The Cloven Land Trilogy

by Simon Kewin

  Fer hesitated, sitting on the lip of the entrance. Something about the unmoving waters troubled her. She imagined creatures emerging from it, tentacles lashing out to wrap around her, like some smaller version of the river serpents back home. With an effort she put the thoughts out of her mind. The long trudge underground had got the better of her. Her exhausted mind was imagining phantoms where there were none. When people were troubled by ghosts or nameless horrors of the dark, the demons were usually only in their heads. Every witch knew that.

  Still, she let herself down gently. The waters were a foot deep, stone cold, inundating her ruined boots immediately. No monsters arose from the depths as she found her footing on the slimy floor and reached up to help Catherine down.

  From somewhere in the tunnels, echoing down the passageway, three heavy booms reverberated, followed by a frantic shuffling sound.

  “Can you sense anything?” Fer asked them. “Anything near, anything coming?”

  Catherine shook her head, too weary to reply. The Lizard King closed his eyes for a moment, peering into the aether. Then he, too, shook his head. More sounds came: scrapings and scufflings and something rhythmic, like the pounding of feet. She tried to work out which entrance they were coming from, but it was impossible to be sure. The sounds echoed off the hard walls, jumping at them from odd angles.

  Again she had to decide which tunnel to take, and do so quickly. Perhaps it would be best to pick one at random. Anything was better than standing and waiting to be captured or butchered. More sounds echoed from the darkness: thumpings and metallic scrapings, louder now. The undain appeared to be all around, as if filling the tunnels beneath the city.

  “Wait, we're here,” said Catherine. “I recognize this place, where five tunnels meet.”

  “You're sure?”

  “Yes, yes. It's on the maps. We came through that one so we have to go that way.” She pointed at one of the other entrances.

  Fer was completely disorientated; she would have sworn the direction Catherine was pointing was the wrong way. Fer waded through to study the opening. It certainly rose gradually. And – again – she thought she caught a whiff of fresh air.

  It was all they had. Fer leading, they set off.

  The tunnel narrowed, forcing them to crawl. There'd been mines beneath the streets of Manchester once, so Catherine said, and this tunnel felt like one of those: a cramped passageway hand-cut through the rock in pursuit of some fading seam of coal. Fer's knees and elbows felt like they were bleeding freely from pulling herself along. At least the tunnel was dry, and they weren't having to work their way through water or mud. The passage rose, but it continued to narrow and there was soon no room to turn around. If they came to a dead end they could only writhe backward to reach the last cavern.

  The tunnel tightened yet more, tapering to a close, and Fer was about to suggest they turn back, when her hand, thrust out in front of her, found empty air rather than rock. She heaved herself forward a few more inches and her head emerged half-way up one wall of a round, brick-lined room. In the corner, a set of worn stone steps led upward.

  Fer described what she could see to the others.

  “Yes, that's it,” said Catherine. “Up the stairs, and we'll be out of the tunnels.”

  Fer crawled forward and, twisting awkwardly, found a lip of rock to hold onto while she pulled herself from the tunnel to let herself down to the floor of the room. She reached up to support Catherine and then the Lizard King as they emerged. Both were filthy, smeared with grime.

  “I'll go up the stairs last,” said Fer. “If they come I have the best chance of holding them off.”

  Catherine nodded but didn't object. The wise man took the cargo of precious bones from her so that her hands were free. Taking one step at a time, the older witch climbed, bracing her hands on her knees as if her legs didn't have the strength to push her upward. Fer sent the werelight floating after her. The stairs were slick with slime. The Lizard King climbed after her, and finally Fer followed, keeping the little light burning as brightly as possible.

  From somewhere in the tunnels came a heavy splosh as if someone or something had fallen into a deep pool. The sound put her in mind of the Tanglewood, Seleena's fall into the water, killed by the undain that lurked in the magical forest. She prepared what magic she could muster, expecting some undain horror to writhe from the tunnel entrance at any moment. They ascended a few more steps and the floor below was lost to shadows. Fer couldn't work a werelight bright enough to illuminate everything. With a sense of disquiet, she turned away from the darkness and concentrated on her footing as they continued the climb.

