was usually gone for most of the day anyway, but he had always come in to see her before these last couple of days. There had been days lately when he hadn’t visited once. She was curious about it, in a vague, distracted way, but also glad for the uninterrupted study time.

  They left the library before the sun had even gone down. She’d marked out a route through the streets that would pass as many of the capture plates as possible. Now, as she examined the book and reread the passages, even though she knew them by heart, she wished she could learn more.

  She wandered over to the other shelves and ran her hand along the wood. They were mostly bare now. She’d worked her way through the books, lifting them as carefully as she could, but only one in ten had held together long enough for her to open it. She had collected the pages that had survived together, but she could only understand a tiny fraction of what was written on them.

  She glanced over at Joran who was practising drawing glyphs in the dust. “Are you sure you know the sequence now?” she asked, for what felt like the tenth time.

  “I’m sure, Ylsriss. Do you want me to show you again?” Joran sighed and walked to the door. He was the very picture of impatience as he waited, his hand on the door frame and a sack tossed over one shoulder.

  “Fine, if you’re sure,” she said. “It’s just that if they aren’t all open, we probably won’t have enough power.”

  “I know, I know,” he said, boredom clear in his voice. “And if I do it wrong, they might explode or lock open. You’ve explained all this, Ylsriss.”

  “Okay,” she laughed, as she let him lead her through the hallways. “I’m turning into an old nag, aren’t I?”

  “You’re not a nag,” he said, with a grin.

  She caught the implication and scowled. “Just old?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he replied, failing miserably in his attempt to look innocent.

  “You just didn’t use the word, that’s all.” She wagged a finger at him. “You'll pay for that one.”

  They worked on the first three capture plates together. Ylsriss watched carefully as he traced the glyphs that would start the mechanism and send the heavy stone cover plate grinding loudly over the cobbles as it shifted to one side.

  After that, they split up, working as quickly as they dared. Joran had discovered more than thirty capture plates throughout the city, but there were probably many more. They split them evenly between them, but still it took time.

  The moon was already rising as Ylsriss finished the sequence on the last capture plate and the silvery metal flared even as the heavy stone shifted into its resting place. The plate dimmed, but continued to glow faintly to show it was active as it absorbed the moonlight.

  “What now?” Joran asked, watching her.

  “Well, if we’ve done it properly, then they should close on their own as soon as the moon goes down.” She frowned down at the plate. “I think we’d better check them anyway. This first time, at least. I’m not sure if I trust it to work. Letting sunlight hit them when they’re full of power like this doesn’t strike me as a good idea.”

  “Why do I know I’m not going to like the explanation to that one?” he groaned.

  “Hmmm?”

  “When you said ‘this first time.’”

  Ylsriss chuckled. “It’s not that much of a chore, Joran. I think we need to do this at least twice before we try the glyphs at the stones again, though.”

  They returned to the mansion hours later, with eyes gritty from lack of sleep. The capture plates had all glowed brightly as they'd covered them under the heavy stones that hid them from the sun. It irked her that she couldn’t find a way to make them close on their own, so they didn't need to be there to trace the sigils. The glyphs were all there. It ought to have worked. There was just something missing in the sequence she’d traced out. She chewed at the problem as they made their way back to the mansion and their camp.

  By the time she woke, the sun had already risen and was close to being gone. Joran was nowhere to be seen but that was nothing unusual. She climbed out from the tangle of blankets she used as a bed, blankets stolen from the camp at Tir Rhu'thin when they’d escaped. The mansion was comfortable but it was still essentially a ruin. She sipped water from her waterskin to wake herself and pulled a handful of nuts from the dwindling supply at the bottom of a sack. For the first time, she shied away from the prospect of spending another day alone in the library.

  The steps were strewn with fresh leaves which she supposed had been blown in by the night winds. There were few trees in this part of the city. Statues were commonplace, as were the myriad of fountains, but the only garden she’d ever seen had been the one Joran had led her to.

  Her footsteps echoed through the empty streets as she made her way along. She wasn’t quite moving aimlessly. She was drifting in the direction of the garden. Joran was probably hunting, either in the areas closest to the forest or amongst the trees themselves. The deer that had once roamed the streets had long since learned not to venture too far into the city.

  She stopped and glanced behind her more than once, as she felt eyes upon her. Most of the time, she could ignore the sensation. It never truly went away, although she felt it less often when she was working in the library. She shook her head and pushed herself onwards.

  She caught sight of him long before he noticed her. He was beside one of the tall stones in the centre of the garden. Ylsriss started to call out but stopped herself. There was something odd about the way he was standing there. He wasn’t resting or looking at the stones. He was waiting for something.

  His guilty start when he noticed her only served to make her more suspicious. He looked around as she approached, his eyes searching the gardens around the stones for something.

  “Lost something?” she asked, as she climbed the grassy bank.

  “No. I… what do you mean?” He stumbled through the sentence, tripping over his guilt.

