by Sam Bowring
‘Yes.’
‘And you wish to see it demonstrated?’
‘Yes.’
‘As you wish.’
She flew up onto his head. Losara sensed something happening, but it was hard to make out what – then she tapped her beak on his brow, and something clicked into place. She flew back to the ground.
‘The deal is struck,’ she said.
‘But I did not see how it was done.’
‘No, I expect not. It is harder to see when you are the target.’ She scratched at the ground with a claw. ‘Perhaps we need a third party, so you can view the whole thing from an outside perspective. There is a village not far from here, where no doubt we can find someone tending their pigs, and entreat them to help us. And now,’ her eyes glittered, ‘I cannot keep a secret if I don’t know what it is.’
Losara felt an urge take hold, beyond his control, and opened his mouth to spill forth words. ‘My soul is shared by Blade Bel, the blue-haired man on the side of the enemy. If one of us dies, so does the other.’
Eosene went very still.
Losara shivered – the feeling of possession left him, but a sense of violation remained in its wake. Too casual he had been about giving over control to this creature he did not know. Stupid. Hasty.
‘That is very interesting,’ said Eosene.
‘You are bound to tell no one.’
‘That was our bargain, of course. Now,’ she fluttered up to land on his shoulder, ‘do you want to see how one is made?’
•
It was not far to the tiny village, built on flats slightly higher than the swamp. Pig sties hemmed in a few central buildings, loosely constructed of piled stones. Eosene directed Losara to the outskirts, from where they could see a middle-aged man with a limp tending to his pigs.
‘Bad foot,’ said Eosene. ‘That’s why he remains. Most of the others have answered your call to arms.’
Looking around, Losara saw no one else. It was hard to tell whether or not the houses were falling to disrepair, for they were so meagre to begin with. He felt a moment of guilt at being the reason these people had abandoned their lives.
‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ said Eosene. ‘Their lives weren’t very exciting in the first place. They probably welcomed the chance to be away from them.’
Disturbed, Losara shored up his mind from the bird – he had to remember how adept weavers were at getting into people’s heads.
‘Besides,’ continued Eosene, ‘their pigs are being attended to. Reddle, there, he looks after the ones whose owners are gone, and as payment he’ll take any that no one returns to claim.’
‘Where are the children?’ said Losara.
‘Oh,’ said the bird, ‘they’re around …playing somewhere, no doubt – you know how children are. Now, shall we do what we came here for?’
Losara nodded slowly.
As they drew closer, the man called Reddle looked up, and blanched in disbelief at what he saw. Losara wondered if he should have cast an illusion to disguise himself, but then, why should he?
‘Reddle,’ chirped the bird in amusement, ‘meet the Shadowdreamer.’
Reddle fell to his knees in the filthy dirt. ‘Forgive me, lord,’ he grovelled. ‘It is my foot, or I would have answered your call! Had a break that did not heal well several seasons ago, and now I can barely put weight on it, you see, and –’
‘Silence,’ said Losara, and Reddle cringed. Perhaps he had spoken too harshly, when he had simply wanted to correct the man’s mistake. ‘I have not come to command you to fight,’ he continued more kindly, ‘but perhaps you can help me in another way.’
‘Anything, lord!’
The man was virtually floundering in the mud now, and it bothered Losara to see him prostrate.
‘Please rise,’ he said.
With some difficulty Reddle did so, leaning on one of his pigs.
‘Reddle,’ said Eosene, ‘the Shadowdreamer wishes to see me demonstrate my magic. But I cannot do so with this one, lord, as Reddle and I already have a bargain.’
‘Oh?’ said Losara.
‘A band of Mire Pixies set up in the Soup a while back,’ said Eosene. ‘They were stealing pigs. I was able to give them the impression, however, that there would be easier pickings elsewhere. Isn’t that right, Reddle?’
‘Yes,’ said Reddle quickly. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘And the favour you asked in return?’ said Losara.
‘Haven’t really needed anything yet,’ said Eosene. ‘The favour owing does not need to be specific.’
‘I see.’
‘At any rate,’ said the weaver, ‘I wonder if your dear wife is about, Reddle? Perhaps she would not mind helping the cause.’
