The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  The Arch Mage gave more names until Vous snarled, ‘Enough of this!’ and put back on the ring he’d removed. Case saw nothing happen, but the Arch Mage cringed away, hand over his human eye. Vous crouched beside him, his expression venomous. ‘You have never mentioned World’s End before this moment. Never as it relates to the Project, as a threat or otherwise, in all the miserable years. Not from our earliest days planning coups in darkened rooms with wax-eared brats watching the doors. You have never raised the possibility of its being destroyed, by anyone or anything, enemy of ours or not. Why now?’

  The Arch Mage seemed to fight to keep his voice even under immense strain. ‘It is more a potential combination of forces, Friend and Lord. It has worn on my mind for a time, but only as a distant chance. You laugh when I mention it — so did I, until I learned of the plot. Then I gave it some thought and grew afraid. It is not likely, but possible, with a determined, resourceful enemy. We will always have enemies until the Project succeeds and they no longer matter. Until then, I am forever nervous of them, Friend and Lord. As is my duty.’

  Vous licked his lips and leaned very close to the Arch Mage, watching him writhe and squirm. Then as though convinced of his vulnerability the lord’s face softened and he stood. ‘I am sorry. I … I am sorry.’

  ‘It is fine, Vous. It is fine.’

  The lord hastily walked away, his knuckle between his teeth and tears in his eyes. Panting for breath, the Arch Mage watched him go, then struggled to his feet, sweating and shaken. No emotion was translatable from that face.

  And that’s quite enough for me, Case thought, backing quietly away.

  16

  As time dragged on, Eric only wanted to stop and rest. But onwards, onwards, onwards they walked, till it all became a blur. The tunnels rose steadily, and Kiown said they were headed for the surface soon, always just a little further, just a bit more …

  His head began to spin. I’m a valuable trinket to them, he thought, so maybe they can carry me. He stopped fighting the dizziness and let his legs collapse. Kiown rushed to stop his head striking the rock floor. ‘Get his legs,’ he told Sharfy.

  Eric felt himself being lifted, and wondered whether the gun was secure enough not to fall out. Did it matter? Did anything matter apart from the chance to shut his eyes?

  When they set him down he smelled the sweetness of fresh air. One eye opened. It was night, but there were no stars. They seemed high up on a hilltop. There were distant lights. There was the smell of campfire smoke.

  I can’t believe I’m here, seeing this, living this. There really is another world, and I’ve found it. I can’t believe what I’ve seen … The thoughts should have left him awestruck, or terrified, but he was so tired his mind hurt like a strained muscle to think them. Reality jet lag, he thought.

  ‘Others aren’t far.’ Sharfy’s voice. Eric quickly shut his eyes, feigning sleep.

  ‘Is he ill?’ said Kiown.

  ‘Keep him here, let him rest. Anfen’ll want him.’

  ‘I’m going back to camp.’

  ‘Tell em not to bother us yet. I’ll mind him.’ Footsteps padded away. Eric lay on flat, smooth rock that seemed as comfortable as any bed he’d known. He thought of his comfortable, soft mattress back home, with its creaking springs, right now still unmade.

  Sharfy draped a blanket over him and put something soft beneath his head. You can trust him, Kiown had said. He just doesn’t look like it.

  Who cared either way? Sleep. Deep sleep, this time not troubled by wild dreams. Those, he supposed upon waking, were now for the daytime.

  17

  When he was out of the Arch Mage’s earshot, Case ran. Heads turned in the Hall of Windows as his footsteps scuffed on the floor.

  The way wound downwards, until he was sure he’d gone well beneath the floor on which was Aziel’s bedroom. Soon he was out of the tower altogether, and into a larger part of the castle’s body. Some long passages here were completely abandoned, others packed with busy staff. Every so often he found a window and stuck his head out, calling urgently for the winged woman, but she didn’t answer him. He began to think he’d been swindled, that she had never meant to keep her side of the bargain — which, he realised with a sinking feeling, might mean Eric wasn’t alive after all.

