The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  She tugged at his pants, examined what was beneath them with open curiosity, as though seeing if Otherworld men were built differently from those she knew. He took the holster off his hip, not caring suddenly whether she saw the gun or not. Her hand was clumsier on his cock than it had been on her bow, but that hardly mattered. She lay on her robe and opened her legs, pulling him down into the warm wet nest between them.

  To him, it seemed at first like the act of animals in the wild, scratching an itch without emotion, and he realised this was because he hadn’t kissed her. He tried but for some reason she turned her head away; he tried again, and she denied him again, and a sudden burst of possessive anger flared in him. He held her face still and pressed his lips down on hers. Passively she opened her mouth for him to do as he liked. In that irrational moment, it was her fault he’d lied and was left to doubt himself. He squeezed hard on the underside of her thigh. It was firm and cool in his hand. He flung aside one of the woven braids from where it lay across her moving breasts and clutched her arms as though to pin them. Then when he came and lay panting on her, her eyes closed, he felt almost sick with shame.

  The stoneshaper mages continued their work below, and occasionally came the grinding sound of rock being moulded. She didn’t say a word as she stood and dressed, her face still unreadable. He wanted some assurance he hadn’t hurt her or used her. He realised, suddenly, he had wanted that very thing in those fevered seconds: to hurt her. Why? He had never in his life wanted such a thing before. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  She looked at him as though he’d said something totally incomprehensible. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m just a long way from home …’ he said, and shrugged helplessly.

  ‘Why are you sorry? Aren’t princes supposed to, with nobodies?’ She fixed her clothes more properly in place.

  Nobodies. If I’m not a prince, am I a nobody? ‘No, it’s not that … I don’t know what it is. I wanted to hurt you, that’s all. And I don’t know why. I wish I hadn’t … hadn’t wanted that.’

  ‘You didn’t hurt me, whatever you really wanted.’ She turned away and reached for her bow. Then, hearing something Eric hadn’t, she rushed to the platform’s edge, overlooking the path, and gazed out over the stone ridge, her slender body as taut and tense as the bowstring she drew back, an arrow in place. ‘I told you death was close. If not here for us, here for them.’ She gave a nervous little laugh.

  Eric went to look, but she waved him away. ‘Go back,’ she said. ‘Run. Tell Anfen that castle swordsmen are below, some in heavy armour. Too many to fight. Now the pass is blocked. We’ve camped here too long.’

  22

  It had been a long, bumpy ride for Case and he was losing hope Eric would be at the end of it. He needed badly to piss. The march had been going on for hours — how many, he couldn’t tell. To keep track he’d begun counting the trudging sound of metal boots like a second hand on a clock, before it occurred to him just how pointless that was.

  The supplies cart rocked under him, its wheels squeaking. Two mules dragged it along at a slower pace than the soldiers nearby wanted. They had remarked the cart was a touch heavier than it should be and couldn’t work out why; early in the march, the whole patrol had stopped while they examined its wheels and axles. Case sat between stacked pouches of water, whose sloshing sound didn’t help him one little bit as the miles ticked by. He would’ve lain down to sleep, but every so often had to dodge hands that shot in as thirsty soldiers gobbed a mouthful.

  The march had been far more formal and disciplined near the castle. As they moved away, the commander loosened the leash, and the troops ignored fancy formations and keeping their steps in time. Their helms came off; the march became a stroll through the countryside, with laughing and gossip. The scenery hadn’t been much to look at, in Case’s opinion. He didn’t mind that. He’d seen enough fancy wondrous things to last him his remaining years, or days more likely. A sand-coloured paved road, the clop of donkey hooves, the clank-clank of boots with rattling mail, pleasant meadows and rolling, hilly fields either side. That was fine by him.

  Every so often at forks in the road, local villagers with solemn faces had approached the patrol carrying wooden trays loaded with home-made delicacies. The soldiers — against their orders, as conversation revealed — took what they were offered, thanked the locals, then joked about how ugly their women were once out of earshot. The locals had seemed terrified of them.

