The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  ‘Yes. Well, these are socks. Here.’ Eric opened the briefcase and held his polished black shoes up for the redhead’s inspection.

  He examined them from several angles, put a hand inside each, then gave them back. ‘I like those, too. Not as much. But, pretty good!’ He turned to Sharfy. ‘Calmed down? Good. They sent me to find you. Anfen and the rest got chased to the surface! There was a miscommunication. We said “buy”, the groundmen heard “rent”. Or they just changed their minds. Either way, they wanted more rent. There shall be no underground base of operations below the castle. We have wasted three weeks.’

  ‘We agreed a price, gave what they asked,’ said Sharfy.

  ‘Mmmm. I am very much with you on this. Not very nice at all. Now what’s with our new friend?’

  Sharfy explained what had happened, though according to his recollection, there’d been four or five war mages, and he had bravely run out in the open and dragged Eric down the tunnel, right as a deadly spell blasted their way. He seemed to earnestly believe it. ‘Saw a couple of Invia too,’ he added, voice lowered. ‘Up high on the cliff face. Just watching.’

  ‘Wait, wait. War mages sent to guard the door,’ said the redhead, rubbing his chin. ‘Sharfy said five, so I’m guessing one, maybe two. They let one Otherworlder through, but killed a whole lot of others. Is that much true, or is it a Sharfy special?’

  ‘It’s true,’ said Eric. ‘It told me to run, so I ran.’

  The redhead looked dubiously at them both, but shrugged. ‘And the Invia just watched it all? All the poor helpless Otherworlders getting slain, not a bat of their wings?’

  ‘Just watched,’ said Sharfy.

  ‘I’m not sure what he means by Invia,’ said Eric. ‘If there was something else there, I didn’t see it.’

  The newcomer nodded, his cone of hair swaying. ‘Mmmm. And just because Sharfy saw it, doesn’t mean it was there. Anyway, I believe you about the pit devils. Their tracks are all over the place. Most odd, and we just may bump into some. It is why I wore this. But I only brought two.’ He held up the mask he’d worn by its horns. ‘They aren’t bright critters. Wear one of their skinned faces stuck to some hide, and some scent, and you can walk right past them, I’m told.’

  ‘You’ve never actually tried this?’ said Eric.

  ‘Of course not. Far too risky. Even if they think you’re one of them, they still often enough attack each other.’ He leaned close and whispered: ‘There’s an excellent chance we’re going to be mauled. To death.’

  They let Sharfy take the lead. The redhead introduced himself as Kiown. He looked Eric up and down as they went, quizzing him about his garments. The tie in particular fascinated him. ‘Just a decoration,’ Eric explained. ‘You wear it on formal occasions.’

  ‘Mmm! Are you nobility, back there?’

  He was about to deny it, but then … what if such an illusion was useful? ‘Well, yes,’ he said, affecting slight embarrassment. ‘Not a king or a prince, but connected to the ruling family, you could say. It’s nothing, really.’ Kiown whistled, impressed, his imagination clearly filling in many blanks. ‘Here.’ Eric undid the tie’s knot, slid it free, then handed it over. Kiown held it, stroked it, then gave it back. ‘No, you keep it.’

  ‘Really?’ Delighted, Kiown experimentally draped it over his shoulder, then wrapped it around his wrist. ‘Can it be worn like this?’

  ‘Sure.’ Eric reflected he wouldn’t need a tie for a while. Maybe never again. And how did he feel about that? Not too bad, whatever the dangers … not too bad.

  11

  From her perch on the sheer cliff’s face, the Invia watched the green valley, here at the world’s highest and northernmost point. She had done so since the doors began to open, her sister on the cliff face opposite. They had watched the castle’s Lord walk through here too, and seen what he had done. Opening the gap between worlds had looked like an accident … if so, it was an accident the Invia had seen coming. The dragons had predicted it, down to the very hour and, as a rare treat, shared their knowledge.

  It took a moment for recognition of the old man to dawn: on her brief excursion to Otherworld she’d seen him for just a moment, she was sure, lying under the bridge asleep and knowing no more of her than the passing wind as she flew by, invisible. She had barely picked him out from the background of that strange, strange place, with its air so stale, foul-smelling and empty of power, its sights and sounds so alien, and its incredible big ball of fire in the sky.

