The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  ‘Wouldn’t know, miss. And I never heard of groundmen.’

  ‘Of course, of course. Do you know how many from your world are roaming through this one?’

  Case sipped the delicious cold wine and felt in a relaxed, conversational mood. ‘Me and my friend that I know of. Some others tried to get in, but didn’t make it far.’ Case shut his eyes at the memory of those bodies, for he too easily pictured this young woman lying dead among them. ‘Rather not say more on that, if you’ll excuse me, miss. You got a name, or should I keep calling you miss?’

  She smiled. ‘In fact, I don’t have a name. I seldom have need for one. Call me Stranger, if you like. Does that suit?’

  ‘Well sure. I’m Stuart Casey. Case for short.’

  She inclined her head. ‘I have no name, you have two! Is that a custom of your people?’

  ‘Most have three names, first, last and middle,’ he said, then delivered a brief lecture on the practice, which she listened to politely. At its end, he asked, ‘What’re all those hungry-looking people doing over there?’

  The woman looked over and shrugged as though the milling crowd was of no importance. ‘They’re here from the cities, seeking work. The Aligned cities send their sons and daughters, since wealth is hard to find back home. The castle takes some, but most are turned away. They keep coming back, though, every day. Case, I notice you often look skywards. May I ask why?’

  ‘Well, there’s this — may sound strange to you — but this woman with wings. She’s the one who gave me this.’ He rattled the necklace’s silver beads. ‘She was gonna come get it, then tell me where to find Eric.’

  This seemed to interest Stranger a great deal. ‘Woman with wings! So, you have seen one of the Invia?’

  ‘If that’s what you call em, yes I have.’

  Her look said she was impressed. ‘Do you know many regard Invia as creatures of myth?’

  ‘Not surprised. But she was real, all right.’

  ‘What did she want of you?’ said Stranger, eagerly leaning forwards. Case hesitated. She smiled. ‘Ah, I’ve hardly told you aught of myself, and here I am, asking all your secrets. But perhaps I can help you find your friend. If, that is, you wish to remain in Levaal, and not go back to your own world again.’

  ‘Levaal? What’s that?’

  She smiled. ‘That’s what this world is named. Another word for its meaning is link.’

  Case frowned thoughtfully. ‘Link. Like in a chain?’

  ‘Yes. Have you a word for a chain-link which also acts as a protector of something?’

  ‘Suppose not.’ Case shrugged. ‘If you help me find my friend, I’ll be in your debt, for what that’s worth. Another glass of wine’d hit the spot, too.’ Case had intended this as a self-deprecating joke, and he was surprised to find his cup had filled. ‘How’d you do that?’

  ‘It is a small trick I learned, but it taxes me a little, so your pardon for leaving your cup alone once you are finished. I also have some ability to see the future. Not far, just a short way, and never beyond what happenstance magicians call event junctions. Or forks in the road, if you will. But you have stepped beyond the last junction and the next one is ahead of you. So I am able to help you, Case.’

  He hesitated. She reminded him of a hippie girl who seems to look at all people like they’re fine in her book, even old drunken ones who piss right in front of her. But those hippie girls had a kind of starry-eyed not-there vibe about them. This one didn’t — she was switched on all right, with her bright green eyes so attentive, and he got the sense she was here talking to him for a reason she was unlikely to share. ‘Now, why would you want to help me out like that, Stranger? Are you just a terribly nice lass, or is there more to it?’

  ‘That saying of yours again! I assure you, had I evil intent, you’d have told me more than enough by now to suit my designs, and told me in a deal less comfort. But you need not worry. It may be I find the act of helping another very good for me, perhaps to right past wrongs. Or it may be that my own interests are aligned with yours, in ways difficult to explain: that I too benefit from bringing you and — Eric, is it? — together again. It may be that to tell you too much of myself would endanger you, or me, or others. Who knows?’