At that Reddle looked deeply afraid, his eyes darting between Eosene and Losara. ‘You want my wife to make a bargain with the weaver, lord?’ he asked miserably.
Losara did not know what was making the man so unhappy. Most feared weavers, that was true, yet Eosene had already proved she was different by helping to rid the farmer of bandits. In fact she seemed to emanate trustworthiness so strongly that Losara felt sure she meant no harm to anyone. It must be Losara who terrified Reddle, he decided, something that was not uncommon.
‘Reddle,’ he said, ‘it’s only so I can learn how it’s done. It will be a great service to our people. And I am sure Eosene will not hold your wife to anything she objects to.’ He cast a glance at the bird on his shoulder.
‘Of course not, lord,’ said Eosene indignantly. ‘Why, I have already aided these people and not asked for anything in return. Come, Reddle, you know me – I will bring no harm to Clandra.’
Reddle stared at the bird a long moment, then bowed. ‘As you command, lord.’ He hobbled off around his hut.
‘What bargain will you make with her?’ said Losara as they waited.
‘Oh,’ said Eosene, ‘I don’t know – maybe to find me some bugs? Or maybe I won’t lay down my end for certain – who knows what needs the future may bring?’
Losara nodded. That seemed reasonable enough.
Reddle reappeared leading a weathered-looking woman with stringy hair and fear in her eyes. She faltered when she saw Losara, but Reddle took her by the arm.
‘This is my wife, Clandra, lord,’ he said.
‘Lord Shadowdreamer,’ quaked Clandra.
She was scared of him too, of course. Battu had a lot to answer for, if everyone thought the dreamer must be so terrible. Losara found himself growing quite angry that these people saw him this way. Bad enough to get it from the other side, but from his own as well …
‘Clandra,’ he said, his voice gentle, ‘I wish to see weaver magic demonstrated, and we need a subject. Will you allow Eosene here to strike a bargain with you?’
‘Wh …whatever you wish, lord,’ she whimpered.
‘All right,’ said Eosene. ‘Let’s keep this simple. Clandra, I will find you some prayer weed from the mire. In return, you can do a favour for me in the future.’
‘Yes,’ whispered Clandra.
‘Now observe, lord,’ said Eosene. ‘I shall do this slowly.’
A thin twine of thought issued out from the weaver. Losara concentrated hard, and thought he could sense something of its contents – a promise to find the prayer weed.
‘And now you hold the idea in your head, Clandra,’ continued Eosene, ‘that you will owe me a favour.’ A pause, and then, ‘There it is, lord, at the forefront of her mind. Now I just coax it out.’
Another thread, this time for Clandra, wound up into the air where the first was floating free. They wrapped around each other, until there was just one thread.
‘Now a part for each,’ said Eosene. She flew up and bit the intertwined thread in two. One disappeared into her head, and the other she took in her beak and guided down to Clandra. She gave the woman a tap on the brow, and the thread sank away into her. Clandra blinked.
‘It is done,’ said Eosene. ‘Did you see, my lord?’
‘I did
,’ replied Losara. ‘But I am not sure I can do that.’
‘No?’ asked Eosene sweetly. ‘Could it be, perhaps, that the gifts given to weavers by Arkus himself are not as easily learned as cutting up bread or squatting to shit?’ She chirped cheerfully as she flew from Losara’s shoulder. ‘Reddle, as my favour I ask you to kill the Shadowdreamer !’
Reddle’s eyes flickered in fear, but he picked up a blunt rake that had been leaning against the sty fence. He lurched towards Losara, raising the weapon. Clandra grasped him with a cry and roughly he shook her off to shamble onwards, slow but driven, the rake ready to strike.
Losara frowned. Surely the bird did not think this cripple represented any real threat? He dissolved to shadow and re-formed on the flats some distance away. Reddle looked around, perplexed, spied Losara a moment later, and began shuffling towards him again. At his current pace, it would take him some minutes to arrive.
Lord? Where did you go? Ah.
The weaver flew out of the sky and landed on Losara’s shoulder.
‘What was the purpose of that?’ asked Losara, a vague irritation nudging at him.
