The Cloven Land Trilogy

by Simon Kewin

  Hellen didn't reply for a moment, lost in her thoughts. “It's possible. She may have known the sounds to speak if not their meaning. There was blood on the ground when I came here the first time. I suppose it could have been hers.”

  “But why wouldn't she tell us?” said Cait. “Why keep a thing like that from us?”

  “I suspect because she didn't know,” said Hellen. “She had no memory of what occurred here. All she knew was this shameful family secret passed down from mouth to mouth over the centuries. The words of a charm or a rhyme, as she saw it, that came to her when she was in great danger and that turned out to mean something. Or perhaps I'm wrong and I'm seeing patterns where there are none again.”

  “So we need to find out,” said Cait.

  “Yes. I'll keep trying to reach Fer. Although none of it matters if Ashen can't put the book back together. We need to understand what Fer's words were, what they mean.”

  Ran and Danny returned ten minutes later, a few bruised apples foraged from the ground in their arms. They set off in the boat once again. They were soon passing underneath the tower of Caer L'dun. The dragonriders' fortress stood upon a rocky outcrop jutting out into the An. They all peered up at it. It looked utterly indestructible, built from massive stone blocks, a sheer face of rock on the river side, broken only by the circle of windows at the top of the spire. The watchtower, Hellen had called it. Where the wyrm lords looked out over the river for the coming of the undain.

  “I will go there,” said Hellen. “Drop me off upriver. I need to tell them what more we've learned. They probably won't listen, but there we are.” She glanced at Ran as she spoke. The dragonrider remained impassive. “In any case,” she continued. “I might be able to learn something from them. Find out how their plans for our defence are proceeding.”

  “Should we wait?” asked Cait.

  “No, no. Speed north. I'll catch you up soon.”

  “And how will you do that?” asked Nox.

  “By flying, of course,” said Hellen. “How else?”

  They saw their first chunk of floating ice three days later. It drifted out of the mists, silent and huge. Its sides were blue, and a dusting of snow coated its top. It was hard to work out how big it was, how far away. No one spoke as they watched it. Cait half-expected to see someone appear on its top, some Angere horror riding down the An.

  It soon became common to see icebergs, big and small, drifting by. Winter was coming on fast, the year in Andar and Angere older than it was back home. The air grew sharper with cold, and Cait was glad of the woollen clothes she'd borrowed. It snowed too, coating every surface with a fine dusting of white. In the mornings the trees lit up by the sun were ghostly and beautiful, gilded with sparkling frost.

  Larger and larger towns appeared along the river. For the first few days they'd camped upon the banks, huddling around a fire for warmth while they ate and slept. Now they were able to find shelter or even a bed for the night in a tavern or one of the Wayhouses set aside for travellers. Many of the places they passed were filled with visitors, crowds gathering for the Midwinter festivities.

  “They must think we're a pretty weird sight,” said Cait to Danny as they floated past another village that ran down from wooded slopes to the edges of the river. “Not just the boat, but us. There's only Ran who's even from Andar.”

  “Wouldn't worry about it,” said Johnny. “We all look the part. Besides, people get used to strange sights and travellers from afar when there's an Ice Fair. They won't bat an eyelid.”

  Everyone they met in Andar was certainly welcoming enough. Ran no longer had to forage in the wilds. Either they bought food from stalls and shops, or else people simply gave it to them, inviting them to eat at the long tables set up in town squares. Midwinter was still weeks away, but it seemed people were starting the celebrations anyway. Although, despite Johnny's words, Cait more than once caught a wary look in the glances cast their way. Especially at Ran, it seemed.

  The dragonrider appeared not to notice. But at times it felt a little like they were spoiling the party, like they were a shadow in the corner when all else was light and laughter. Perhaps she imagined it, but the people appeared relieved when they moved on in the morning.

  Cait agonized over what she should say to the people they met. How to warn them about what was coming. But what could she tell them that they hadn't already heard? They'd lived in Andar all their lives. They had to know. And where could they go? Perhaps if Hellen had been there it would have been different. But, then again, perhaps it wouldn't. The people looked like they were too determined to have fun to worry about nightmares emerging from old stories.