  There’d been no such people lately. The ground had been moving upwards into less populous terrain, the road cutting through hillsides of dark grey stone. Hideous birds of a type Case didn’t know watched them pass with hostile eyes from the bone-like branches of lone grey trees.

  Case didn’t much like spying, but there hadn’t been anything to do but eavesdrop. The men had spent no time discussing their present mission, whatever it was. Instead they’d talked about some business with ‘Free Cities’, and much about Vous; it sounded like they knew a hell of a lot less about him than Case felt he did. There’d been plenty of talk — some quite heated — about which cities made the best swords, the best armour, or produced the best horses. Case had heard enough on these subjects to reliably form his own opinion, he felt, and longed for them to talk about something else.

  At last, at long last, the commander called: ‘Drinks! All halt.’

  Tall outcrops loomed on their right and left. There had to be a quarry nearby, for there was the sound of rocks being shifted somewhere out of sight. The soldiers gathered around the supplies cart. Case dropped to the ground just in time, wincing as his bad knee flared up, and sneaked off behind a stone outcrop, leaving it much damper than it had been before.

  The soldiers took biscuits and what looked like meat jerky of some kind, sitting in twos and threes some way off the road. Two sat near the supplies cart when Case returned to it. He carefully climbed aboard and gazed up at the shoulders of stone, longing for a nap, only half-listening to the soldiers’ conversation. ‘They got a name yet for that city?’ said one, nodding his head to whatever was making the quarry-like noise on the other side of the rock wall.

  ‘Not that I heard.’

  ‘How long till it’s finished?’

  ‘Less than a year. Those mages work fast. Applying?’

  ‘Already have. Better hurry, things are heating up. If we’re killed tomorrow, family gets pushed to the back of the queue.’

  ‘Well I’ve no family, just girlfriends. Going to keep it that way.’

  ‘Adopt them. Make it a family.’

  The soldier laughed. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to the other. ‘Looking forward to Vous’s temple?’

  The other scoffed again. ‘A joke. I’m not fussed. It means breaking bread and toasting his name at meals? I can do that, if it’s worth a good home. If it’s worth having bread to break.’

  ‘Did you read the whole law? They’re allowed in your home any time to see that you “worship in earnest”. It also means you can’t make rituals for the other Spirits. Who’s your preference?’

  ‘Inferno.’ They both laughed at this apparent joke. ‘Tempest, mainly. I was raised on a farm, we needed the rain. You’re a Valour man, I take it?’

  ‘I don’t bother with any of them.’

  ‘That’s fair. My wife swears to Wisdom, of course.’

  ‘Not for long, if you mean to go through with this.’ The other’s voice lowered further. ‘You worried about … what it might mean, long term?’

  ‘Nahh! I don’t believe it. You can’t just make someone a Great Spirit by building him a temple, praying to him, teaching him some magic, or whatever it is they do. They might think otherwise but they’re wrong. He’s a good enough lord anyway.’

  The other lowered his voice. ‘Half the cities are starving.’

  ‘We aren’t. I didn’t say great. But good enough. People accept the new ways and they’d be fine.’ The other soldier said nothing to this. ‘He can be a little crazy if he wants,’ continued the
first. ‘Food in the belly.’ This was a common saying Case had heard, along with ‘as the Dragon wills’.

  The commander stood and cleared his throat. ‘Let’s get going,’ he said. ‘Up we get.’

  ‘Up we get?’ muttered one of the soldiers disbelievingly. ‘We’re back in the nursery.’ They tossed their half-empty skins back on the supplies cart. One bounced off Case’s chest and fell to the ground. The soldier frowned at the cart. ‘Now wait, that’s the second time I’ve seen that happen.’

  ‘I didn’t see anything. Forget it.’

  ‘Drink skin bounces in mid-air? There’s something funny about that cart, I’m telling you.’

  But they lined up behind the other soldiers, and Case’s heart slowed a little.

  Until, that was, he saw the shape in the rocks above, to the left. It wasn’t the same Invia who’d given him the charm and set him loose in the castle; this one had long flowing hair as white as her wings, and her limbs were long and gangly. She crouched on a jutting outcrop like a cat about to jump. None of the soldiers seemed to have seen her. She watched something atop the rock wall opposite, then stared right down at Case.