  Old but sturdy enough, he seemed, though his footsteps were unsteady. Not lacking in courage, unless he was just too stupid to understand the risk he’d taken, approaching a war mage, even one on the brink of its own death. About the old man, the aura light was an unhealthy smoky grey. So many of better stock had died on the grass. Though she could have, she had not been tempted to save him from his danger, nor any of the others. Yet: he lived. Perhaps he carried a charm.

  Nor did she know why the war mage had spared the Otherworlder first through that particular door, but she meant to find out.

  She whistled across to her sister on the opposite canyon wall, a sound human ears would not hear: This one! Here is our spy.

  Her sister whistled back in acknowledgement, wry humour in the sound, then flew straight up before angling south, presumably off to tell the others that things had transpired as mighty Vyin of the dragon-youth had said: two had indeed passed safely through the gap between worlds, not just one.

  The airborne Invia flew till she was a disappearing dot passing through a band of cloud, soon hidden even from the remaining one’s far-seeing eyes.

  And now the old man, if his luck held, would hear the hidden words of Vous, of the Arch Mage, and understand them, the same way she herself had understood the voices of men, of dogs, even of the rustling wind, when she’d ventured into Otherworld. (Not that any of those had had much of interest to say!) For decades, none beyond the castle’s heavily enchanted walls had heard the private words and plans spoken within. One could only watch their actions below like pieces moving in an almost comprehensible game: the armies marching about; war mages flocking here or there like carrion birds; the new cities being built close to the castle, despite the old cities further away having already too few people.

  Watch as they might, the Invia never knew much more than one trying to discern the intentions of whoever had left old footprints in the sand. The young dragons, if they knew, kept their secrets; they could not descend in body to act in the world below, nor disturb events through servants or spells, as the Dragon-god willed. Nor could they so much as crane their necks out through the doors of their prisons to gaze with their eyes, which saw so far and clearly. No: they simply conversed amongst themselves, dropping morsels of careful thought like crumbs from a meal, an act perilously close to, if not actually, breaking the natural laws. And it happened that the Invia might be outside their sky prison holds, to catch them.

  Likewise, the Invia conversed amongst themselves. Messengers, news bearers? No! For none would break the Dragon’s laws and risk waking It from slumber, in wrath. At least, not blatantly. As luck had it, their talk outside the dragon-youth’s holds was sometimes overheard …

  And when it came to interference in the world below, the Invia followed no orders. But they had a touch more discretion than the imprisoned dragon-youth …

  The charm wrapped around her wrist had been made in the presence of Ksyn, just before the eight major personalities were banished. Was it possible he had even foreseen its use, uncounted centuries away? Time had surely dulled its power. It was hard to know how much: she and her sisters could only feel magic force ebb and flow through the air, not clearly see it in the way of mages. If enough power held, the charm would keep the old man hidden, even as he wandered the castle’s halls. If it had weakened too much, he would need some more of his luck. A very good deal more.

  But no more of his kind would come through, not this time. More war mages would be back to guard the entry point,
and soon the castle’s rulers would find a way to stabilise the accidentally fractured barrier, if that was their wish. When the entry point opened, it had been like a blow to an eggshell, making cracks in many places at once. And this had about it the beginnings of something greater than surrounding events suggested. Perhaps.

  It was hard to know, looking at the feeble figure shuffling along below, with his sickly grey aura like a coat unable to keep out the cold; but huge floods start with raindrops, like her sister had said. As the Dragon wills.

  The old man was peering at the distant tower, realising, it seemed, there was really nowhere else for him to go. He headed towards it. Good. She dived from the wall, plummeting fast, then spread her wings.

  Case twisted the bottle’s lid back on, wanting to make the scotch last until the next goat-horned sonofabitch managed to set fire to him instead of itself. He walked in a staggered line. Careless cheer bloomed through him, to know the end was close, that soon he’d catch up with Eric, and Shelly bless her heart, and others he’d known and missed. It was really all about to be done and dusted! Why the fuck not? He’d spent a lifetime dreading his own death, at times certain actual Hellfire awaited, but now he felt light as a feather. If he was to burn, what could he do to change it at this late hour? Why worry? He sang a drunken song whose words he forgot, filling it instead with profanity.