  It wasn't only Guilden that had an Ice Fair. They began to see that smaller towns had their equivalents, lights and stalls set up on the patches of ice that crept across the bays of the An. Decorations became more frequent, too: garlands of greenery or brightly painted streamers were hung in the trees. Sometimes it seemed whole forests had been festooned. At night, a thousand fairy lights twinkled from the windows and doors of the towns they passed, the sight a delight to Cait, lifting her spirits. They often smelled cooking food, heard the sounds of people cheering and laughing before they sighted habitation around a curve in the banks.

  On the fifth day of their journey they rounded a bend to see a large town, yellow and red stone houses jumbled up the hillsides of a half-moon bay. A single, vast oak stood at the water's edge in the centre of the curve, the buildings arranged around it.

  “Hyrn's Oak,” said Johnny. “I stopped here on my way southward. Good crowd.”

  There was still no sign of any attacking undain army. From over the water came the sounds of music and the din of the Midwinter revelries.

  6. Smoke on the Water

  “Hyrn was here?” asked Cait as they drifted into shore beneath the outstretched arms of the titanic oak tree.

  “It's just a name I think,” said Johnny. “When the floods hit five hundred years ago, the inhabitants climbed into the branches of the tree to escape the rising waters. It was, like, only a village back then. But they all survived, so people figured the oak had magical powers. You know, Hyrn's protection. Since then the place has grown a lot. Only Guilden is bigger.”

  Hyrn's Oak was clearly a fishing port, too. To one side of the bay, a wooden wharf stretched into the waters. Many flat-bottomed skiffs were moored there, nodding up and down in the swell. They were the sort of vessels she'd seen all along the coast, trawling the shallows for darting fish.

  The wood of the wharf was slick with the silvery flesh and red, wormy guts of the catch. A sweet, rotting smell filled the air. Rock-salt used to preserve the fish crunched underfoot as Cait and the others stepped ashore to join the crowds.

  Rings of tables were set up in the cobbled space around the wizened oak, its wide branches splayed like an upturned hand, its trunk gnarled and misshapen. The people of Hyrn's Oak clearly revered the tree. There were no leaves left on it so late in the year, but many brightly-coloured streamers had been woven among its branches, and countless glasswork pendants glinted from its twigs.

  When Cait and the others had eaten and drunk, Johnny repaid the gathered crowds of the town by singing songs underneath the tree. He'd left his guitar at Islagray, but borrowed something that might have been a lute. He soon had the throng cheering and singing along. Once or twice he dropped in an acoustic version of a Screaming Machinery track, casting a knowing smile at Cait and Danny as he did so. The people of Andar danced to these, too. Cait felt safer and more at ease than she had at any time since leaving Islagray. It was hard to believe anything could endanger these laughing, happy people.

  Once Johnny had finished playing, she wandered away from the bright lights and merriment, wanting to clear her mind before settling down for the night. Wanting some time to herself. It was cramped on the boat even with only five of them.

  “Don't wander too far,” Nox called after her.

  Annoyed at being told what to do, she set off int
o the jumble of stout, stone houses that made up Hyrn's Oak. The streets twisted and turned at random, and without being able to glimpse the glittering tree between the buildings she'd soon have become lost. She kept the river to her left side as much as possible, thinking that she only had to do the opposite to find her way back. The streets were busy with couples walking with arms around each other, as well as rowdier groups of people carrying bottles and tankards, singing and shouting. Everyone was in a good mood. Perhaps, somehow, their unquenchable optimism and jollity would prevail, and the invasion from the Angere would come to nothing. It was a pleasant fantasy to lose herself in.

  She reached a point on a small rise where much of the town was laid out before her. Lights still blazed around the central tree. Whoops and roars of delights, hushed by the distance, came to her through the cold night air. The windows of the houses glowed red with the log-fires burning within, the smoke from a hundred chimneys filling the air with a woody, comforting scent.