  The lower he went, the fewer vacant-faced grey-robes there were. Soon, it seemed the people were normal people, and were in a fashion just like people anywhere else, doing their jobs behind benches or at tables, though those jobs were mostly preindustrial. He passed smiths making things of metal, women weaving straw and fabric, courtyards where teenagers lined up to be taught how to use weapons or tools. He saw so many things, some normal-seeming and some peculiar, that his mind began to shut it all out, and to long just for it to be over, for a bed, even just a soft field of grass to rest in, naked sky above, cool breeze to breathe in.

  Sometimes he came to mess halls where workers sat for meals. More than once, Case helped himself to someone’s plate or cup, not caring about the startled reaction of its owner. The goblets of wine were far inferior to Vous’s upstairs, but they kept him going.

  At last, at long last, he came to what felt like the ground floor. More chambers, more hallways, until a cavernous space opened before him, bigger than an aircraft hangar, clattering with the sound of busy people and machinery. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people bustled around large metal wagons, which drove in from an underground passage. Across from this was the outside world, a view of the horizon from ground level, and that big flat road Case had seen from the sky, dividing the horizon in two.

  Bundles of hay and straw, crates of fruit, livestock with its animal smell, and all manner of other things were being unpacked from the underground wagon train and loaded onto smaller carts; the smaller carts were wheeled off through side passages and out of sight. Case sat to rest for a spell, watching it all. If he hadn’t been so tired, he’d have been glad to see the semblance of normality here, of real people doing real things, whatever insanity happened on the floors high above them, which he knew they themselves were probably forbidden from knowing. Foremen shouted orders, strong men did heavy lifting with grunts and curses. One or two grey-robes roamed about, scrolls and pencils in hand, seeming to supervise it all, not half as dead-headed as those upstairs had appeared. Here, they gave orders and were hastily obeyed.

  Then, as though Case’s very relishing of normality had given the signal, some kind of commotion broke out near the entrance to that underground passage. Shouts and cries broke out. ‘Why’s that wagon unattended?’ a passing grey-robe demanded of no one in particular.

  A large wagon lurched up the passage and onto the floor-space, where rails ran along the floor. Blood was spattered thick over its side. Shrieks and cries spread around the large space and people began to scatter.

  That was when the pit devils leaped from the wagon. Four, five of them. Then more poured out of the tunnel in a scurrying pack, dozens of them loose among the workers, jaws open wide, teeth gnashing as their heads whipped around on unnaturally flexible necks, mauling anything that moved.

  Case shrugged and calmly walked towards the exits, not having to try hard to shut out the chaos that ensued, the screams, human and inhuman, the blood and the death. He’d had enough of it all. He didn’t even bother worrying about whether the evil-looking monsters could see through the charm’s disguise or not. At any rate they left him alone.

  On a patch of soft grass outside, some distance off the long flat road, he collapsed, exhausted. He slept right there, shutting out the background noise and not caring a damn about anything just then: not the castle, the winged woman, not the real world nor this one, nor even Eric. Sleep was what mattered, sleep in the soft trampled grass and, as he’d wished, the cool breeze blowing over him.

  Meanwhile the Invia just watched, just watched, as the powerful mage paced around her frozen and trapped body. She had known the danger of coming within the home of one such as this; even a war mage would have been da
ngerous for her where there were walls and roof to prevent an easy escape if the fight went ill. Her chances against this mage, much greater than they, had been poor. She had barely even realised she was cornered and must fight before he snared her, blind and deaf, in an invisible web that held her still. She had been dragged to this small dark place and left here to wait.

  The Arch Mage now regarded her as if she were a puzzle piece that didn’t belong. His blazing aura filled the room, shocking waves of multicoloured plumes radiating power. She’d have been impressed and scared, had she not beheld the dragon-youth, whose auras could be seen long before they themselves were in sight, beaming through the rock layers of their prisons. That power was real greatness, a blazing inferno. This was a campfire … yet, she had put her hand in it, and been burned.