  Five minutes later they emerged in the wide, echoing space of the building Catherine had described. Despite Fer's fears, there was no ring of slavering undain monsters awaiting them, and nothing had reached from the shadows beneath to seize her by the ankle and haul her back. Thanks to Catherine's knowledge they had escaped the maze.

  The building they stood in was clearly deserted, many of the tiny windows smashed, puddles here and there on the uneven stone floor. It had once been a mill, a place where people worked amid roaring, clattering machines to make clothes, so Catherine had explained. It was utterly quiet now, the city no more than a distant roar. After the muggy air of the tunnels, the breeze blowing through the broken windows made Fer shiver, but it smelled good, crisp and clean.

  Catherine sank to the floor, panting like a hunted animal. With the Lizard King's help, Fer levered a rusting iron cover over the square of darkness they'd emerged from. The hinges squealed but gave. A heavy iron clasp had been set into the floor and, miraculously, a padlock was there, ready to be secured into place. Catherine and Jaiin had prepared well.

  When the grid was locked, Fer worked what warding charms she could into the old metal, putting all her strength into it until the tugging pains within her were too much to stand. Bethany, still with her, added her strength to it, too. Catherine also helped, although the strength she brought to bear was tiny, the faintest flicker. As they worked, the Lizard King found rusting iron wheels from some ancient machine in a corner of the room and wheeled them on top of the grid.

  When it was done Fer stood, exhausted but satisfied.

  “You took your time.”

  The metallic voice of the archaeon on the wise man's phone was strangely loud in the echoing hall. “I thought you'd been eaten alive or become lost without me to guide you.”

  The Lizard King took out his phone and fiddled with its buttons.

  “Can you conceal us while we flee the city?” asked Fer, speaking into the little machine.

  The wyrm on the screen exhaled a burst of red flame. “Impossible. They have eyes everywhere looking for you. CCTV, traffic control, helicopters in the air, many of them closed off even from me. You should be flattered; they're using everything they can to track you down.” The creature sounded as if it was enjoying delivering the bad news immensely.

  “There must be some way of escaping,” said Fer. “Surely one as brilliant as you can find a way?”

  The little painted dragon on the screen closed and opened its eyes. “There is only one thing I can do. I can't hide you, but I can flood their systems with false reports, images of the three of you all over the city. It will keep them occupied for a short time, chasing phantoms. Or, if they're lucky, they may come straight for the real you.”

  “We are grateful,” said Fer. “We need to get back to the refinery as soon as possible.”

  “To Leviathan Refinery? Interesting.”

  “Can you find the best route to take? Away from as many cameras and eyes as possible?”

  The creature breathed fire and smoke again, as if it was still deciding whether to help them or not. “Well, I suppose I might assist you once again. If you hurry, I believe you'll have a chance, but you'll have to follow my directions to the letter. The options open to you are limited.”

  “We need to make a couple of stops along the way,” said Fer.

&nbs
p; “Oh? Just to make it a little more difficult?”

  “We need to get inside one of those lorries they use to carry the bones into the refinery.”

  “And why would you want to do that?” asked the creature.

  There seemed to be little point not to tell it. They wouldn't get far without its guidance. “We have a couple of extra bones we'd like to add to their collection.”

  “I see. Interesting. And the other stop you'd like me to arrange?”

  “Tea,” said Fer. “This woman needs a cup of tea. And come to that, so do I.”

  Two hours later, they stood upon a narrow bridge that arched over one of the city's motorways. For all Fer knew, it was the same bridge Cait had described, when she and Danny were shot at by the riders. A soaking rain filled the air of Manchester, blurring the lights, smudging the hard edges of buildings and roads. The rain trickled down her face, dripping off her nose. She almost envied the dead spirits hidden away beneath the ground, away from the soaking downpour.

