The Cloven Land Trilogy

by Simon Kewin

  “Why?”

  “Because it seems likely they're the final, sealing words of the Ritual of Seven Ascensions. I'd like to confirm they are, and then I'd like to understand which version it is that's been passed down through your family.”

  Fer's mouth opened and closed as she worked herself up to speaking the words. The voice of her grandmother came to her, a whispered conversation in the dead of night. Remember this. Tell no one else.

  “It's OK,” said Cait. “You're not to blame for what your ancestors did, just as I'm not. None of us are. Perhaps you've been keeping this secret so you can use it now.”

  “It'll be perfectly safe,” said Hellen. “There'll be no effect unless any of us happen to secretly be one of the undain.”

  Fer nodded, not laughing at Hellen's attempt at humour. In the end she spoke the words to the star lamp above her head rather than to Cait or any of those around her.

  As she uttered the harsh, spiky syllables, Ashen wrote them down on a scroll of parchment he had ready. Afterward, he studied the words, drawing lines between his transcription and some other writing. Presumably the other versions of the ritual.

  “Yes,” he said at last. “It definitely matches. That was the final clause of the second version of Ilminion's incantation.”

  “You're absolutely sure?” asked Hellen.

  “Absolutely. Fer said yaelth and not ath.”

  There was a little light of excitement in Hellen's eyes as she spoke. “So it's as we thought. Ilminion must have intended to use the second version of the rite, one that introduced a fatal flaw. He did intend to usurp Menhroth. But he was subtle; he knew he couldn't simply slay the King and take control. The riders and the Holy Court would never have allowed such a thing.”

  “The change would have been unnoticeable at first,” agreed Ashen. “But slowly, ounce by ounce over long years, Menhroth's power would have waned and Ilminion's, his blood the sealing form in the rite, would have grown. Perhaps without anyone even noticing Ilminion would have become the greater of the two.”

  “And by then,” said Hellen, “all the undain would owe their existence to Menhroth. Which would mean Ilminion had power over all of them. He could act when he chose to usurp or control the King.”

  “That has to be it,” said Ashen. “Ilminion must have written the second version of the ritual once Menhroth had made his demands to be granted the power of necromancy. If the plans had succeeded it would be Ilminion, not Menhroth, sitting on the throne in the White City by now. Without Fer's words we could have guessed the truth of it, and guessed which version to use but her family secret proves it. She wasn't throwing some other incantation of Ilminion's at the undain that attacked her. She was sealing the great Ritual and so destroying them.”

  “But what Fer did wasn't like that,” said Johnny. “The zombie guy at the gig didn't fade away. He fell to pieces then and there.”

  Ashen nodded his head, as if that made perfect sense. “Yes. Ilminion's magic has been in place for five hundred years, leeching a tiny amount each day. But it couldn't take effect until the seal was placed on the rite. Then five centuries of slow decay hit the undain all at once.”

  “Why didn't the power flow to Fer as it would have flowed to Ilminion?” asked Cait.

  “That's a very good question,” said Ashen.

  Fer was staring at the ground. She spoke quietly into the silence that filled the room. “Both times there was a … moment of choice. There was a great rush of magic flowing into me from the creature I'd killed. The power of it was glorious, intoxicating. But it also felt tainted and rotten. Both times I refused it, turned away from it. I … let it flow from me rather than into me, and I remained what I was.”

  “Where did it go?” asked Ashen.

  “Into the earth. There were voices in it. A clamour of confused, distant cries. I let them find peace.”

  Cait squeezed Fer's arm, offering reassurance.

  Hellen, listening intently to everything, cleared her throat. “Very good. And in that lies our one hope.”

  “It is still terribly dangerous,” said Ashen.

  “Are you suggesting what I think you are?” asked Cait. “That we walk up to Menhroth and throw those words at him?”

  “There's the blood, too,” said Hellen. “But, yes. That's exactly what I'm suggesting. We give him precisely what he wants. What he's been longing for and lusting after for centuries. After all we've done, everything that's happened, he surely won't suspect the truth of it. We'll pretend we're still trying to fight him and he'll overcome us, seize the book and use it to seal the necromancy.”