  “You just seemed to be looking for something or someone. I don’t know.” She shrugged. Why did she suddenly feel like she was in the wrong, as if she was trespassing or unwelcome? Joran stiffened and she followed his gaze. The fae stood at the apex of the arched bridge, watching them calmly with her amber eyes as the wind tossed her pale hair.

  Ylsriss plucked at his clothing. “Joran!” she said, in a hoarse whisper. “Joran, we've got to run.”

  He didn’t move. His face was frozen in an expression of dismay. Ylsriss grabbed his arm and pulled hard. “Come on!” She glanced over one shoulder and saw the fae was walking into the garden towards them.

  “We don’t need to run,” Joran said, each word its own confession.

  His meaning was lost on her and she looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “What? Let’s go!”

  “Joran,” called the fae. “You have company already. Perhaps I should go?” She spoke the language haltingly, with an odd accent that placed emphasis on the wrong syllables, but it was clearly Islik.

  Joran looked stunned.“You speak Islik?”

  “Your languages are not to hard for my kind to puzzle out, sweet manling. Our own is a rich melody, but yours are a simple blow of the flute.” She laughed, as if she had made a clever joke.

/>   Ylsriss looked from the fae to Joran, shaking her head as her face twisted in disbelief. “You know her?” It was barely more than a whisper, but the accusation echoed louder than it would have if she’d screamed it into his face.

  He gripped her upper arms, turning her to face him fully. “I meant to tell you, Ylsriss. I couldn’t think of a way how.” The betrayal she felt was clear on her face as she looked at the approaching fae.

  “Really, she’s no threat to us,” he said.

  “Let me guess. She’s not like the others? She’s different?” The sarcasm was thick in her voice as the initial shock began to fade. “You’re Touched again, Joran!” She stepped back as the fae drew closer.

  “You need not fear me,” the fae said.

  “Thanks,” Ylsriss scoffed, taking another step away from the creature. “Lords above, Joran! What were you thinking! We only just got away from the satyr and now this?”

  “What is this?” Aervern rounded on Joran, laying a possessive hand on his arm. “Why did you not mention this?”

  He shied away from her furious expression “It was weeks ago. I didn’t think it was important anymore.”

  “Foolish manling! Have you learned nothing from your time here?” the fae spat. She spun away from him, her eyes searching the horizon.

  “Aervern, seriously,” Joran began, “it was weeks ago. We lost him at the ravine on the other side of the city. It won’t be able to track us now.”

  Her laugh was a mocking sound, devoid of mirth. “You fool. You believe a manling could hide his passage from a satyr? They live for the hunt. You risk everything!” The willowy creature turned to Ylsriss. “You need not fear me, but fear those that hunt you. Gather what things you have and prepare to leave.” She stabbed a finger at Joran. “This one cannot be trusted with such things.”

  Joran looked stricken as he met the eyes of first Ylsriss and then Aervern, his mouth gaping as he sought words that would not come. The fae gave him a withering look, then turned and ran through the garden towards the empty streets.

  ***

  Ylsriss walked through the streets in an icy silence, ignoring Joran as he followed her. “Prepare to leave,” the fae had said. It wouldn’t take long to gather their things. They didn’t have much. The jagged shard of runeplate, some food. Some moonorbs would be useful. The books! She stopped in her tracks as she realised she’d been preparing to leave them behind.

  “Come on!” she snapped at Joran, who’d stopped beside her, looking at her warily. She threw her arms in the air with a sigh of disgust and began to run.

  The library was only minutes away, but she tore through the streets as if all the satyrs from Tir Rhu’thin were already at her heels. Joran kept pace behind her.

  “Make yourself useful,” she shot at him, as they marched into the library. “Fetch down those moonorbs. We’ll take whatever we can carry.”

  She walked to the far end of the room without bothering to check to see if he was doing as she'd asked. The books were not small. Each one measured about two feet along the spine and was as thick as her spread fingers. Even before she'd lifted one, she realised that the idea was foolish. She’d managed to stagger from the rack to the lectern with them before, but there was no way she could run with one. Which one would she take anyway? The knowledge she’d only just begun to get to grips with was spread throughout them all.

  She picked one up anyway, but quickly dropped it again. It was useless. It was simply too heavy.

  “Shit!” she spat, in frustration. Joran looked on in awkward silence.

  With no other options, they gathered what little they had together and waited. The sun had risen and set again by the time Ylsriss could bring herself to speak to him.

  “Explain,” she said, as they sat on the steps outside the building.

  “It was a couple of weeks ago,” he began. Ylsriss hissed a breath in through her teeth, but he plunged on. “She came to me at the stones in the garden and we… talked.”

  “Talked?” Ylsriss would have been hard-pressed to raise her eyebrow any higher.

  “Yes. She was interested in hearing about our time in Tir Rhu’thin.” Joran spoke quickly, hoping the blush would fade. “She’s not from there, Ylsriss. There’s a whole other sect of the fae that we know nothing about!”

  She sat in silence as he recounted their time together and told her the things the fae had shared with him. He was less than half of the way through his story when Aervern came to find them.