  Two rivers of traffic roared beneath them, the lights on one side a blinding white, the other red. The light was fading in the west. They'd weaved their way across the city guided by the archaeon, clinging mainly to deserted side roads and abandoned passageways, occasionally huddling in the shadows when helicopters rattled overhead or cars drifted by. Once, to Fer's surprise, the bookwyrm instructed them to take a shortcut through a large, brightly-lit shopping centre. It was completely contained within a huge building, no glimpse of sun or stars or sky possible from within. Hundreds – perhaps thousands – of people thronged its long halls.

  “Are you sure this is safe?” Fer hissed into the phone. She felt very exposed. There had to be cameras everywhere, and many of the shops appeared to have their own security guards. One stood in the doorway of a jewellery shop, eyeing them with open suspicion.

  “It's perfectly safe as long as you keep moving,” said the bookwyrm. “I know what I'm doing. The Arndale Centre is a maze, almost impossible to navigate without getting lost. If anyone is following you they're likely to lose their way and end up where they started, or never find their way out at all. Besides, they'll have worked out by now that their systems are being flooded with false sightings. They're almost completely sure to dismiss images of you in the middle of the Arndale.”

  “Almost completely?”

  “There's a good likelihood of it working. A very good likelihood.”

  A security guard sprinted toward them, one hand on the baton sheathed at his belt, the other holding his hat on his head. Fer stopped, preparing for the assault, but the man, chest heaving, trundled past them, perhaps following one of the false reports conjured by the bookwyrm.

  “Hurry!” said the creature from the Lizard King's phone. “This is no time to stop and do some shopping. If you dawdle you're lost.”

  They raced on, back to the relative safety of shadowy back-streets and litter-strewn alleys. By following the creature's instructions to the letter, they made it across the city's maze of streets to reach the motorway bridge without being accosted. They'd even managed to take in a brief stop at a van that had been converted into a shop selling food and hot drinks. The Lizard King had approached alone, returning with handfuls of food and water and steaming tea.

  No doubt as a result, some of the life had returned to Catherine's eyes as they stood on the bridge. She watched the streaming traffic beneath them, a calculating look on her face. Among the cars and buses and other vehicles were many of the lorries hauling along their great metal containers. Many of them no doubt ferrying Bone to the refinery portal. Building materials for the White City and greater Angere.

  “I can't see how we can stop one of them,” said Fer. “They're moving too fast.”

  Catherine nodded. “Even if there were a traffic jam we'd be seen too easily down there. And it's far too dangerous. We need to get to one of the truck stops.”

  “And where would one of those be?”

  “Out along the motorway,” said the Lizard King. “Which means we need a car.”

  “Can you do what you did last time?” asked Fer. “Pay to use one temporarily. You know, hire it?”

  The wise man shook his head. “I'm out of cash, and I'm sure Genera would spot it immediately if I used a card.”

  Fer stared into the river of traffic, wondering if it would be possible to stop one of the vehicles, take control of the driver's mind perhaps.

  The wise man's phone, which he'd slipped into his coat pocket, made the insistent warbling sound it made when it wanted attention. He lifted it out and pressed the button that allowed everyone to hear it.

  The bookwyrm's voice was hard to make out against the roar of the motorway and the lashing rain. Fer put the little device to her ear.

  “You'll need a vehicle,” said the bookwyrm. “To get to the refinery.”

  “Yes,” said Fer.

  “Then once again it's a good job I'm here.”

  “You can supply us with a car?” asked Fer. “How is that possible?”

  “In this world anything is possible if you have enough money.”

  “And you … have access to enough money?”

  “Have you understood nothing, little witch? I have copies of myself in computers the world over. As we speak I have several thousand instances engaging in high-speed stock trades. The flows of money really are fascinating.”

  As so often, Fer had little idea what that meant. She relayed the creature's words to the others.