  “But how can we be sure he doesn't know what Ilminion was really up to?” asked Cait.

  Hellen nodded as she frowned. “We can't but it seems likely given how desperate Menhroth has been to get his hands on the book and the blood. And, of course, he's never had the completed Grimoire to study.”

  A puzzled look had been gathering on Johnny's face. “OK, but, if there's a good and a bad version of the rite in the book, and we give the book to Menhroth, what's to stop him speaking the wrong one? The wrong one from our point of view, I mean. He might guess and get lucky.”

  “Because,” said Ashen, “with the archaeon's help I've made a small change to the wording of the first version.”

  “You've put the rogue syllable into that one, too.” said Cait.

  “Just so. And made another tiny alteration, insignificant to the overall effect, to explain Ilminion setting down the second. It doesn't matter which version Menhroth speaks. Either will be sufficient.”

  “But,” said Cait, “even if it is possible to get close enough to Menhroth, and even if he falls for it and it works, that's only one of the undain destroyed. The main guy, yes, but there are still, I don't know, thousands and thousands of others.”

  “There are,” said Hellen, “but they come from him, don't they? He raised them. He's been very clever, making sure their existence was bound to his, tying their fates to him so that no one would dare threaten him. But when he goes the whole lot of them will go, falling like a rotting tower of wood.”

  “Are you sure of that?” asked Cait. “Does the Ritual say that's what will happen?”

  Ashen shook his head, a frown clouding his features. “It doesn't, and nor does it say that anywhere else in the Grimoire or in Akbar's journal. That's speculation on our part. It seems likely.”

  “But basically guesswork?” asked Cait.

  “Yes,” said Ashen. “I wish we could be certain.”

  “We'd have to get very close to Menhroth to attempt it,” said Cait.

  Hellen nodded. “He is vain and proud, from what you've said. No one has dared oppose him or even criticise him for five hundred years. If we march onto the ice to challenge him I think he'll take the bait. He'll see the book and the heir of Ilminion within his grasp, and he won't be able to resist.”

  “The heir of Ilminion,” said Fer. “You mean me or Cait.”

  Hellen's voice was regretful when she replied. “Cait, I think. It is too much to ask of anyone and it is a thing that must be done freely. But I think Cait should be the one.”

  “Why?” asked Fer. “I can go. I can take the risk. And surely Menhroth will be suspicious if we simply walk onto the ice and offer him the very thing he's been trying to acquire?”

  “That's precisely why it has to be Cait,” said Hellen. “It would look suspicious if it were anyone else. But I think Menhroth fears Cait. He's seen everything she's done. She escaped from Genera. She crossed Angere picking up friends and allies on the way. Because of her, Lugg found Xoster. She unleashed the spirits in the White City and rescued Danny. She even helped destroy his trusted servant Charis. He may think she's another like Ilminion. He wouldn't think she'd come out to meet him unless she was very sure of herself. Don't you see? Everything she's done so far has bought us this opportunity. If he sees her coming to face him it's unlikely he'll realise she's trying to trick him. He'll see a chance for a final, d
eciding showdown with his enemy, a chance to seize what he craves, and come to meet her.”

  “That's what you hope,” said Fer.

  Hellen nodded. “That's what I hope. I may be wrong.”

  “It's hugely dangerous,” said Fer. “You may simply be giving Menhroth exactly what he wants.”

  “Yes. Or he might realise what we're up to and slip off the hook. Live with his thirst, his need, for more and more Spirit as he's been doing. Or he may not even come at all.”

  “He might kill Cait there and then to get her blood,” said Fer.

  Hellen glanced at Cait. “That's possible, too. That's why it has to be Cait's choice.”

  Cait studied their faces, the varying shades of doubt and alarm and fear she could read there. This did seem to be their only hope. Could she do such a thing? Walk out to face the Witch King? The thought made her insides boil with terror; it seemed insane to even consider it.

