by Simon Kewin
Again, an image formed in the rising smoke and wavering air of the fire. They saw a wood upon a hilltop, full of shadows and flickering half-light from branches blowing in a wind they did not feel. Beneath the hill a green plain stretched into the distance. The land could have been Andar, divided up into its hotchpotch pattern of fields. Beyond lay a great stretch of blue water, shimmering in the hazy distance. The An, seen from the other side.
The wind ruffled the hair of seven figures. Dervil stood there, Ilminion's red-leather tome cradled in her arms. Two other dragonriders stood next to her. All three looked badly wounded.
They faced three other warriors, all also bearing signs of recent fighting. Each had the symbol of a stone bridge engraved upon dented breastplates. Next to them stood a fourth person, older and uninjured, not wearing armour, his hair long and grey. His beard had been carefully woven into plaits, with strips of leather twined into it. This was Akbar, mancer of the failed Angere rebellion.
The two groups of people faced each other warily. They had clearly been arguing. Hellen wanted the coven to understand what they were saying. She worked the necessary magic, a spell of tongues she had used many times as she strove to understand some scrap of writing. It invariably gave her a throbbing headache, sometimes a megrim bad enough to pin her to her bed for hours on end. But it had to be done. As she completed the spell, the words of the people in the vision became suddenly understandable.
“… not your enemies,” said Dervil.
“We have fought you in battle after battle,” one of the bridge warriors said. “Now you are our friends?” Hellen couldn't recall the warrior's name, or anything about him. He had a bad scar on his cheek, livid red, a recent slash from a sword. It made him look cruel, but without it he would have been handsome. He stood tall and powerful, like a village blacksmith. His curly, black hair turned to silver at his temples. Who was he when he wasn't in his armour? Had he a woman? Children? She would never know.
“We fight you no more,” one of the other dragonriders said. “Now we are the hunted. We have left our dragons behind. This, who you doubt killed Ilminion just six days ago. This is Dervil. She carries the book of necromancy she took from him.”
“Let me see,” said Akbar. Dervil handed him the book. The mancer opened it at random and read, turning over a few pages, frowning as he went.
“Well?” the unknown warrior asked. “Is it what they say?” His voice quavered with anger. He had seen too much, been through too much.
Akbar still studied the book, his gaze darting over the pages. “It is hard to follow. The hand is difficult. And of course, I have no knowledge of necromancy. No one apart from Menhroth now does. But yes, I do believe they speak the truth.”
“Then let us destroy it,” the warrior said. “Before we are caught by the King's armies. At least we can keep it out of his claws.” He reached to take the book.
“Wait,” said Dervil. “I ask you to wait.”
“Oh, you do?” The warrior's hand went to the pommel of his sword. Another turning point. They could all so easily have been killed here.
“We may be able to make use of it,” said Dervil. Hellen found herself mouthing the words as she heard them again. She had thought them over long and hard since first hearing them with Borrn. “The necromancer's magic is all there. How it works, how it may be broken. The book may be our only hope for stopping them. We must not destroy it.”
The warrior's weariness was clear in his voice. “We are surrounded by their armies. Your friends and their dragons are destroying us minute by minute. How exactly did you plan to keep this cursed book from them?”
“By taking it to Andar,” said Dervil. “By crossing the great bridge with it.”
“You will never get there. None of us will ever get there now. We are overrun. They will find us, take the book and kill us all. At least, they will kill us. I am not sure about you.”
“Then we have little to lose, do we?” said Akbar. “The dragonrider's plan makes sense. But it is my opinion we should divide the book into two. Dervil can take one half and we the other. That way, there is less chance of the King being able to retrieve the complete article. They would need to find both of us.”
“I don't need you to cut a book in two, Akbar,” the warrior said. “I can do it with my sword.”
“Yes, yes, but you do not know if the important magic is in the one half. No one does. But I can divide it so that neither part is usable without the other. They would need both halves to make any use of the book.”
“As would we,” the warrior said. “How does that help?”
“It means they have less chance of reclaiming the complete thing whilst still giving us a chance - a very slim chance - to do so.”
A series of calls came through the trees, followed by the sound of someone running. Another warrior crashed into the glade, out of breath from sprinting in full armour. He held his sword and shield in his hands.
“They are coming,” he said. “The King's dragons, searing the land. Their riders direct the army toward us.”
“Be ready to retreat,” the warrior shouted . He turned to Akbar. “It is a pointless task, but do as you like. We will try to fight our way down the Meltwater valley to the bridgehead.”
Akbar looked at Dervil, who nodded her head. The mancer placed the book on the ground. He took some small vials from a pouch at his belt and poured a fine dust onto it, followed by a drop of some blue liquid. His hands trembled. He mumbled the words of a spell, too quiet to hear. There was a flash and two books, identical, lay on the ground.
Akbar picked up one of them. Dervil stooped to take the other.
The warrior had already turned to leave. Dervil shouted to him. “We are sorry for what we have done. We are sorry for everything.”
The warrior glanced back at her for a moment. Then, saying nothing, he walked away.
As he disappeared into the trees' shadows, the vision faded. In moments, they were back in the orchard. Ran sat once more, watching them, his face expressionless.
