The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  Eric looked both impressed and sceptical. ‘This Dragon. Is it real? I mean, are you giving me a religious explanation? An actual history? Do you worship it?’

  What strange questions, Anfen thought, especially that last one. He frowned. ‘It’s real, though none have seen It in the flesh. We have only seen signs of its passing, from times It roamed the land, huge and awake. Footprints hammered into the world’s crust, shed scales buried deep. We suspect It sleeps underground, near the castle, for there’s heavy magic in those parts, and the gods do not go near it. No one swears to It, that I know of. Why would they? If you found a great sea or mountain, would you worship it, just because it is greater than you? We do not, unless it may have bearing on us, hear our prayers and answer them. Sometimes the Great Spirits do. The Dragon does not, unless in ways we can’t see or measure. And if It does have a hand in our fate, It must mean us ill, for things have gone badly. I hope I answered you well enough.’

  Anfen glanced at the sky again, and for a moment his heart raced — a shape moved up there. A bird, probably. He’d soon know if it wasn’t, that much was sure.

  Eric said, ‘You’ve answered well, but I have to tell you, this is all totally weird to me. Why was I brought here? Why me? If you could understand how insignificant I was back there—’ he cut himself short.

  ‘Insignificant amongst the other nobility, you mean?’

  ‘Well, yes. You know, there are court jesters more important than me. I wasn’t all that high on the ladder, really.’

  The Otherworlder’s limbs had all been hacked off. Blood pooled about him, stumps of white bone glistened. Anfen shut his eyes. ‘You may or may not have been summoned. I can only say what I know. For some reason the entry point opened up. Loup, our folk magician, foresaw it. He was adamant we seek it out, adamant in a way I’ve never seen him, though he wouldn’t say why it mattered. And still won’t. As we were already nearby on other business, I relented. And here you are.’

  ‘Where is this castle? I only saw a glimpse of it before.’

  ‘Behind us. Stand atop that rock there.’

  Eric did, peering over the top of the plateau’s shelf to see what had been obscured before. A huge white shape in the far distance gleamed like a piece of fallen sky. It looked like a long, fat dragon lying asleep, its head resting chin first on the ground, front paws to either side, a tail curling behind the bulging round mass of its middle.

  Anfen tried to imagine how the sight would affect him, with eyes new to it, but could only think of the orders that came from its upper halls, and the beings who gave them, and he felt only hate, dark and bitter, so strong it almost numbed itself from being felt.

  Eric however looked almost dizzy at the sight. ‘Wow,’ he said, and laughed.

  ‘You were underneath that, some hours ago. The entry point through which you came is above and behind it. An impenetrable cliff runs around like a fence behind: no doubt you saw it. It is said Otherworld is differently built, that you may walk in one direction forever, eventually passing the point you started. Is that so?’

  It seemed a cool breeze blew from the castle’s direction, ruffling their hair like a friendly hand. ‘Technically, yes. Who built it?’

  ‘It was here before we were. Only the dragon-youth or the Great Spirits could properly answer you. And they keep their secrets. Mages of the old schools hollowed it out with chambers, halls and stairways. Then they gave it to the cities, which were all Free Cities, back then. To make a long story very short, Vous and his cohorts stole the castle, then began stealing the cities. They are still busy with that task today, among others. And they will succeed. It is a question of when. Are you good with a sword, Eric?’

  ‘Not yet. But I’m going to learn.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Anfen sat by the fire. There was much to think about. ‘Any magical talent, Eric?’

  ‘Not yet. But again, I’ll learn.’

  ‘I’m afraid if you can’t already see magic in the air, you’ll never be able to wield it. Magic is a perilous trade. Why would you want to learn it?’

  ‘I’m here for a reason,’ Eric said. ‘Since no one’s told me what it is, I’ll decide. I’m going to be the greatest hero you’ve ever heard of.’

  Sharfy already is, Anfen thought with amusement. The young man could have been joking or not, it was hard to tell. Perhaps he’d been driven insane by his trip into a new world. It was certainly a stupid thing to say, if he meant it. Anfen saw blood gushing out Eric’s slashed windpipe and looked away. ‘Welcome, then,’ he said.