  “How much money have you accumulated?” asked the Lizard King, his face close to Fer's.

  “Tell me,” said the bookwyrm, “what is the biggest number you can think of?”

  “I don't know … a billion. No, wait, a trillion.”

  “Hmm. As I suspected, you don't even know words big enough to describe my current holdings. Speculation really is a most enjoyable game, although quite what it's for, what it achieves, escapes even me.”

  “You have a trillion dollars?” asked the wise man, the surprise clear in his voice. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I'm sure. And it's far more than a trillion. Money in this world is just numbers, and I'm good at numbers. Very, very good.”

  “So,” said Fer, “you can pay for us to hire a car?”

  “I can do more than that, I've arranged delivery of a new car. Rather a nice one. It's waiting for you a few hundred yards away, across the bridge.”

  “But … won't Genera know?”

  “Extremely unlikely. The people I've been in touch with are used to acting discreetly, no questions asked.”

  “Who are these people?” asked Fer.

  “Best you don't know. People who have been paid well to say absolutely nothing to anyone,” said the colourful little dragon on the phone.

  “And the undain,” said Fer. “How near are they?”

  “Oh, very near. They're closing in rapidly. Another minute or two and they'll have you, I'd say. But of course it's entirely up to you.”

  Fer took only a moment to decide. She was too cold and exhausted and afraid to do anything else.

  “Show us to the car,” she said.

  16. Leviathan

  “Are these containers all full of bones?” Fer stood in the shadows of a large, bleak lorry-park, filled with rows of the vehicles and their rectangular metal boxes. More lorries lumbered in from the motorway, their bright lights casting square silhouettes about her.

  A few yards away, engine quietly purring, the Lizard King sat at the wheel of the car, ready to whisk them away at the first sign of trouble. He would be listening to any reports of imminent danger from the wyrm on his phone. She could see the anxious look on his face by the glow of the high orange spotlights that illuminated the lorry-park. If he saw anyone coming he would summon them, knock on a window or sound his horn. There were cameras up by the lights, peering down at the lorries. The wyrm had assured them he would hide the images of Fer and Catherine from the pictures they took, but he'd also warned them it was getting h
arder and harder to fool Genera. Their pursuers were starting to fill in the gaps, understand the tricks the wyrm had been playing.

  “Hard to be sure,” said Catherine, her voice little more than a whisper. “All of them here perhaps, this close to the refinery. Hundreds of them from across the world every day. Thousands.”

  “And people have no idea?”

  “None. Everyone is so used to seeing these lorries they think nothing about them.”

  A cold wind whipped down the canyons between the containers, seeming to focus the force of the chill on Fer's face. A short distance away a tiny whirlwind of leaves and dropped scraps of paper whipped around as if some malign being were about to materialise. They'd seen lots of Genera's cars on the motorway, roaring by with blue lights flashing. The bookwyrm had kept them informed about their pursuers actions, explaining where Genera was directing its efforts in its frantic search, how the net was slowly tightening as each false lead the creature laid turned out to be a phantom. In a desperate bid to fool Genera, the creature had deliberately doctored images from their actual location on the motorway, making their images clearer in the hope their pursuers would see them as fakes and look elsewhere.

  It wasn't clear the blind had worked. Fer gripped the pathetic bundle of old bones tight in their rag. The magic they were attempting seemed so small and weak in the face of the power of Angere.

  “Do you really think this will work?”

  Catherine sighed, as if she had little hope. “Only one way to find out. Sometimes all that's needed is a little nudge. A single stone slipping that starts off the avalanche. They've got away with murder for so long. Sooner or later such wrongs have to be righted.”

  When they were sure the nearby lorries were deserted, their drivers eating and drinking inside the brightly-lit building, Fer and Catherine approached the back of one of the containers. It was rusty and scuffed as if repeatedly bashed by some great force. Words were painted on it, their colour leeched to grey by the weird orange light.