“Two or three hundred dragonriders came across the bridge with Dervil, carrying half of the book,” said Hellen. “The so-called left-hand half. It was brought here to Islagray for safekeeping. Nothing was ever seen of the others. A week later the bridgehead was overrun. The witches of the time unleashed the flood that swept away the ancient bridge and Andar and Angere were divided. Until now.”
“And now they have our half of the book, they will be able to reunite the Grimoire,” said Ariane, her fear clear. “Johnny is right. Nothing can stop them. Not the mancers, not the dragonriders, not all the witches of Islagray.”
Hellen smiled calmly at her old friend. “They do not have the book.”
“What? What do you mean? We both saw it was gone.”
“Yes, it was not there. But it has not been there for twenty years.”
“Twenty years!” said Ariane. There was a pause. No one spoke. Even the lark seemed to be cowed. Ariane stared at her. This went close to the heart of their long friendship.
“I think it is time you told us more of this, Hellen Meggenwar,” said Ariane.
“You remember that I was unwell? Twenty years ago or so?”
“We thought you were for the orchard. You were at death's door for a whole month. We thought the canker ate you away.”
“I wasn't ill. I was craft-burned. I was working magic – strong, gruelling magic – all that time. Yes it did, in fact, nearly finish me. But I did it.”
“Did what?”
“I opened a gateway, a shadow path to another world, and sent the book through for safekeeping.”
“You did all this but told no one?” Ariane's voice was low, level.
“There was Jaiin,” said Hellen.
“The previous Storyteller? She who left at about the time … ah, I see.”
“Jaiin took the book. She was odd like me, Ariane of the Smiling Eyes. She loved the old wisdom, all the voices returning to life from the ancient paper.
The other end of the path is an archive, too. She wanted to go through, see what was to be learned there.”
“But, you reopened one of the three gateways into Andar, sealed since the days of the schism. You let Jaiin walk through, taking the book out of our hands. You nearly killed yourself. And you did all this without telling anyone? Without telling me?”
Hellen said nothing for a moment. Everyone was looking at her, waiting for her reply. There was anger in Ariane, of course, but also sadness.
“It was wrong of me,” Hellen said, quietly. “Too wrapped up in my plots and plans. Isn't that what you use to say? Pots and pans before plots and plans. You were right. You were always right. I am sorry.”
“Being eldest does not make you a leader,” Ariane said, not finished yet. “We're witches not mancers. It's supposed to mean you're the wisest, that's all.”
“No. I know. It should have been a matter for the whole coven. But there is no time for argument now. What's done is done. We must act and, yes, despite everything I've done, we must act together. Please.”
Ariane smiled, actually smiled, as she shook her head. “Old fool.”
“Quite possibly,” said Hellen. “But you should know that Jaiin wanted to go through. It was her idea. And I did little to endanger Andar. It was safe to open the gateway and safe to send the book. Until now, anyway. The book is protected and watched. We have friends in that other world as well as enemies.”
“Friend? What friends?” asked Ariane.
“Others like us. Others that care for the world and value life. Others that see both the great cycles and the little rhythms. Witches, in their own way.”
“Who? Who are these people? How can you talk to them?”
“It's all in the old books, Ariane. There are many means of talking through the aether. Reflections in water, shapes in fire. When this is over, if we're both still alive, I'll happily show you.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Johnny said, interrupting, “Rewind. You said the book was safe until now. You're talking about that undain aren't you?”
She turned to address him, stretching and rearranging her legs to ease the ache in them. Her head throbbed from the magic she had worked.
“I am. It will have gone through the gateway. Opened it back up to go in search of the missing half of the book. You remember the smell of burning metal, Ariane?”
“Burning metal?” She looked confused for a moment. “Yes. In the archive.”
“I smelled the same thing when I originally opened the path. Some effect of the magic. The undain would have found the gateway easily, which I left only lightly sealed. It would have noticed straight away the book in the archive was a fake. Something, I may say, no witch has spotted in two decades.”
“So it's there now. It may have already got its hands – if, like, it has hands – on the book,” said Johnny.
“I don't think so,” replied Hellen. “As we speak it is hunting for it, but it has not found it yet. I put a little protection of my own on the path. We have a little time left. But we have to act. We have to go there. To this other world. We have to retrieve the book before the undain does.”
“I don't see the sudden urgency,” said Ariane, “From everything we've heard, we're lost anyway.”
“No,” said Hellen. “No, we are not! Not yet, anyways. Don't you see? There is still time. Sending the book to the other world twenty years ago has saved us for now. They assumed we'd keep it here. And now, as we know they want the book, we can find it and destroy it and foil whatever plans they have. Or we can bring it back here and try and use it in the war that is coming. You heard what that dragonrider said. I think she and Akbar were right.”
“But we need both halves,” said Johnny. “Same as they do, yeah?”
“Yes, yes,” said Hellen. “Well. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Small steps. For now we must at least make sure they do not retrieve the left-hand.”
