by Marc Secchia
There was evil in Feynard. Evil that held her captive. Evil that struck even beyond the graves of those Glothums Zephyr had described.
What would they find at the source, at Elliadora’s Well? Would it kill Alliathiune?
Kevin tasted blood. He realised he had bitten his lip too hard.
He turned his attention back to Zephyr, who was prattling on about the different types of magic mastered by the different creatures of the Forest. Lurks for water and stone; Dryads for living and growing things; Drakes for offensive spells; Unicorns for healing, illusion, defence, and the scholarly arts; Dragons for shape-shifting, fire, and the higher magical arts the Unicorn refused to reveal to him.
The afternoon soon fled.
Chapter 12: Shilliabär Tower
As evening approached, the company came to a hill, to a bare place from which they could see both behind and before. Indomalion’s corona set the southern horizon ablaze in orange flames–sun-flares, Kevin wondered? Great tendrils of impossibly distant fire, raging above the gloaming gathering across the land, stroking the faraway horizon so distinctly that he imagined he must soon see an inferno racing through the Forest. An illusion, of course. But why did the flames burn downward?
There was so much of Feynard he had never noticed. Kevin felt as though he were waking up from a decades-long sleep.
“Garlion eats Indomalion,” said Zephyr, following the direction of Kevin’s gaze. “But we must look ahead, good outlander. “Here lies beautiful Shilliabär. Those were once the city gates, through which one would enter the city’s main avenue.”
Turning at once, Kevin surveyed the damage. Time had wreaked its toll, reducing the walls in places to heaps of rubble and the gates to dust–all that remained of them were lumps of stone that must once have formed gatehouses. Beyond, the once-proud city was in the process of being reclaimed by the Forest, overrun with undergrowth and trees where once there must have been roads, pavements, houses, and monuments. He shifted uneasily, wondering when the Glothums would appear. How they would kill. He had seen too much killing already.
He looked at their company. Seven X’gäthi were left of the original dozen, one having fallen foul of a Forest creature not even his partner two feet away had seen. Akê-Akê was bruised and bloodied all along his left side after a second, smaller Yatakê had attacked them in the early evening, but still grinned fiercely back at him. He seemed to be making the most of his second lease on life. Snatcher, battered and gouged in a dozen places but still unbowed, carried the precious burden of Alliathiune in his sling. They were utterly spent.
Kevin felt his guilt would grow into a Yatakê and eat him alive. If he had not snapped at Alliathiune, they would not now be standing on the portico of deadly Shilliabär. He should not have been so grumpy. So angry. So out of control! For twenty-seven years, Kevin Jenkins had enjoyed absolute control over his little domain–save for Father and Brian. He had been on Feynard what, three weeks? Already a lifetime. He was a different Kevin.
When had he ever walked on his own two legs for a whole lighttime with only a brief pause for lunch? He shivered. Father would have killed him for raising his voice, for daring to answer back. Brian would have guaranteed a visit to the doctor.
“Strength to you, good outlander,” said Zephyr, touching his horn to Kevin’s shoulder. “This is a spell for protection this darktime. I fear to make camp out here. Something malodorous drifts on the wind.”
Kevin nodded. Where the Yatakê had tarried, the Old Forest was rotten and dying, as though their mere touch were deadly poison to growing things. Branches softened and wilted, leaves turned brown, even the soil underfoot was spongy with decomposition. The Dryad would have been devastated, had she seen what they had seen.
Concentrated Blight. He shivered again.
“Are you cold?”
“Just a bad memory, Zephyr. Sometimes I can’t believe … Feynard must be strange and magical beyond belief.”
The Unicorn lifted his melancholy gaze to those last roseate strains of the sunset streaming between the kalar trees. “There are other pockets of magic in the known lands of Feynard, good Kevin. Strange and wondrous lands they are, beyond Driadorn’s borders. But the Forest is the greatest of these, and Elliadora’s Well is the heart of its magic. I feel much stronger here–but this is also why the Blight is so alarming. If the basic fabric of the Forest can be corrupted, then what hope have creatures who depend on it for our livelihood? Our very survival is at stake. You are an outlander. One who comes from beyond. Who knows what effect the magic might have on you? What you might be capable of? To us, you truly represent the unknown.”