  He had asked many questions, of the dragon-youth mostly, demanding news of the eight major personalities (and of some of the minor ones, whose business she did not know or care about). She had answered truly to save pain, time, and trouble. It did not matter what words of the dragon-youth this man now knew, for they would have foreseen this, probably, her very imprisonment, and chosen their words with care. Yet she wished to get back — there was much to tell her sisters, even without retrieving the old man’s charm.

  She also knew the mage’s dilemma: to kill her was easiest, but if he did, he would be Marked, and the skies here were often travelled by her kind. Should twenty of them descend upon him, he would not fare as easily.

  ‘I will keep you caged here for a time,’ he said at last. ‘You have entered my home without leave, and deserve to be punished. But listen. You have not acted for the dragons, only for your own curiosity. Had you acted for them, it would have been a breach of the natural law, and they would risk doom. I know this. Do not think fear of them is what stays my hand, only your utility. Yesterday’s enemy is today’s friend, if he is of use to me, and to the Project. Can you be of use to me?’

  She would not serve him, and thought him insane to ask, but why say so? ‘Yes.’

  He studied her. ‘Very well. I must consider in what way you can serve. I will allow you to live, in my service.’ For a full day he left her there alone, before there was a sound of keys in the lock, and a guard came in with a sword in hand, which he lifted high, smiling down at her. ‘Pretty,’ he said.

  He would be Marked, no doubt sent out on the rooftops right away, where her sisters could find him with ease and tear him apart — that would be the matter’s end. The mage was smart. He must have communicated his order with as subtle a signal as he could; or, perhaps, he’d long ago made provisions for what should happen, if an Invia needed to be slain. If the mage had been careful enough, and if this servant were bound and gagged, her sisters would not know the mage’s real part in her death, and he would go where he wished without fear. Not so, this ignorant man …

  She did not care either way, even as he ceased leering and the sword descended. Her purpose had been fulfilled. Others like her remained, others would be made. Had her life been important, the dragons would have warned her.

  The cry of her death, as the cries of a dying Invia always did, swept across every corner of Levaal, from the castle to World’s End, through the fishing villages by the Godstears Sea, across the hot smouldering ash of Inferno’s Grave, through the icy peaks of Nightmare’s Crown, heard by all who had hearing. Those asleep had fleeting, grief-filled nightmares of beautiful things being broken; those awake had shivers down their backs. Not many knew what it was they heard.

  18

  Case opened his eyes, bleary with the light of a sun he couldn’t see in the ivory-white sky. If he’d had dreams, he’d forgotten them. His legs and back thanked him for all the recent walking by making it feel as though he’d spent the night being drawn and quartered. His knees were especially polite in their thanks.

  He looked around for the sun, but it hid from sight, if it was even up there at all. He’d been entertaining some notion that this world was right next door to the old one, like two balloons stuck together, and that it had to physically exist under the same sun, even if for whatever reason no one back home had seen this place. But ah, that familiar smell of grass on waking! (This was not the first time it had been his bed, not by a long shot.)

  The burbling sound of a nearby crowd was what had woken him. There ahead was the exit he’d stumbled through, before collapsing on the lawns outside the huge white castle, and — Christ on a crutch, look at the size of it! It made him feel like he was a little speck of sand. He’d seen from the sky in the winged woman’s arms that the castle was sculpted into some sort of deliberate shape. It was still too close here to see what the shape was, but Case had an inkling that before him was a gaping open mouth, which alone must stretch for half a mile in either direction, or more.

  People milled about on the lawns. Despite a sprinkling of bald heads and greying hair, they seemed mostly university-aged, their clothes of plain make. Some were European-looking and light-skinned, blondes and redheads; some were darker, with faces distantly Oriental. But to Case’s eye, there were no clear distinctions between types, and the crowd could, he judged, be of one ethnicity. Almost all were unhealthily thin, and all eagerly jostled towards the open part of the gate through which Case had exited the castle. A bunch of guards with spears angled downwards stood on the platform near the steps, barring the way in.

  He sat up, stretched, his head a little seedy.