  ‘Miss, when you smile like that, I don’t much care either way. If you can help me out, please do.’ It was true: it was hard not to trust her, and he even felt a bit silly for his doubt. But she hadn’t quite come clean with him, he noticed …

  She said, ‘Very well. Listen, Case. Something happened earlier, in there.’ She pointed to the opening in the castle, just beyond which was the large space where wagons from the underground passage were unloaded. ‘An attack, of sorts, from what little news I heard. There are beings called pit devils. Just pests, but dangerous ones. Many swarmed inside from an underground wagon train. It seems they were herded deliberately.’

  ‘I think I know what you’re talking about,’ said Case. ‘Saw it myself. Quite a mess, it was.’

  ‘Yes. Many died, many goods were spoiled, and this is displeasing enough, to them. But more than that, it is a symbolic gesture, an act of open war. It has angered the castle a great deal, signs indicate, and they feel they know who did it. They have sent out patrols this morning already. You may have heard them marching past.’

  ‘Can’t say I have. I slept pretty deep.’

  ‘No matter. The next patrol to pass down this very road — it should be within the hour — will head south-west. They will succeed in finding the bandits who did this. They may or may not apprehend them — I am not a great seer, I’m afraid, and that is beyond the event junction. But I can see this much: if you follow that group, you will find your way to Eric. Be careful, of course, to keep your charm on at all times.’

  Case digested all this. ‘Well, if this is all true, I’ll thank you kindly. Is it far to walk? I can’t see myself keeping pace with a marching army.’

  ‘Half a day’s march, more or less. You may be able to ride a supplies cart, if they have one. And, some advice. That charm is very valuable, very old, and very powerful. It is valuable enough that anyone would prize it, especially those with any magic ability. Would you believe the dragon-youth themselves made it, or at least blessed it? I can’t tell which personality. But their touch is still visible upon it, if you’ve eyes like mine. How it glares! Few such things are left in the world. Keep it to yourself until you find someone you trust. We may meet again before long, perhaps when you next need help. Keep an eye out for me.’

  Case sensed she was about to leave. ‘Miss? Stranger? One question before you go? That castle there, it’s supposed to be something, isn’t it? To look like something, some big, huge animal. What kind?’

  She laughed. ‘A dragon, of course. The Dragon.’

  Case turned to try and see it. ‘Hmm. Well, that might be its mouth right there. What’s that long part, over yonder? A tail, or a hand or what?’

  But she didn’t answer, for she was no longer there. Case laughed, surprised and delighted. He held up the cup. ‘To your health, miss.’ He sipped the wine, just a taste, so it would last until he had to move. Guess at least not everyone here’s the kind you wouldn’t piss on, if they were on fire. He thought of the war mage, engulfing itself, and winced. And there you go, I even had the chance to choose.

  19

  The grey stone hilltop plateau was flat as a plate. Their campfire was off to one edge, near the shoulder-height ridge of stone that acted as a shelter, usefully hiding them from the seldom-used road directly below. This hill and the tall cliff across formed a gate for the long mountain pass the band had to travel through to gain access to the roads south and west, and which they should have travelled through last night, had not Sharfy, Kiown and the Pilgrim been too exhausted for it. The rest of the band was awake on the platform further down, cleaning their clothes and themselves as best they could, while the Otherworlder still slept, curled by the fire. It was a cold, dim morning. Thin streaks of cloud spread over the sk
y like slowly uncurling fingers.

  The man sitting across from the Pilgrim on a piece of log by the campfire looked young and careworn at once, with a powerful athlete’s build, and — though his skin was light — something more acutely Oriental about his face than most others in Levaal. His hands dug into the hair by his temples and pulled it enough, surely, to hurt. He was not even aware he did this; in truth he was savouring the quiet and felt as at peace as he could while on the road in enemy country. Before descending into his own black thoughts, Anfen had watched the Otherworlder for a while, wondering what marvels of knowledge he had brought with him. Another hour’s sleep was the most that could be spared, for the hornet’s nest had been kicked, and they were still too close to it. This little shelter was probably as safe as they’d get until well south of here and out of Aligned country altogether. And there was no knowing what spots their windows viewed at any one moment.