“But I’m rather different to the warrior Alliathiune saw in her dream,” he said, with a bitter laugh. “What good am I, really?”
“Hrr-ibrrali!” Zephyr harrumphed, his breath steaming slightly in the cooler evening air. Kevin had the impression that he was considering his next words very carefully, and waited patiently for the Unicorn’s response. “There are seven tests of wizardry, good Kevin,” he said obliquely. “The first of these is the test of reason. Nothing in magic is straightforward. Many are the pitfalls ready to trap the unwary, the impatient, and the ignorant. Often there is conflicting and inconclusive information, where the skill of the wizard lies not in nimble digits, but in the ability to reason through to the correct solution–the one that will not kill.”
“Among the races of Driadorn, wizards are a select breed. They hold great power and responsibility. Any creature may become a wizard, but some–Unicorns being a case in point–have certain natural advantages. Some have the power but lack the ability to harness it.” Here, he looked significantly at Kevin. “I have seen that you are eager to learn. Only you saw the connection to Elliadora’s Well.”
“Which remains unproven.”
“As yet!” He sighed deeply. “I also sense within you a deep uneasiness about wizardry. It is this lack of belief that causes you to withhold.”
“Zephyr, for goodness sake! The truth is: I don’t have a clue!”
“Well. Seven tests there are. Once initiated there is no going back–the tests will come, whether you choose them or not. If you try to avoid them, as some would-be wizards do, the lore suggests that the tests will be commensurately harder. The first seems simple, but it is not. The apprentice must memorise the Wizard’s Creed, and then answer seven questions to a wizard of the seventh rank. The answers given will determine how far and fast through the ranks one progresses. Good Kevin, I carry with me a copy of the Wizard’s Creed. It is a sealed scroll. Once you break the seal, the tests are set in motion–your name is written on the Roll of Initiation in Korahlia-tak-Tarna, a secret room in a secret tower, whose location is revealed only to wizards of the third rank and beyond. A select few, in other words. I would ask, as a friend, that you give solemn and lengthy consideration to the undertaking of this journey. I ask you to consider becoming a wizard.”
“I am honoured, of course.” He was stunned, to tell the truth. Kevin too gazed for into the distance for a time, gathering his thoughts, and scratched his chin. “May I ask a few questions, good Zephyr?”
“I’ll answer what I may.”
“What are the other six tests?”
“That I cannot say.”
“I guessed so. Are these tests hard?”
“It is said that they test a person to the uttermost. Failure does not necessarily spell death–at least, in the lower ranks this is largely true.”
“I see.” As the Unicorn had intended, this gave him pause. “I guess Omäirg and Ozark were seventh rank wizards, then?”
“Sixth and seventh, respectively.”
“And what rank are you?”
“Fourth.”
“Only?” The Unicorn sucked in his breath. “Er–I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Zephyr let out a sigh, very slowly indeed, and turned away to gaze out over Shilliabär. “There are no flippant answers in the tests. You should understand, good Ke
vin, that the ranks are roughly equivalent to orders of magnitude. I am one of only six fourth-rank wizards in Driadorn, and in all Feynard, there are but twenty-three in total. Of the fifth rank there are three. Nine out of the last ten wizards to attempt the fifth rank have failed and perished.” His voice was tight, controlled. “Give it thought. I have seen you at work, heard you speak, and have seen the magic burst loose from you. You have what it takes. My offer is not made lightly.”
Zephyr was scared about that test, Kevin realised–and in a roundabout way, he felt comforted. “I shall consider it. Am I wasting time reading my book, in that case?”
He glanced back and grinned. “No such study is ever wasted, good Kevin. Are you ready to continue once I have prepared the others?”
“I am.”
But his gaze returned to the green pod which held Alliathiune, slowly but surely destroying her. He had much to ponder.
* * * *
They moved into Shilliabär in a tight group, threading their way along what had once been a major thoroughfare, but was now a cracked, tumbled expanse covered in bushes and a dense, thorny creeper Zephyr called allïmwort. The evening was thick with its scent, a cloying smell like rancid saffron commingled with a touch of black pepper. All around them were the cries of unseen creatures, the clicking of claws against stone, and the occasional rasp of leathery skin disappearing into a dark crevice between the broken stonework. No hand strayed far from a weapon.