  The tall white cliff faces opened out and far below, the flat horizon spread as far as sight. That tower now stretching above him seemed part of some larger castle made of gleaming white marble, green in places with moss and lichen. A closer look showed veins of colour running through the white stone in webs.

  The castle itself, if castle was even the right word, was so huge he saw only part of it, nesting among mountains of a similar stone, as though it had been chiselled down from them into its present shape, layer by layer. A mass of windows — round ones, square ones, some glass-covered, others not — dotted the colossal stone slabs of its flank.

  Though the castle partly obscured the view of the land spread beyond, he could see that it was like a tabletop model of rolling hills: large plains of white or green, clusters of woodland. Other distant structures curved skywards, maybe lookout towers, maybe geographic features, bone-white like the land’s protruding sun-bleached ribs. A patch of the far horizon shimmered and gleamed like a sea. A vast paved road ran dead straight into the distance, dividing the landscape left and right almost perfectly into halves. Small as insects, things moved along it.

  Just visible at the very end of sight were the high walls of a city, within it a cluster of red rooftops. But the castle kept commanding his attention back whenever he looked away. He squinted at the windows, fancying he could see people on the other side, but it was hard to be sure … perhaps a trick of the light. He felt very visible himself; surely from those windows someone could see him, if they looked his way.

  Drunk as he was, grief and sadness burbling below his false cheer, Case had to stop and take in the dizzying sights, and admit to himself this would be a fitting last thing to see before clocking off to the next life, if this wasn’t the next life already. The castle itself, well, he could still only see part of it, even from his vantage point above and behind it. How it must look from ground level! You’d damn near fall to your knees and pray to it.

  So he stood and gazed, and inside sighed deeply with relief; though he wasn’t sure how this sight, this other world spread out as real as the shoes on his feet, had eased some burden on his heart and mind which he hadn’t been aware of until now, despite having heaved it around all his long life. Was it the secret fear that the world he knew was all there was, in all its good and bad, banalities and miracles?

  He didn’t know. He just gazed, and savoured the taste of every gulping breath, and said, ‘How about that, then. How about that.’

  He didn’t know how long he stood and gazed, but the act was broken by the sound of beating wings, and air buffeting him. For a crazy second Case thought he was being swooped by a butcher bird, and he ducked to the ground, hands shielding his head, an instinct recalled from decades before: a boy doing a paper route, crying as birds swooped down at him from the power lines, to go home with streaks of tears on his cheeks and a beating from a father who needed his son tougher than that, and probably never got his wish.

  Now, when he thought of how he’d marched right up close to that deathly beast to get his bottle, and that here he was ducking in terror from a potential bird, he burst out laughing, helpless with it, rolling around in tears on the soft grass.

  Then he opened his eyes and saw her, one of the creatures that had appeared in his dreams. His heart leaped. She was here! She was real! And oh yes, she was beautiful, far more than the glimpses he’d caught of her in his sleep had shown. Her body was a naked woman’s, young and sleek, with an hourglass figure. Silky black hair blew and tossed about on her shoulders with the wind. Her eyes gleamed and flashed with colour. ‘You’re real,’ said Case with wonder, though he knew nothing of her, whether she were as dangerous as the thing with horns or not. In his dreams they had flown like flocks of birds, high up, now and then dropping down to peer at him with curiosity, speaking words he could not understand, then darting back to the sky so fast they left streaks of blurred motion behind them.

  Two white feathery wings spread out behind her, soft-looking, and he wanted to run his hands over them like he’d wanted nothing else. He said, ‘You’re real, and you’re beautiful.’ Ah you old fool, he thought, don’t say things like that.

  She did not smile, nor did she blink. She stared at him with hands on her hips, bright red lips slightly parted, her expression completely foreign to him. Was she displeased? Angry?