  On the other hand, her gran always said she was capable of anything if she put her mind to it. She'd never really believed that, but perhaps it was time to try. She didn't feel anywhere near brave enough or clever enough, and she wished one of the others could go instead of her. But she had done all those things Hellen described. With help, sure, but she'd done them. Done them even when people like Nox kept doubting her. Now there was this final thing, a thing needing to be done. And she would damn well go out there and do it. Or try, at least.

  “We'd have to make it look good,” said Cait. “If I just wander out there holding the Grimoire and try to look all spooky and dangerous he'll suspect something.”

  “You're actually going to do this?” asked Johnny.

  “I think I have to.”

  “Well, have you translated any of what we've said to Danny? Because he might have a view on it.”

  “I'll explain it to him later,” said Cait.

  Danny looked at her questioningly, his brown eyes narrowed. He'd picked up a few words of the language of Andar, and had obviously heard his name being used. He certainly would object to her plan. She'd explain everything to him later, try and make him understand that she had to do this thing.

  “Menhroth might have these fears about me,” she said. “But it will be pretty obvious I'm not much of a threat once I'm out there facing him and he tries to zap me.”

  “But you are a threat,” said Ashen. “You have only to learn the words from Fer. It's your family secret, too. When Menhroth sends his guards or wyrm lords to come and take you, you can despatch them as she did. Destroy them. Menhroth doesn't have to know you're using the sealing words from the Ritual. He'll see you working some magic from Ilminion's book and his undain being destroyed and he'll believe. He'll think only he can stop you and he'll come.”

  “What if he thinks Cait is too powerful?” said Johnny. “Then he might avoid her at all cost.”

  “Again, he might,” said Hellen. “Except, he knows he's more powerful than Ilminion was. He made sure of that five hundred years ago. So long as he doesn't know about Ilminion's deception it might work.”

  Johnny let out a whistle of air. “A hell of a lot could go wrong.”

  “Yes,” said Hellen with a tired sigh. “Cait? It's up to you. No one can make you do this. You know the risks better than anyone.”

  “This thing with the blood. Does Menhroth have to, you know, drink it or something?” It was vile. The whole thing was disgusting.

  “The touch of it will be enough,” said Arran. “Ilminion was supposed to mark Menhroth's skin with it, so any splash or drop on the King should suffice.”

  That was something. She wouldn't have to let the King bite her on the neck or something. Still it was hideous. “And what if I don't go?”

  “Then,” said Hellen, “we'll fight side-by-side here and hope for a miracle.”

  “In that case, I'll go,” said Cait simply. “It's all we can do.”

  “And I'll go with you,” said Fer.

  “Me, too,” said Johnny. “And probably Danny as well, once you've explained to him what the hell you're intending.”

  “No,” said Hellen. “I think Cait should go alone. The great danger is that Menhroth reads our thoughts, grasps what we're attempting. Cait has learned to erect walls around her mind only recently but she's already very, very good at it. I fancy she's been well taught by someone. Forgive me, Cait, but I know how good your defences are because I've tried to breach them. Perhaps your experience with Xoster, the violation you felt, helped. You, Fer, are also accomplished at that particular skill, but Menhroth would find it easier to see into your thoughts. And you, Johnny, he could read like an open book as soon as he glanced at you. Danny, too. Hard as this is, I think Cait has to go alone.”

  Cait nodded. Again, it made sense. The thought of walking out to meet Menhroth filled her with cold dread, but there was no alternative.

  “No,” said Ran. He spoke so rarely people tended to forget he was even there. “Not alone. I will go with her. My thoughts will be hidden from the King by my markings. He will not know the truth from me.”

  Hellen considered the wyrm lord. Cait had never been able to see into Ran's mind, and it seemed that was also true for Hellen. “Very well,” said Hellen after a moment. “The two of you, then. The two of you and all our hopes with you.”

  Cait nodded her gratitude at Ran who met her look with his usual impassive gaze.

  As everyone was leaving, Fer took Cait by the arm and spoke quietly. “I'll teach you the words of the family secret.” They wove through the woods to Fer's little hut in one of the more distant clearings.