The last light of evening soon faded. They paused briefly to pass around water, nuts, and waycrust, before igniting illumithär sticks to light their way. Zephyr was keen to press on for the city centre. But with the gathering darkness, the larger Glothum predators emerged from their holes and nests in search of ‘fun and entertainment’, as Akê-Akê put it, and after one of the X’gäthi was nearly lost to a pony-sized feline, the Unicorn settled upon discretion rather than foolhardiness. The X’gäthi found a partially intact building, inside which they took shelter. Snatcher stopped up the more obvious holes with the largest boulders he could carry–yet even so, Kevin totted up at least half-a-dozen attacks repulsed before he completed this work.
The next thing he remembered was the rough edge of Akê-Akê’s cloven hoof introducing itself to his ribcage. “What?” He sat up sharply. “Oh, stinking piles of tripe … Zephyr? Snatcher? What’s going on?”
The whole room shook as though struck by an earthquake.
“Dark wizardry!” hissed the Faun. “Gather your belongings!”
“No time!” shouted Zephyr, rearing in panic. Silvery powder spurted from a pouch on his back. “It’s a diversion!” he neighed. “Lurk, get us out of here–now!”
The room rattled again, throwing Kevin to his knees. Something was rising from the earth beneath them, he realised suddenly, for the floor shifted and cracked in jagged strips right across the room. He staggered to his feet.
“Stand back!” roared Snatcher, crouching, coiling like a cat. Then his immense thighs snapped straight, propelling his bulk across the room in a flash. There was no time to bother with the door, which he had blockaded with an immense block of stone. Snatcher went right through the wall next to one of the windows, using his left shoulder and arm as a battering-ram. The wall exploded outwards and sagged, leaving a gaping hole which the X’gäthi darted through. The Lurk rose, flinging boulders aside with careless abandon, and reached into the room for his sling. Akê-Akê hurdled his arm; Zephyr scuttled through on his heels. Kevin found himself picked up bodily by the Lurk and swept away with the sling, just as the bottom of the room fell away and a pair of very large, purple feelers emerged from the pit. A scream like an overheated chainsaw split the darktime air.
They fled. The Lurk tucked Kevin beneath his arm like so much baggage, hopping in great bounds over the rubble. Akê-Akê worked his way steadily through his repertoire of curses, especially when he tripped over an exposed root and gashed his chin open.
“Did anyone seize the Dryad?” cried Zephyr, sagging with relief as he saw Snatcher pull the sling over his shoulder. “Gently, mind!”
A second scream rose chillingly behind them, silencing the ordinary sounds of the city. “What was that thing?” grunted the Lurk.
“Just run!” snapped the Unicorn. “They hunt by smell.” And Kevin could see, above his back, a cloud of dust blossom and spread gently over their trail. It smelled like poppy seeds mixed with cayenne pepper.
“Let me guess,” panted the Faun. “Scarab demon, good Unicorn?”
Zephyr stumbled in surprise, ripping his left foreleg open on a sharp rock. “How do you know that?”
“A favourite of Ozark’s in the last war.”
“Exactly!”
“Dangerous?” Snatcher grunted.
“My fine Lurk,” gasped the Faun, “a Scarab demon would breakfast upon Yatakê. There is only one sure way to evade them–and that is to run. Very, very fast, and very far away.”
They ran until Snatcher was winded. Being the largest of their company, he was suited more to sprinting than to distance running. He set Kevin down and fell to his knees, coughing up thick phlegm laced with blood.
Zephyr cast him a concerned glance before rounding upon Akê-Akê. He demanded, “Are you some manner of wizard, good Faun?”
The Faun stiffened as he rose, and answered the Unicorn’s steely glare with the full mettle of his own character; transformed in that instant, by a dignity that had until now lain completely unsuspected beneath his humble exterior. Neither flinched, and when he spoke, the Faun’s voice was as still as a forest pool. “What I am and what I am not, good Unicorn, is matter of personal privacy that I choose not to share at this time.”
“That is wholly unacceptable!” the Unicorn barked.
“My answer stands.”