  20

  No smoke came from the campfires spread out on the lower platform, which was a quiet bustle of activity as people ate or tended to clothes hung on makeshift lines. Most wore leather, furs and skins, and there was no shortage of swords and knives lying about. The camp had clearly been here for some time.

  Eric counted four women, six men, all of them giving the impression beds and hot baths would be quite welcome. One of the men was easily double a normal man’s size. His face tugged somehow at Eric’s memory: those big, dumb, startled eyes, the bald head … the door! This was the huge being he’d seen struggling to fit through, before Kiown’s boot was planted on his face to push him back.

  The woman who’d fired an arrow at the train held a small razor and tended to the giant’s moustache, trimming off a little at the sides with a very careful hand. Eric’s eye lingered on her. Her skin was darker than that of anyone else he’d seen in this world. She had big almond eyes and jet black hair in two thick braids that hung down to her hips. She’d stepped from the set of a film about Native Americans, he was sure; even the tanned skins and tunic she wore would have seemed at home. She softly sang as she brushed little wisps of hair from the giant’s naked chest, and said, ‘All done!’

  The giant peered at her, puffing air with his cheeks. When she saw Eric making his way down, she watched him intently and a change came to her face, no longer carefree and smiling; there was an intensity there now he could not interpret. If he had to guess, he’d say her look meant she wanted to kill him.

  Eric spotted Sharfy and Kiown seated close to the path, embroiled in a heated argument with voices they strained to keep low. The others seemed to be listening with amusement they politely kept as hidden as possible. Kiown had a piece of dressing on his cheek and an impressive black eye. His face was totally rearranged by anger, leaving no trace at all of the practical joker he’d seemed at first, his voice an angry hiss: ‘And what of your part in it all? Was that disclosed? You scuttled over that dirt cart like lice on my balls. You stuffed your pockets.’

  Sharfy sat back placidly, watching the veins bulge in Kiown’s neck, the flying spittle. ‘You finished yet?’ he said.

  ‘No! Traitorous shit! After I brought you the masks and all. You made it sound like I want us to get caught and killed.’

  ‘Guess I’m the one whose face he should’ve smashed. I done you wrong.’ Sharfy laughed his loud ugly laugh, then spat. Eric had seldom seen a meaner-looking face in his life than Sharfy’s gnarled, scarred and dented one. ‘Guess you won’t be leading any more missions any time soon,’ he said.

  ‘Aha! Now it comes out,’ Kiown said, looking triumphant and newly enraged all at once, the cone of red hair swaying wildly. He stood and walked away, his long lean body convulsing with anger, jerking him as if puppet strings pulled from above. Eric sat in his vacated place by the fire, glad of its warmth.

  On the ground before Sharfy was a pile of that brackish dirt. Next to it were about a dozen flat, sparkling pieces that they’d dug out and rubbed clean. ‘You’re awake,’ said Sharfy. ‘Anfen doesn’t let me sleep that long. Not in Aligned country. You and your luck. Got that dirt I threw to you?’

  Eric felt his pockets. ‘Yeah, but there’s not much.’

  ‘Your loss, your fault. You had a chance to grab plenty.’

  Careful not to reveal the gun’s clips, Eric pulled out two handfuls of hard dirt from
his pockets. Sharfy examined them. ‘Not much at all,’ he said. ‘Be lucky if there’s one or two scales here. Probably none. You’re crazy. Don’t get many chances at a dirt cart these days.’

  Sharfy picked through the dirt pieces with his knife. Kiown, who’d angrily paced up the path, came back, unable to resist watching what Eric’s share would bring. Sharfy dug out what looked like sea shells buried in the dirt. ‘One, two … four, in this little clod? Ha! You and your luck.’ He spat on a rag and polished them one by one. Three of them gleamed brightly, two red, one blue, but one remained dull.

  Kiown made a strangling noise. ‘He’s got a black scale!’

  ‘Nah, it’s just dirty,’ said Sharfy, rubbing it harder. The scale did not get any brighter. ‘Wait. It is black! Wish your luck’d start spreading around.’

  Kiown made a noise like he was going to be sick. He looked at Eric in accusing disbelief. ‘You know how many black ones I’ve seen in my life? One! That one!’

  Eric thought he was about to be struck by Kiown’s accusing, pointing arms. ‘It’s about the only thing in this world that I own,’ he said. ‘Does that make you feel any better? And can someone tell me what these are exactly?’