  In one of the squares of the town, large numbers of revellers were cheering as archers took turns to fire arrows at a series of targets set up in a row. From what she'd seen, many people in Hyrn's Oak carried bows. Johnny had told her people made a living hunting in the woods as well as fishing in the shallows of the An. The archers of Hyrn's Oak were famous throughout Andar.

  Beyond the edge of the town she glimpsed the naked flames of another fire. Concerned that some outlying building had caught ablaze she set off to investigate. She soon saw that it was a bonfire, set beside the road leading out of Hyrn's Oak. Two figures stood beside it. Most of Hyrn's Oak was on a round island, connected to the mainland by a series of wooden bridges that arched over the Teem, the stream that surrounded the town before emptying into the An. The figures were guarding one of the bridges.

  Intrigued, she crossed the bridge, the wooden surface echoing hollowly beneath her feet. A bell had been set up on the far side of the bridge, attached to one of its pillars. The guards' fire crackled and spat. It was good to feel the heat coming off it. The woman and man by the fire greeted her warmly, inviting her to join them in drinking some warmed, spicy drink. As well as swords, they each carried bows. Iron stands embedded in the ground held a plentiful supply of arrows.

  “You aren't celebrating with the others?” asked Cait.

  Glances passed between the two. “We're watching the road,” said the woman.

  “In case the undain come?”

  There was another pause, as if this were an uncomfortable subject. “We take turns to keep watch,” said the man. “Us and others.” He sounded older than the woman. His eyes glinted in the firelight. “Not everyone sees the danger but some of us like to keep a watch.”

  “And if the undain do come?”

  “Then we'll be ready. If we ring the bell people will come running to defend the town.”

  “You're a witch aren't you?” asked the woman. “From Islagray?”

  “I … yes,” Cait replied. It seemed too complicated to say anything else. “My name is Cait.”

  “I'm Venn,” said the woman. “This is my father, Torven. So what do you think? Do you believe all these dire warnings we keep hearing?”

  How much should she tell them? Andar was so unprepared, but there wasn't much that could be done about it now. Perhaps it was better if people enjoyed themselves while they could. But she said, “Yes. I've seen what's coming.”

  “A lot of folks don't believe it,” said Torven. “Say they've heard it all before. Say we're just superstitious.”

  “This time it's real,” said Cait. “Believe me.”

  More silent looks passed between the man and the woman. “So what should we do?” asked Venn. “We can fight, of course, but we may not be a match for them. We're fishers and hunters, not warriors.”

  Cait wished she had answers for them. It felt weird, them asking her for advice. She was only a girl. “We'll all fight them as best we can. And you're not alone. There are the dragonriders as well as the witches. Perhaps, between us, we'll be enough.” She didn't sound convincing even to herself.

  “Aye,” said Torven, “perhaps we will. Although I wouldn't trust those dragonriders far as I could throw them. Menhroth's men, some say. Worms in the apple.”

  “Come on, Dad,” said Venn. “That's idle gossip. We can't afford to be choosy, we need all the help we can get.”

  “Aye, well,” said the man. “Perhaps.”

  “How many of you are there?” asked Cait. “Guarding the bridges, I mean.”

  “Ten, twenty,” said Venn. “There's usually more, but at Midwinter things break down a bit.” She shrugged. “You know how it is. If we ring the bell they'll come, although they might have trouble shooting straight.”

  “I'll walk a little farther,” said Cait. “Will you be here when I come back?”

  “We'll be here,” said the woman. “Mind how you go. I know you're a witch, and all, but still…”

  “I'll be fine,” said Cait.

  She walked a couple of hundred yards around a bend that shadowed the line of the An. Night time creatures racketed around in the undergrowth. She found a gap between the trees to stand overlooking the waters, the ice gleaming in the silvery moonlight. Could she do any of this? The odds were overwhelming. The archers' words had filled her with doubts. Hellen and Ran and the rest of them gave her hope, but what chance was there really? Sometimes she wished she could simply get back home. Abandon Andar to its fate and return to her own life. But she wouldn't be safe. Because of who she was, she could never be safe while the undain survived.