  Anfen says hello. Very funny. If Kiown had known how perilously close Anfen had been to whipping his head clean off when he heard about that, he would probably have turned and fled, not sulked and made excuses. Kiown thought he’d been hard done by when his troop leader drove an elbow into his cheek and knocked him out cold, the crack! of it still echoing in Anfen’s mind with a morsel of satisfaction. To yell at the guard had been impulsiveness rather than treachery, Anfen had hesitantly bet; but a saboteur could not have done much better. His hand squeezed around the blade of the sword that rested across his lap, and only when the edge bit into his skin did he know quite how angry he still was. He glanced abstractedly at the line cut across his fingers and wiped off the blood on his pants, hardly even noticing it.

  Had the Otherworlder just stirred? He examined Eric’s face closely, then had to look away, for Eric’s face was now covered in blood and half smashed apart, its pieces like a broken plate held together by stretching, loose skin. Anfen was not alarmed or surprised by the sight; it was nothing new to him. He had, earlier, seen the young man decapitated, as clearly as if it were real. He had, whilst hearing Sharfy’s account of Kiown’s stupidity, seen the battered soldier’s jaw break off and drop to the ground. A blink later, it was merely Sharfy’s ugly, trustworthy face before him. He wondered if they had a name for this curse, or illness: whatever it was that caused the years of bloodshed and violence he’d been part of to flash before his eyes. It came and went, sometimes for weeks, and most commonly with newly met people.

  Eric’s face was normal again. Nobility, Kiown had claimed, as though this made up for what he’d done. Anfen wondered. The young man was well fed, had no visible scars, had good teeth and grooming. His clothes seemed formal and well made. It was possible.

  Anfen checked the sky again but saw no sign of any Invia. How long would his luck hold? He was Marked, and they’d see him from a long way away. He picked up the deadstone, rubbing it across his sword’s face: scrape, scrape, scrape. He could have had the sword enchanted with some useful effect, but preferred deadstone’s ability to bother and distract mages. Having to rub it on the blade every day, however, was a pain.

  The sound made the Otherworlder stir. Anfen saw his eyes open a crack, then close, feigning more sleep. ‘Good morning,’ said Anfen. ‘There’s stew in the pot. Loup blessed it. It tastes better than it smells and looks.’

  Eric yawned and sat up. He took in his surrounds, looking behind them at the cave cut into the hillside, through which Kiown and Sharfy had carried him. He said, ‘Are you going to cut my head off with that sword, or are you just sharpening it?’

  Anfen tried to soften his manner, for he knew he looked flinty-eyed and that each battle and kill had changed his appearance, however minutely, so that by now death hung about him like a veil. So it felt. ‘Your head is safe enough. Nor am I sharpening this. Eskian blades don’t need much sharpening. They hold their edges. They’d want to, for the price.’

  Eric stumbled to the fireside and took some stew from the pot. Anfen saw him hesitate, possibly unsure of the etiquette: how much should he take? ‘Have it all, if you’ve room for it. A hard road lies ahead. Worse than the one you came here by, no doubt. I know your name already. I’m Anfen.’

  Eric ate ravenously, pausing once to feel the bulge in his pockets, checking that something was still there. Anfen saw a bloody mess in one of the young man’s eye sockets, an eye recently gouged out, the face black with bruises. He saw one arm broken in two places and lying inert and useless, still clutching the wooden bowl half full of stew. He shut his eyes and things had become normal again when he opened them. ‘You’re nobility, I’m told,’ he said.

  Eric glanced up at him. ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Sort of? How do you mean? What exactly is your title?’

  Eric’s mouth was too full to speak. He chewed for a while, which conveniently gave him time to ponder an answer. He said, ‘We have a custom, where I come from, not to give details of our families and how they’re connected. I am not the highest placed, or even especially highly placed.’

  ‘But your absence would be noticed?’

  ‘Yes. It will be.’

  So, he was not sent or ordered to come. Did he wish me to think so? ‘Do they know where you went?’

  ‘I left word of it. I don’t think the door itself is something widely known. Yet.’

  ‘They will close the entry point soon,’ said Anfen, setting his blade back in its scabbard, for the Otherworlder’s eyes kept nervously returning to it. ‘What are the likely consequences, do you think, of your absence? An expedition here?’