  ‘Hello there,’ a voice said behind him.

  Case wheeled around, startled. A young woman sat on the grass, legs crossed, hands in her lap, watching him. She had short blonde hair and wore a long green dress that seemed medieval in style, tight on her body but loose around her arms. Her face was friendly, plain and pleasant; he’d found as he got older that young women all looked amazing to him, like a whole new species entirely more beautiful than they’d been when he too was young … but he did not desire them in the way he had in his youth, any more than you’d want to screw a beautiful sunset. How long had she been there, watching him sleep? And what in God’s name was the appeal in the sight?

  ‘Morning,’ Case said. He pondered the problem at hand, and could think of no classy way to say it. ‘I don’t mean to offend, but, if there’s some kind of bathroom around here …’

  The woman laughed. ‘You need to relieve yourself?’

  Case nodded, feeling his cheeks redden. ‘Normally not in public, you understand. I don’t normally sleep in front of castles either.’

  ‘I shall look the other way, be assured.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Case worried that some of the crowd would look over as he pissed in the grass, but they seemed too busy trying to get up those steps, pleading with the guards, who ignored them. Then he remembered the charm still around his neck — they wouldn’t see him.

  And yet, the woman had …

  Case turned. ‘You can see me?’ he said. ‘How’s that, then? You know about this?’ He shook the beads around his neck.

  ‘I know about your charm,’ she replied. ‘That is, I know you wear one. Not how you came across it.’

  ‘Is it broken?’

  ‘Its spell won’t work on me. Those people can’t see you. A few who’ve wandered past turned their heads at the sound of snoring coming from some invisible source. It was loud. I thought you had swallowed a large, angry hound.’

  Case hesitated then sat back down near her. ‘Why can you see through it? You a witch or something?’

  She laughed. ‘I’m a friend.’

  ‘Friend?’

  ‘Yes. Shall I prove it? Here.’ In her hand now was a goblet of wine. He hadn’t seen her pour it and saw no bottle nearby. She offered it to him. He liked the look of her accompanying smile very much: intelligent and sweet. And Case would have taken the drink had she snarled like a dog. Yet …

  ‘Pardon me. Last thing I’d want is to offend you. But we have a saying where I come from. If something’s too good to be true, it usually is. And to me, the best thi
ng I could think of right now is a nice-looking young lady with a free cup of wine in her hand.’

  She laughed again, and the laugh — aside from making him feel exceptionally witty, which he knew he wasn’t — gave her face a sparkle that made Case ashamed to have doubted her. She said, ‘That is a very wise saying. We have a saying here, too. If you see an Otherworlder asleep on the castle’s lawns with a very powerful charm around his neck, pour him a drink!’

  Case considered. ‘Cheers to that.’ He sipped and found the wine as delicious as if not better than the cup he’d skolled last night in Vous’s chamber. If it’s poisoned, what the hell. It tastes good enough, he thought. And she’s not a bad last sight to have. He took the luxury of draining the cup more slowly this time.

  ‘I suspected you would enjoy that vintage,’ said the woman with another smile.

  Case frowned; did something in her smile suggest that she knew what he’d done last night, stealing the lord’s drink? If so, she didn’t seem to mind. He wiped his mouth. ‘So that’s what you call us? Otherworlders? I’d figured this was the “other” world, and ours was the real one.’

  ‘That is probably to be expected.’

  ‘You know, some people from here came into ours first. That’s why me and Eric came in. Well, he came in, and I followed him. Long story.’

  This seemed to interest her. ‘Oh? How many from our world entered yours?’

  ‘Hard to say, miss, I wasn’t watching the door the whole time. Three or four I know of. They robbed a newsagent. That’s a kind of store we have, back home. Took a whole bunch of paper, then jumped right back.’

  ‘Paper! Is that all? Gold or magic or scales I could fathom. Why such trouble for paper? Or was there writing on the paper? That must be it. Trade for the groundmen, I assume? Not the paper, of course, but the language on it. To them, such would be priceless.’