  ‘Scales,’ said Sharfy with a gleam in his eye. ‘Dragon scales.’

  Eric looked closely at one of his other three. It gleamed a beautiful deep ruby red. ‘From the Dragon?’

  ‘No, from the mighty god-chicken, whose beak can peck at Time Itself,’ said Kiown in disgust. He stormed off, wringing his hands.

  ‘Ignore him,’ said Sharfy. ‘Lots of scales buried, over at World’s End, in the ground.’ He unfolded a small map, showing an oval shape, and pointed at a line running dead down the middle. ‘That’s World’s End. That line there’s the Wall, runs all across. Scales buried near it, mostly in the middle part, deep in the ground. Shallow ones all got dug out back when they started to use em for trading. Mad rush for scales. Now, only way they get new ones is in the mines, dirt from way down deep.’

  ‘Why so many, over in that spot?’

  Sharfy waved away this clearly unworthy question, which Eric had learned meant he didn’t have the foggiest idea of its answer.

  ‘Professor Sharfy!’ Kiown called mockingly from up the pathway. ‘Say, Professor? Why are some men born short and ugly?’

  ‘How’s your eye, precious?’ Sharfy replied. ‘Aw, did you hurt yourself?’

  ‘Stop your squabbling,’ yelled an old shirtless man from one of the other fires. Apparently to himself, he said, ‘We been on this hilltop too long, like I told him. Past the point of being safe, by now. Is a tight squeeze now, oh aye.’

  ‘Ignore him too,’ Sharfy muttered.

  ‘What makes these things valuable?’ said Eric, putting the scales in his pockets.

  ‘Rare, pretty. Plus you can crush em up for visions. Not many people do that. Show you why.’ He took Eric’s black scale, laid it on the rocky floor, then tried to smash it with the handle of his knife, many times. The scale didn’t break or crack. The underside of Sharfy’s knife handle had some new slits cut into it. ‘See? Got magic in em. Hard to crush up — that’s why no one knows about the visions. Good thing, too. Visions sometimes show you too much.’

  In that moment, Eric resolved to do a vision as a matter of priority. ‘So how would I crush it up, if I wanted to?’

  ‘Shh!’ Sharfy’s lopsided eyes bulged with alarm. ‘Against Anfen’s rules. He won’t have it, not while we’re on the road. But if you wanted to, that’s who you talk to.’ He pointed at the grisly old man, who now lay flat on his back, snoring.

  ‘What the hell is he supposed to be, anyway?’

  ‘Him? That’s Loup. He’s our magician.’

  The magician in question farted loud enough to turn heads all across the platform his way.

  ‘Not quite Merlin,’ Eric murmured. ‘Not quite Gandalf. Live and learn, I guess.’

  Anfen’s voice called from the upper platform. ‘Pack up camp. We ride soon.’

  21

  The women changed their dress out in the open, unconcerned if they were seen naked. Likewise the men. Eric found he was seeking out the one who’d shot an arrow at the train, hoping for a look at her changing garments, but when he saw her, she was watching him.

  She stood and approached, the long braided plaits of hair swaying against a hide tunic which hung stiff over her, showing little of her figure. She stood close to him, chocolate-dark skin accentuating the whites of her eyes. Her tongue ran across her lips and, later, looking back, it was that one moment he’d look back on, as though it were a seed planted, or perhaps a bomb set. ‘My name is Siel. Come with me,’ she said, unsmiling.

  Eric shot a questioning look at Sharfy, who seemed to be very carefully examining a stray thread in his sleeve and was totally absorbed in the task. A few heads turned to watch as Eric followed her further along the winding path, his heart beating fast. One of two things, he knew, was probably about to happen. The curved knife she’d used to cut up his briefcase hung from her belt, and he envisioned her hand moving it across his skin, opening it with the same gentle ease, spilling its contents. Her bow was still slung across her. His hand went to the gun at his side.

  They came to a point on the rock path where the encampment was no longer visible behind them, nor could its noise be heard. She stopped and moved a little away from him. To their right, the rock shelf dropped off, giving a view of a paved road winding below, visible a short distance away till hidden by the hillsides through which it wound.