‘Just something to think about,’ said Eosene. ‘The fact that someone keeps a secret does not stop them from acting upon it. Someone in your ranks could decide to kill you without uttering a single word about why.’
‘I take your point,’ said Losara gloomily. ‘But there was no need to illustrate it so. Will that man now wander forever trying to find me?’
‘Let us head back to him,’ said Eosene. ‘I will nullify what I asked him for.’
‘Anyway,’ said Losara, ‘if I cannot replicate weaver magic in the first place, there was no reason to learn such a lesson.’
‘I thought it might make you feel better,’ said Eosene, ‘to know your idea was flawed from the start, so cannot be blamed on any deficit in your own abilities.’
Losara nodded. ‘I see.’
‘Reddle,’ called Eosene as they drew nearer, ‘I retract my favour. You owe me nothing.’
Reddle collapsed to his knees, sobbing. ‘Forgive me, lord! It was the weaver! I could not stop! Please …’
Clandra fell beside him, encircling him protectively in her arms. ‘He did not mean it, lord! It was that bird!’
Their voices combined to a pitiful gabble, which Losara quickly found irksome. ‘Enough! You will not be punished.’ He grimaced. ‘I have learned what I needed to, and cannot ask for more.’
‘Do not fault yourself, lord,’ said Eosene. ‘Weaver magic is a complex thing, bestowed only upon my kind.’
‘Yes,’ said Losara. ‘I will have to find some other means.’
Eosene flew down to the ground, and hopped about to face him.
‘Taking your leave now, lord?’
Losara stared at her blankly for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘I should return to the army.’
‘Yes,’ said Eosene. ‘Return to your army, and do not pander to them any more. They are yours to do with as you will, and just as you have no right to weavers’ secrets, they have no right to yours.’
Losara felt the words sink in and take root in his mind. Eosene was right. There was no need to waste time getting sidetracked in this attempt to indulge the curiosity of those who were born to serve him without question.
With a renewed sense of purpose he sped away across the Ragga Plains, and as he went he found his head beginning to clear. Strange, as he had not noticed it fogging in the first place, but looking back now he remembered his recent actions only dimly, as if he’d taken a strong drink. Surely the bird had not …but yes, as the distance between them grew, he began to feel sure that Eosene had been manipulating him. Then came the realisation that this expedition had put him in danger, and he had not even noticed it happening. At worst he had been toyed with. At best he had received advice that now seemed tainted despite the truth of it. But still, it was as he’d always been told, yet somehow forgotten in his need – never trust a weaver.
•
Eosene watched the Shadowdreamer depart, impressed with the way he could come and go wholly in the shadows. Thank goodness the champion of Fenvarrow had some talent, at least. She shook her little head. Such arrogance to think he could master her gift simply by seeing it occur.
She glanced at Reddle, still snivelling in the dirt. Would she have preferred that he had somehow succeeded in killing the dreamer? With the death of the blue-haired men, balance would have been restored, but that mattered little to Eosene – all she cared about was that Arkus did not win.
I suppose a good way for that to happen would be if he were destroyed for all time , she thought. Thus I suppose I will hope for such an outcome, and not be the one to try killing you, Shadowdreamer.
Meanwhile the two pig farmers were finally realising that Losara was gone.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘it seems you no longer owe me a favour, Reddle, although your wife now does. So unless you want me to have her walk into Ryme Lake up past her head, or close her legs to you forever, you’ll go fetch me some fresh meat.’
She cast a last look in the direction Losara had departed. ‘Bugs indeed,’ she said, and twittered merrily.
Abomination
Fahren tried to steady his hands despite the roiling in his guts, and closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of her as she lay there, so peaceful, still looking like that young girl who’d shown such promise. ‘Surely there is another way,’ he murmured.
‘You have the orders of your god,’ came Battu’s voice behind him. ‘If you cannot follow him, who do you fight for?’ Once again Fahren found himself wishing that Arkus had left Battu as he had been. It was true that, after being bound to help, Battu’s trustworthiness was no longer in question …but as a side effect Battu was now free to be as unpleasant as he liked, and the subservient, even friendly, demeanour he had previously carried was gone. Evidently he no longer felt he had to impress Fahren with decorum, as he had nothing left to prove.