  She stalked across the square and glared at Joran. “Your satyr has returned from Tir Rhu'thin with his brethren,” she growled, holding up a hand for silence as both Ylsriss and Joran started to speak. “The ravine is known to us, although probably not to those so recently returned here. There are numerous places to cross, if you know where to look. They have not yet located your tracks, but I expect them to be within the city before the moon rises.”

  Ylsriss blanched. “What do we do?” she asked Joran.

  “There is little you can do,” Aervern said, answering for him. “If you run, they will inevitably find you. There are too many for you to fight. If it had been just the one, I might have been able to aid you, but even I cannot succeed against so many.”

  “So we just die?” Ylsriss demanded.

  “He will die,” Aervern pointed. “You, I expect they will have other uses for first. But yes, you will die eventually.”

  Joran gasped as the thought struck him. “The stones!”

  “What?” Ylsriss said, in confusion.

  “We can use the stones!” He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her lightly in his excitement.

  “We don’t even know what they do,” she protested.

  “Aervern does.” He gestured at the fae, who stood watching them, unconcerned. “She called them the manling’s folly. It’s a path home, Ylsriss.”

  “Even if that’s true, and even if it still works, we don’t know how to use it,” she replied.

  “But you said you’d found the activation glyphs, didn’t you?”

  “I did, but there are whole sections that I don’t understand,” she admitted.

  “How is it you have knowledge of these glyphs, She?” Aervern demanded.

  “My name, is Ylsriss, fae,” she spat back.

  “Ylsriss then,” Aervern replied, in her thick accent. “How is it you know of glyphs?” The mollifying tone seemed out of place coming from this creature from legend.

  “We were taught how to use runeplates and moonorbs at Tir Rhu’thin,” Ylsriss explained. “Nothing advanced or complicated. But then we found the library here, with books about the art.”

  “A listing of glyphs then?”

  “Yes, but it’s much more than that. The writing talks about the theories, the construction of glyphs. I've barely scratched the surface, but I’ve already learned so much.” Ylsriss smiled briefly, before remembering who she was speaking to.

  “This writing.” Aervern struggled with the unfamiliar word. “It can do this? Impart knowledge with no need for an elder to recount it?”

  Ylsriss nodded.

  Aervern sucked in air through her teeth. “This is an alien thing to me. There is so much we have forgotten about you. Knowledge that has been lost.” She glared at Joran. “Now there is no time to regain it.” Joran’s attempts to look apologetic went unnoticed, as Aervern looked back to Ylsriss. “If you can make use of the manling’s folly, you should do so. My own designs are largely thwarted now.” She shot Joran another black look. He seemed to be working hard to crawl into the stones. “I can slow the satyrs, but I dare not be seen. If they approach in any real numbers, I will not risk myself.”

  “We’ll need to be fast, Ylsriss,” Joran warned. “You know as well as I do how fast those things can be. We’ll need to get as many capture plates open as we can before we try the stones.”

  Ylsriss nodded in silence as her eyes glistened, a terrible realisation coming over her. She buried it down deep. It would be of little help t
o them now.

  ***

  They ran through the empty streets as fast as they dared. The city was quiet at the best of times and any noise seemed to echo on forever. The satyrs might be there already and they knew they couldn’t risk doing anything that would draw the creatures to them any faster.

  Aervern ran beside them, moving in long easy strides, her bare feet making almost no noise whether they struck stones or dried leaves. She led them to an innocuous-looking house, ducked inside and emerged with a bow, as tall as she was and fashioned of polished black horn, and a quiver of arrows.

  “If it comes to it, my little hunter, aim for the eyes. The satyrs cannot really be harmed by your weapons. You might cause them pain, but no more. A shaft into the eye will have more of an impact.” She smiled as she spoke, her own eyes glowing softly in the fading light. Ylsriss shivered in spite of herself.

  They kept close to the sides of the street, darting in and out of the growing shadows. They opened the first capture plate and Aervern gasped, almost in awe, as it slid back over the stones.

  The fae left them after they had opened the third plate, stopping to look back at them once as she loped along the street. She made a strange gesture, touching her hand to her forehead, her lips and her stomach, before running into the growing gloom.

  Joran’s face was unreadable as he watched her vanish. “Come on, let’s go,” Ylsriss said. She led him off towards the next capture plate without looking back.

  She traced each set of glyphs as fast as she was able to before speeding off to the next plate, sometimes leaving before the grinding of the stone cover plate had even really started. They worked separately where they could, but only split up when they wouldn't need to move out of earshot of each other. Ylsriss was hesitant to lose sight of him as it was.

  Time seemed to be slipping away from them. It was already growing darker and several times she fancied she’d heard distant noises in the city. Joran knelt to trace the glyphs, his face turning ruddy in the dim red light of the sigils as he moved his fingers through the sequence. Ylsriss stood behind him, chafing at his slow pace. She’d already finished the plate she had been working on. She glanced back along the street. It was already growing harder to see as the twilight began to turn to true night. Something seemed to move in the lengthening shadows and she squinted, trying to decide if it was just her imagination. A staccato clack of hoofs on stone came first, then the pinpricks of amber became visible as the satyr charged towards them.