  He wanted to gently run a finger along the bumps of her braids, see her skin below her tanned animal hide. Just that — if he could just see it, he would need nothing more.

  For some reason she paced as though wrestling with a private decision. ‘You are a prince?’ she said, turning to look at him again.

  Not a hard question, he found. ‘Yes.’

  She bit her bottom lip, seemed to silently curse, none of which he could make the least sense of. She resumed pacing. ‘I must watch here to ensure the road is clear when we depart. Go some way further, look to your left. You’ve seen war mages. You can now see the stoneshaper mages, down below.’ Seeing the look on his face, she said, ‘Don’t fear, they aren’t aware of us and don’t care. They are far too busy building things. Watch them.’

  ‘Why do you want me to?’

  ‘You are new to Levaal. You have little time to learn about it before you will need the knowledge.’ She unslung her bow, set it down and sat with her back against a boulder, one knee raised, an arm resting on it. He did not avert his gaze from the part of her skirt that fell away and showed a smooth muscled column of thigh; in fact briefly he couldn’t avert it. Her other hand rested between her legs as though to protect modesty, though she remained in that pose, watching as he pulled his gaze away with some effort and headed up the path.

  The area beneath was like a huge flat bowl scooped out of the basaltic hillside, in which taller shafts of rock had been raised and placed like buildings in a street. Milling around these were twenty or more men in drab robes. They had horns on their heads similar to those the war mages wore, but straighter, and pointing outwards rather than curling down. They looked decidedly more human, though all appeared to be tired, old men, so similar that each could’ve been the twin of any other. They shuffled around like sleepwalkers.

  A group of them coalesced around a short pillar of rock. They stood murmuring for some time, then all moved their arms skywards. The rock piece jolted, and a crumbling sound carried up the canyon. With perfect synchronicity, the mages lowered and raised their arms, each time making the rock pillar rise further. At its base the rock seemed to flow like liquid. Soon they had its top level with the tallest around it, then they dispersed and shuffled away to a new location, to begin the process again. Some crouched down to rest, smoke trailing from the tips of their horns.

  ‘They are building a new city here.’ Siel’s voice made him jump. He’d not heard her approach, yet she was righ
t behind him. ‘It’s all they do. They are nearly machines. Later they will hollow out the insides of the pillars, make buildings of them. In a year it will be ready for people to move in. It will be filled with those who swear to Vous, and it will be a place where life is easy, at first. Others will learn to worship him, so they too may live this way. It is why most Aligned cities accept starvation. People cling to their old ways so stubbornly.’

  There were more of the stoneshaper mages below than he’d first seen. Many groups clustered further away, moving in and out of visibility between the raised pillars. ‘Are you sure we’re safe here?’

  ‘You were scared by the war mages, weren’t you?’ Her voice came from very close. ‘They won’t come here. War mages fear stoneshapers.’ Her hands slipped around his belly, under his shirt, and rubbed up his chest, cold to the touch. One began to seek its way below his belt line. He felt himself stir, but reached to halt her hand before it went further. She sighed, lips so close he felt her breath on his ear. ‘I’m not fit for a prince?’

  ‘You are more than fit for me. Whether I was a prince or not.’

  ‘Then it’s something else. What? Do you live forever, in your world?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We could die before the day is out. In moments of rest, I like to remember I am alive.’

  He turned to look at her, lower lip thrust out and eyes turned down, a pose of vulnerability he could scarcely believe; he knew she was a warrior, she looked like one, moved like one. She had probably killed people in battle. He felt a pang of guilt for his lie; was that the only reason she wanted him? He laughed. ‘To be honest, I was more concerned that I haven’t washed for a long time. I probably stink.’

  ‘Welcome to the road,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Is that all it is?’ Her eyes were still wide and doubtful, looking deep into his. He didn’t even decide to touch her — his fingertip just ran gently down the long knotted braid the way he’d wanted it to earlier, as though his hand had decided for itself. She didn’t smile, but the doubt was gone from her face as she quickly undid the thin knots of strapping about her shoulders and waist. The gown fell away in two parts, leaving her only in her boots, her breasts larger than shown by the flatness of the tunic, the nipples fat, wide and erect in the cold. Little goose bumps were across her skin. There was a wild nest of untamed hair between her legs. And he’d been wrong: a look wasn’t enough.