Taking a deep breath, Fahren began to channel. His power entered Elessa’s corpse, and dimly he sensed the path her soul had taken when it had departed beyond the veil of the world, like footprints of the soul almost faded away. He let his power follow those footprints, felt it meet some kind of resistance, then slip through into an unknown other side.
‘Like fishing,’ said Battu. ‘Except the fish is already hooked and you create the line.’
It was odd to think that part of him was now entering Arkus’s Great Well of Souls. He let his power spool out, felt a warm glow travel back along it to suffuse him.
‘Do not be seduced,’ he heard Battu say. ‘Search.’
He concentrated, trying to find anything that recognised the body he channelled through. For a time there was nothing, and he wondered if he had done something wrong. Then he felt a contact at the end of his ‘line’. It bounced brightly as he seized it tightly, mercilessly.
It , he chastised himself. No kind word for that which remains of Elessa’s soul.
As he retracted his power, she struggled frantically. It sickened him to hold onto her so fast, drawing her towards him. The warmth he had been feeling turned stiflingly unpleasant, hot in his lungs. There was a faint popping as he dragged her through whatever barrier separated the Well from the world, into herself. For a moment nothing happened, and he dared to hope that he had failed.
Then Elessa Lanclara opened her eyes with a gasp. Fahren’s hands trembled as he lowered them, staring with disbelief upon what he had wrought. In all his life he had never done anything that felt so viscerally wrong …yet he had stepped through the door and there was no turning back.
‘Well,’ said Battu. ‘Didn’t think you had it in you.’
Elessa’s hand went unsteadily to her chest, as if she sensed she had no breath, and that her heart did not beat. Slowly she lifted her head, and Fahren forced himself to meet her gaze, though he wanted nothing more desperately than to bury his ashamed face in his hands. He tried to smile, and felt as if his face woul
d crack like dropped crockery if he managed it. How much of her is left ? he wondered. So long in the Well meant that parts of her would be gone, dissipated into the collective, perhaps reborn. Would she even remember who she was? Maybe it would be a blessing if she didn’t.
‘Fahren?’ she croaked, dispelling the notion that he might escape so easily. Then she looked about at the casket she was in, and gave a little cry that almost broke him.
‘Here,’ he said with an attempt at a comforting tone, going down on one knee and reaching towards her. ‘Let us get you out of that thing.’
She reached back, but then her eyes widened. Her hand twisted from reaching to pointing, and a blazing beam shot over Fahren’s shoulder. Battu staggered under the attack, the air around him dark with a hastily cast defence.
‘Elessa!’ shouted Fahren, over her howl of rage.
‘Call her off,’ grunted Battu through gritted teeth as the shadows around him wavered under the onslaught.
Fahren crawled along the side of the open casket until he could put a hand on Elessa’s shoulder.
‘Elessa! Battu is not the enemy!’
She did not seem to notice – maybe she did not even feel his touch. He gave her a shake and her gaze snapped to his, while the beam continued burning at Battu’s ward.
‘Please listen to me,’ said Fahren. ‘You must stop – Battu will not harm you. In fact, he helped me bring you back.’
‘Bring me back?’ she echoed, confused.
The beam sizzled out as she raised her hand before her eyes, turning it for inspection.
‘A strong one, that,’ puffed Battu, the shadows around him fading.
The horror on Elessa’s face was more than Fahren could bear.
‘High Mage,’ she said, ‘what have you done?’
•
Elessa wound her way haltingly through the graves of the Inviolable. Smooth white pathways ran out before her, leading off in various directions through well kept gardens and graves. They passed polished glass plates set in the ground, beneath which lay perfectly preserved bodies. It was a serene place, though the last thing she felt was serene. Beside her trod Fahren, and the man who had been Shadowdreamer the last time she had known of him. For nearly twenty years now she had not been confined to a body, and functions that had once been mechanical and instinctual now demanded intense concentration. Worse, the flesh atop her skeleton had the sensation of a heavily constrictive cloak. Certainly as she touched things she knew they were there, but there was no depth to that knowing, no pleasure or pain. The sun was shining, yet there was no heat on her skin.