“So that's your plan?” said Ariane. “You want to go to this other world, find the book and, while you're there, defeat the undain. Then somehow retrieve the other half from Angere, all so we can create an Ilminion of our own? In the hope we can then defeat the undying hordes that will be pouring across the ice in a few months' time?”
“No,” said Fer, looking up at the group. “Don't you see? She doesn't plan to do that at all. She plans for me to do that. She waited for me to awake so I could go through the gateway. Isn't that your scheme, Hellen Meggenwar?”
“Of course it isn't,” said Ariane, “You can barely walk. Don't be ridiculous, girl. Tell her Hellen.”
Ariane turned to face her and, as Hellen said nothing, a look of doubt then shock moved across her face.
“Oh, no, Hellen. No. That can't be right. She needs weeks of rest yet. Probably months. And this is difficult work. It needs someone experienced, a wise head, someone like you.”
“I'm too old Ariane,” said Hellen. “We're too old. This has gone beyond us.”
“But why her?”
“You're unhappy because she's a hedge witch? Untamed, untrained, not one of us?”
“Of course not,” said Ariane. “It isn't that at all. She's just so young, so weak.”
She paused for a moment to choose her words carefully. The rest of the coven would consent if she could persuade Ariane. “Fer is at the heart of this. She can't recall how she defeated that undain on the banks of the An, but that's what she did: the only witch to have ever done so. She must be the one to go.”
“No,” said Ariane. “It is madness.”
“Yes,” said Hellen. “It is the only way.”
“Don't you think you should ask my opinion?” said Fer. “I'm not your chess piece to instruct. You squabble as if I wasn't even here. I can do whatever I like, no matter what the great witches of Islagray say.”
Hellen kept her face grave as she replied, but inwardly she felt delighted at the girl's anger, her fire. Perhaps she really would do, after all. “Then I'll ask you now,” she said. “Will you do this? Go to the other world?”
“It is madness,” Fer replied, her expression fierce. “Tell me, Hellen Meggenwar, Eldest of Andar, if someone had asked you to attempt it when you were my age, what would you have said?”
Hellen knew perfectly well. She'd have told them it was impossible. And then, when they weren't looking, gone anyway. But of course she couldn't say that just now.
“I'm sure I would have done the wise thing, the right thing, too.”
Fer studied her for a moment, trying to discern the true meaning of her words. Finally she shook her head. “Tell me, is this how covens always work? By clever words and double meanings? By this influence and manipulation?”
“Quite often, yes.” said Hellen. “Although I would use other words myself. Agreement, perhaps. Decisions shared.”
“You must do as you see fit, Fer,” said Ariane.
“Oh, I will,” said Fer. “Because it's obvious what I have to do, isn't it? Go to the other world. At least try and put this right.”
Hellen maintained her expressionless face carefully. The girl's spirit couldn't be doubted. But did she have wisdom with it? If she insisted on travelling alone she would have little chance of surviving.
“Very well. But if you'll allow, it might be best to travel with companions. You don't have to face this on your own.”
Fer considered for a moment. “Which companions?”
“Well, I had some in mind, but it is up to you, of course. And to them.”
“Tell me who.”
“I thought five of you. A pentad, a good number.” She turned to Ran and raised an eyebrow, throwing the question at him. If he agreed, Ran would be invaluable. He'd fight to the end to protect them.
“Ran? Would you take this chance to assuage some of the guilt you insist on being burdened with?”
Ran, saying nothing, simply nodded.
Hellen turned back to Fer, raising a questioning eyebrow to her as well. After a moment the girl nodded.
/>
“Excellent. Seleena? Are you willing to go too?” Fer would need someone she could talk to, someone she could confide it.
Fer and Seleena glanced at each other before Seleena looked back at Hellen.
“I will.”
“Thank you. One of the five is not here so we can come to them later. But the fourth is.”
“And who is this to be?” asked Ariane. “One of the trees?”
“Old fool yourself, Ariane. The other world is not like here. Everything is mixed together. There is no river separating an Andar from an Angere. The world is both at the same time. Ugliness and beauty, death and life. We need someone who understands that.”
She turned to Johnny. “So, we shall need a guide. Are you willing?”
“Me? No!” said Johnny.
“You. Yes. This is your world we're talking about isn't it? Where you're really from. How you got here I don't know. But I have seen your dreams and I have seen glimpses of that world. They are the same.”
“Didn't I tell you? Smoke on the Water and I are sailing south, out of Andar.”
“And you think you'll be safe then? You think they'll stop at Andar? No, they'll keep going. They don't know how to stop. And you'll spend the rest of your days trying to stay ahead of them.”
No one spoke for a second. The sweet smell of the grass came to her as a slight breeze blew through the orchard. Fer studied Johnny, awaiting his answer.
“So?” said Hellen.
Johnny lay down on the ground and threw his hat over his face.
“Ah, bugger,” he said.
10. Archaeon
Fer drew deep breaths as she stood in the shadows of Islagray Wycka. Pain stabbed in her chest, as if she had run across the hills rather than walked from the infirmary.
She sat on the stone ground, feeling the resonance of the song through her whole body, letting it fill her. The aches in her muscles were duller today. Already her body healed itself from the effort and pain of her ordeal on the banks of the An.