  The syllables were coarse in Cait's mouth and the taste of something sour or rotten came to her. She was probably imagining it. While she practised, Fer threaded some of own jewellery through Cait's ears and eyebrows and lower lip. Then she mixed up some acrid dye and carefully combed it through Cait's hair. Soon her locks were the colour of water, the colour of ice once more. Finally, Fer gave her a pair of stout, black leather boots that laced up her shins.

  “These should fit you. I think we're the same size. They'll keep your feet warm at least.”

  Cait took the boots gratefully. They wouldn't have looked out of place on the streets of Manchester. “Thanks.”

  “I wish I could come with you,” said Fer. “I wish there was more I could do.”

  “I know. I wish you could come, too. All of you.”

  They hugged each other close, two distant cousins from two different worlds.

  An hour later, Cait followed Hellen up one of the two flights of steps that wound up the inside of the chimney-shaped hollow of the Wycka. The sunwise and widdershins staircases. An iron railing had been embedded in the wall, but the steps were open on the other side to the great, round space of the building. Birds swooped through the air, their shrill cries echoing from the stone.

  The wind picked up as they climbed. Cait clutched the cold railing more firmly as the stone floor receded. The discordant rumble of the Song, reverberating from the walls, became quieter. At the same time, the wind blowing over the open top of the tower made a louder and louder oh sound, as if the whole building were sighing in despair.

  At the top, where the two staircases met once more, Cait and Hellen climbed onto a balcony that had been set around the outside of the tower. Another iron railing offered a degree of protection from the drop. The whole of the island was laid out around them: the orchard of witches on its hill; the trees and the roofs of the witches' huts nestling among them. Frost sparkled from every surface. Beyond the trees, the Silverwater gleamed. The cold was biting, the wind seeming to pinch the bones in Cait's face.

  “I wanted to speak to you alone,” said Hellen. “I know what you said to the others, but I want to be absolutely sure you meant it. No one will think the worse of you if you don't attempt this thing with Menhroth. You've already achieved wonders, done more than we could ever have asked for. And there really is a good chance it won't work, for all the reasons we said. If it does fail, then that's my
fault not yours. I wish I could go in your place, I do. I wish I was cleverer, better-prepared, more powerful. But I'm not any of those things, and I'm truly sorry for it. Ariane used to complain that I went around giving people orders all the time. Pots and pans before plots and plans she used to say. Perhaps she was right, but I'm not telling you what to do now. What you do is up to you and no one else.”

  Cait put her hand on the old witch's arm. This could almost have been her gran standing there beside her, admitting to her failings.

  “Without you Andar would have had no chance,” said Cait.

  Hellen shook her head. “I've done little enough. But I know the thought of using the necromancy revolts you. I don't blame you for that.”

  “I don't see any other way now,” said Cait. “We're turning the magic against itself. Fighting fire with fire. And somehow it feels like the price has been paid. I mean, I know this isn't witchcraft. I know that necromancy steals from others, takes without paying, but still it feels like we've earned the right, somehow, to do this. Because of everything we've been through. Everything we've lost. Does that make sense?”

  Hellen nodded. “It does. To me at least.”

  “If Menhroth does come, do you think the plan will work? Truly?”

  Hellen sighed as she stared over the frozen island. “Truly? I don't know. We're so weak compared to them. Love and sacrifice and friendship are such small things in the face of brute power, but sometimes the big and the strong fall because they overlook the small and the weak.” Hellen threw a little smile at Cait. “That's what I tell myself, anyway. It's likely I'm talking nonsense.”

  “Why does he even call himself the Witch King? He's no witch.”

  A flash of amusement passed across Hellen's face. “To mock us. Perhaps to tell the world he's more powerful than any of us. Or perhaps, in the old days, a distinction wasn't made between witches and mancers.”

  “They'll attack the Isle while I'm out there.”

  “Oh, we'll do what we can. More weather spells, mists to befuddle them, webs to hold them fast for a time. Our grim-faced friends from Caer L'dun will fight to the last drop of blood. We'll put everything we have into it, but none of it will achieve very much.”