“Kevin!” Zephyr whirled to face him. “This Faun is sworn to your service. Command him to reply!”
Kevin felt like an unwilling prisoner being dragged to the noose. How could he disobey the Unicorn’s command? And by what right did he presume to command Akê-Akê? It would be a violation of his right to privacy, even as he had been violated in the past by Father and Brian. But he was saved from reply by Snatcher.
“On my word of honour,” rumbled the Lurk, “this Faun is no wizard. His tribal patterning–the scarification marks–proclaim it for all to see.”
Akê-Akê swore bitterly and spat, “If you know, good Lurk, then why do you not tell the interfering one-horn, who regards all Fauns as the dust beneath his precious hooves, what I am? Perhaps then he will be satisfied!”
“It is not my place.”
“Fine! Outlander, you command him!”
The Faun made a dismissive gesture. “Save your breath, noble Zephyr. I am a Faun Loremaster. It is my business to know these things.”
“Order him to leave–now!”
Kevin blinked at Zephyr’s hate-filled hiss. He said, plaintively, “What? Why should he leave?”
“Loremasters conjure demons!”
“Some do,” Akê-Akê interrupted, goaded beyond silence now. “Others tame animals, heal the sick, dispense justice, and keep the tribal histories. Undoubtedly, the good Unicorn suspects me of conjuring the Scarab. Why don’t you say it outright, one-horn?”
Kevin bleated into the frosty silence, “How did the Scarab demon know where we were?” And moments later, “Would someone kindly tell me what’s going on?”
But Zephyr suddenly looked tired and weary. “Akê-Akê, your truth shines before you as the dawn sky–I was wrong to suspect you. Please accept my humble apologies.”
The Faun looked furious. “Accepted,” he grated.
The Lurk cocked his ear. “We should hurry on, nobles all. This is no place to rest.” And he chivvied them along as a mother hen gathers its chicks, for they were exhausted and bone-weary and cold.
* * * *
Shilliabär Tower rose before them like a single mocking syllable, seamless and perfect and untouched by the ravages of time. Protected by mag
ic, both Zephyr and Snatcher averred. One hundred feet of sparkling white marble, with no discernable doorway, protecting the lost scrolls of Shilliabär’s many wizards. It was evening of the following lighttime, and the Unicorn’s patience was long since frazzled.
Kevin stared around the circle of Zephyr’s magic. Creatures prowled out there, growing bolder in the gathering gloom, snarling, spitting, and hissing as they circled the intruders while giving each other a respectful distance, but the shield held firm. The Unicorn had taken two turns to draw on the ground the complex runes and symbols that protected them, explaining that he needed calm in order to work. Whatever he had done, Kevin thought, was so effective that the X’gäthi to the last man had rolled into their cloaks and were sound asleep. He wished he could relax at the drop of a hat like them. But when there were three or four dozen unnameable creatures out there, each clearly as predatory and deadly as the next, he found an attitude of relaxation somewhat hard to entertain.
Over to his left, by the tower, he saw that Zephyr, Snatcher and Akê-Akê were embroiled in a heated discussion. Once they found the tower, they found no way in. An afternoon’s frustration with gaining ingress lay at the root of their anger. The tower had resisted their every artifice. The Unicorn had evidently run out of ideas.
His eyes lit upon the green-shrouded bundle that was all that remained of Alliathiune. For her sake, he told himself. Enough soul-searching. It was his fault the Dryad had become trapped. His fault that she was dying. Kevin could stand the inactivity no longer–the ghosts of his fears were nothing compared to the guilt that gripped him now. Were he not such a miserable little toad, then the Dryad would have been safe and smiling and no doubt giving him the rough edge of her tongue. He would infinitely have preferred her most towering fury to the sight of a devouring green pod. He would rather she had slapped him again, harder than the time they first met, than see her succumb to this insidious fate. He pushed himself to his feet.
Kevin silently passed by the Unicorn, trotting back and forth. He stuck his hand in his pocket. Willed himself not to throw up. Touched the cool Key-Ring, fingered a couple of the larger keys, and then passed it over his wrist. A cold sweat was upon his brow–every time he had done this, a concussion had resulted. But now there was only a slight tingling. Kevin stood before the tower, expecting something to happen. Nothing did.