  She shivered. Time to get back to the others. Get some sleep. One way or another it would all be over soon.

  She only became aware of the undain as it rushed at her. The absence where its aura should have been loomed suddenly clear to her mind's eye. She flinched and screamed, but it was too late. A weight thudded into her, bowling her over. Thin, wiry fingers found her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. Panicky, Cait writhed and elbowed at the weight on her back. She couldn't dislodge it. The bony fingers squeezed tighter, hurting her. She tried and failed to breathe. One of the undain was there in Andar, attacking her.

  Her lungs screamed for air. In desperation she tried to reach into the creature's mind, repeat the trick she'd used in Angere. It was no use. Her brain was full of fog, the world already fading. She couldn't make the magic work. In desperation, Cait threw herself backward against a tree, hoping to dislodge her attacker. The undain hissed in a halting little voice as if it were laughing but didn't loosen its grip.

  Cait fell to her knees.

  A blast of cold wind slammed into her, sending both she and the undain reeling to the ground. Immediately the grip on her neck loosened. She scrabbled at the ground to get away from the undain. She gasped raggedly at the air, coughing and spluttering, her throat raw and bruised. She looked up to see who had unleashed the magic.

  “There you are girl,” said Hellen. “Out for a little night-time stroll?”

  “No, I…”

  “You can explain your stupidity to me later. We need to get away. I've slowed that thing down, knocked it senseless, but I can't kill it. Not if you can't.” Hellen pulled Cait to her feet. “Come on, back to the town.”

  “Hellen…”

  The hissing sound in the darkness froze them both. They turned, Hellen striking a werelight to illuminate the scene. The undain stood in the road, a short, skulking creature, slight and bony like something made from waterlogged sticks. A body well-suited to sneaking through forests. It hissed again as it stepped forward and then there were words in its voice.

  “Now you will die, old witch. And you, heir of Ilminion, you will come with me across the ice.”

  Its body was already changing, bulking up, becoming more like the voracious dog creature Cait had seen in the basement of the library, although this one had much larger teeth.

  Hellen put herself in front of Cait. “That family secret of Fer's. Are you absolutely sure you don't know it?”


  “I wish I did, believe me,” said Cait. Desperately she looked around, hoping the two guards by the fire would have heard the fight and come running. There were no shouts, no ringing bell. She and Hellen were alone.

  “Best try something else then, girl. Or we'll both be dead before the night is out.”

  Cait reached into the undain's mind, looking for the spark of light, the glimmer of what the creature had once been. If she could show this one the truth, release that trapped fleck of its former self, perhaps she could turn it upon itself.

  The creature laughed once more. It appeared to know exactly what she was doing. “Ah, you think that will defeat me, witch? You think I don't know what I am? I accepted my status gratefully many hundreds of years ago. You have no power over me.”

  The creature leapt at Hellen, mouth wide as it went for her throat. Hellen unleashed another flurry of ice. It hit the undain but succeeded only in knocking it aside. The creature caught Hellen's arm, raking her with its sharp, scratchy talons. Hellen, crying out, stepped back. She hurled another bolt but it passed through the undain without harming it.

  “Pathetic witch,” the creature snarled. “Let me hurry you to your grave.” It prepared to leap at Hellen again. Cait stepped forward to unleash her own cold magic. As with Hellen, there was no effect. The undain lunged.

  The serpentine sword flashing out of the darkness caught it mid-chest, skewering it. The creature writhed and screamed, its voice piercing and inhuman. Try as it might it couldn't free itself. It tried to reach its attacker, warping into a different body shape with longer claws. But its strength was already failing, the sword-blow fatal to it. After a moment it gave up struggling and collapsed into a tatter of bones and flesh on the road.

  The rider holding the sword stepped from the gloom. Cait thought it was going to be Ran, but it was no one she knew. He was old, his leathery face wrinkled, hair thin. It was hard to be sure in the low light, but the tattoos on his face looked to be red.