  ‘I am real,’ she said back, voice stilted as though she did not often use it. ‘You are real. Your friend is real. He lives.’

  If Case had been spellbound, that broke him free. ‘Eric? Eric’s alive?’

  ‘Yes. He and you are the ones who lived. I heard you call him, but there’s no use. He is far away.’

  ‘Where? Now where is he? I need to find him!’

  ‘I have a task for you first, then I will take you to him. You understand my speech?’

  ‘Of course. I’m talking to you, aren’t I? But I don’t see why you can’t just tell me where Eric is. You better tell me.’

  ‘Quiet, listen. I am speaking the tongue of the Invia. Not your tongue. Yet you understand me, as I understand you. Pilgrims to and fro always have such magic about them, as It wills. You may understand their speech too.’ She pointed at the castle looming behind and below. ‘Enchantments protect their words in the upper halls, for they fear to be overheard by the great ones I speak to. It may be you are immune to this disguise. We are not.’

  ‘Now, damn you, if you know where my friend is and you don’t tell me, I swear I’ll choke the breath out of you!’ He took some shambling steps towards her, the bottle raised like a club.

  She stepped lightly up and out of his reach without even beating her wings, though she extended them now, gracefully flexing and angling them flat. The look on her face hadn’t changed; it expressed nothing. She just watched him from above, nothing more.

  Case sat down hard on the ground, body shaking with sobs. ‘Too much for me to understand,’ he said. ‘I don’t get it any more. Don’t know where I am or what it all means. Thought I was about to die, back there, and I would’ve let it kill me, because I dragged my friend into this in the first place. All those people, deader than shit. And you’re just looking at me like that. Damn it, tell me where he is.’ He cried harder, wiped his eyes, and when he looked up she wasn’t there.

  Lying in the grass beside him was a long necklace of dull silver beads. He hesitated then grabbed it. The beads stuck against each other a little, like they were faintly magnetic. He cast his eye around, trying to find the woman with wings, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  Wait — over there, by the castle. She floated in the air above the nearest tower, distance makin
g her seem hardly bigger than a bird. She waved. Come. Case stood, wiped the tears from his cheeks, and grabbed the bottle, muttering curses.

  The strip of valley ended just a little further ahead, where it curved steeply down to the castle’s back edge, nestled in the sheer cliff base. It was a long drop, but there was some semblance of a path zigzagging down through a few trees, shrubs and boulders of white stone. I’m too old for this, he thought, already puffing from the first steps of his descent.

  And he was too drunk for it. His foot slipped and down he went. As much as he’d been casual about the prospect of dying a few minutes before, now the moment had come, perfectly involuntary panic bloomed through him like an explosion, and he clutched desperately at the ground as he slipped over the edge into air.

  But hands caught him under his armpits. He felt a steady lurch as the Invia’s wings beat. He grabbed hold of her arms as hard as he could, too alarmed by the sight of the world far below his feet to worry whether he was hurting her. Her grip was strong and painful; her breasts pressed into his back firm as fists. He looked down at the forearms he held onto and was startled to see thin little scales covering her skin, clear as glass.

  Between his feet was the round marble-white roof of a lower part of the great structure, which seemed a grouping of fat dome-shaped temples, while other parts led off and trailed in giant branches curving away from the main mass. The whole thing had some huge deliberate shape to it, like an enormous sculpture, nothing like any actual castle that Case had ever seen. There were courtyards way down there where dot-sized people scurried about. Case’s head spun, guts spun, and he tried not to reflect on the odds of her letting go if he puked on her forearms. ‘Don’t drop me,’ he said. ‘I’ll do what you want. Don’t drop me.’

  ‘Hush! You are annoying.’

  Each beat of her wings brought them closer to a tall tower, its upper half coloured gold. Case thought it was about to smack them head on until she parked on the wide ledge outside a window two-thirds of the way up. She set him down and stepped backwards onto the air as though standing on an invisible platform, angling her wings so they held her still. She said, ‘Now it becomes difficult. You must go inside when the prisoner opens her window. She will not see you, as long as you wear the charm. No one will see you. Do not take it off! And do not speak. You are a fool, I think. I hope you listen.’