  The young man pondered that for a while. ‘I’d say if my world — Earth, we call it — found out about this one, they would make a very big fuss. They’d probably send in some explorers and the like first. If those were attacked, they might send armies. What would result from that I couldn’t tell you.’ Eric frowned. ‘Your fire,’ he said. ‘There’s no smoke. I smell it but can’t see it.’

  ‘We are on a hilltop in enemy country,’ said Anfen with a shrug. ‘Why wouldn’t we have treated the wood? We have a magician with us.’

  For some reason Eric laughed. ‘Right you are. Silly me.’ He attacked his food for a while, then said, ‘I just remembered something. Kiown said you own me now. Is that how you’d put it too?’

  ‘We don’t own you. You’re free to go at any time, if you wish.’ A lie, of course; why not first try things the easy way? ‘My advice is that you come with us back to the Council of Free Cities in Elvury, the nearest Free City. It is the safest thing for you. This is Aligned country. Wild things and Inferno cultists infest the rural parts. In Aligned cities, you’ll be enslaved or killed. Even if you find some place to dwell and hide out, you’ll likely starve. They are short on food these days, except when the citizens decide to eat each other. You will be safe and fed with us, at least.’

  Eric set aside his empty bowl. It seemed he could spot a lie when he saw one. ‘So, I’m really free to just up and walk away.’

  ‘You are as free to do that as you are to jump from this hilltop right now and bounce your skull on the road below. The results would be similar. A waste.’

  The Otherworlder sighed. ‘A friend of mine may have come through the door after me. Your friend Sharfy stopped me from going back to save him from that thing, that war mage. I won’t tell you I’m happy about that.’

  ‘And just how would you have saved him, Eric?’

  Eric winced. Ah yes, there is a secret or two here, thought Anfen. What is it? A weapon? A power of some kind? Not enough to overwhelm Sharfy’s knife, obviously, but enough to flummox a mage? Enough to get past a mage in the first place — some kind of disguise?

  The Otherworlder quickly said, ‘I don’t know how I would have saved him. I don’t know why it spared me. You’re right. Maybe the second time around, it wouldn’t have.’

  ‘Then perhaps you owe Sharfy some thanks.’

  ‘Maybe so. And you’re right about all the rest. If you’ll have me, I’ll come. But … you don’t want me just from the kindness of
your heart, do you?’

  Anfen smiled. ‘No. What your presence means to the Mayors I can’t say. They delight in confounding my predictions and advice. But they would prize you.’

  Eric weighed this up, too. ‘Why do I understand things the rest of you can’t? Sharfy said it was some magic in the door itself. Or something.’

  Anfen pondered, staring into the distance. He was glad to look away from Eric’s face, which had now peeled and shrivelled as though it were long dead. ‘The question is deeper than you may think,’ he said. ‘There were scholars and mages who studied Pilgrims like you, and the entry point, and Levaal’s very creation itself. But their work has been destroyed or seized. I was high-ranked in their armies; I did some of the seizing.’ I co-ordinated it, ordered it, kicked down doors with my own boots, killed with my own hands, ordered ditches dug by roadsides and in the woods, filled them with corpses by the dozen. And I was very, very good at it all. ‘Then I began to read some of the books instead of burning them. And I decided to stop taking the castle’s orders. Far too late, of course.’ Because it’s nice to be promoted and made a hero, isn’t it, and be told sweet noble words about the foul things you’ve done? He sighed heavily. ‘All I can tell you is that all things here, people, events and forces, are like little numbers in a puzzle being solved by a great mind.’

  A log popped on the fire with a shower of sparks. ‘Whose mind?’

  ‘The Dragon’s. Don’t confuse It with those lesser ones you may hear of, the dragon-youth, imprisoned in the sky. I refer to that which made this world, or at least decided its natural laws. Perhaps the Dragon meant for people to travel between worlds, and wanted knowledge to be exchanged, or stolen. More little numbers gathered for the solving of that enormous puzzle. That may be why It laid such a condition at the boundary. You may be an ordained Pilgrim, long ago predicted. Who knows? The easiest way to put it is a phrase you may have heard by now: as the Dragon wills.’