  His hand crept to the charm around his neck. ‘You want this back, don’t you?’ he whispered. And he could tell she was about to come and take it.

  Verily, she was.

  She did not know all the secret business of her newly dead sister, but she knew the charm down below bore Ksyn’s touch, and did not belong around this old Otherworlder’s neck. She would take him back with her, too, to see what the others made of it all — peacefully, if he would come that way.

  It had not been the charm that drew her here; it was the Marked one, rather, who had temerity indeed to travel so openly, this far north, let alone to make camp on a high place, where his Mark could be seen from a long way. On sight of it, anger was not what she’d felt; in fact, she felt very little. It was just a fact he must be killed, that was all. Marks were rare, yet this blazed on him with a huge red glare, its noise painful in her ears. But she didn’t yet see him, hidden behind the rock wall opposite. Was he enormous, with fangs and claws? An elemental? A mage perhaps?

  It was not he who had killed her newly dead sister, she knew that. That Marked one, tied to the castle roof with tongue cut out by his elders, had been dealt with, that matter resolved, the birds pecking at what was left.

  And now she realised this one bore not one Mark, but three. Rare! To have slain three Invia! In one attack, or did he hunt them down over time? No wonder the aura flared so bright and huge. Had there ever been such, in all the world?

  He first, or to collect the charm? The soldiers appeared to be guarding the old man who carried it, since he sat so comfortably in their midst. She looked from one to the other, undecided. Either fight could be a risk — many men below, swords, halberds, short-bows with fast little arrows. The Marked one had allies nearby — would they help him? If the Marked one had killed three sisters, he too was very, very dangerous, maybe more than all the others combined. What mistakes had her sisters made? She would be cautious of him when making the kill.

  The glare of those Marks was so bright! The ringing in her ears so painful. Best to shut that sound out first. She jumped from her place on the wall.

  23

  The whole band crouched in a line along the ridge with weapons drawn, except Eric, whose mind even now was back with Siel, back with himself tossing one of her long braids away so he could better see the movements of her breasts, as if she were a toy he played with. The rest watched the soldiers below, whose conversation and laughter drifted up.

  No one saw the Invia come until the air around them pounded with the sound of her beating wings. An arrow flew from further up the path where Siel kept watch. It gracefully sailed very close to the Invia with a sound of sliced sky. But the creature moved like a dancer in mid-air, white hair streaming behind her. The arrow skidded across the ground.

  Anfen rolled to his feet, sword in hand, knowing he was the one she wanted. Siel now too, probably. Stupid girl. His wrists swung the blade two-handed, cutting overhead in a very fast figure-eight for such a big weapon. The Invia jerked backwards through the air as though pulled hard by invisible hands, and watched him with a face oddly expressionless. Someone threw a rock but again she dodged it with ease.

  The others rushed over, weapons ready, despite Anfen yelling: ‘Hold!’ While he was distracted she darted forwards with incredible speed, just a blur of the white of her wings. She came up like a bird that had swooped, in her hands Anfen’s sword. He now lay on the ground, dazed, his face cut. It had to be the sword handle hitting him as it came free from his grasp … the Invia’s hands would not have struck him so lightly.

  Slowly the Invia flexed her arms and with some effort — that much at least the sword’s maker could be proud of — broke the blade in two, examining then dropping the pieces. She watched Anfen to see what he would do. He did about all he could think of: lie on his back in a daze and think his last thoughts.

  Sharfy leaped up, a knife biting through the air, but he didn’t get close enough. The creature didn’t seem to notice him. Kiown likewise sprang through the air, a mindless open-mouthed look on his face that was almost comical, but he slashed upwards with a long blade that came within a hair of striking the Invia. She spun away from his cut, moved out of his reach and gave him a quick look which, though expressionless, said loud and clear enough: you, sir, are next.

  Eric, fascinated by this creature, felt about half a minute behind actual time. Only now did he sluggishly think: the gun. Hey now there’s a plan. Get the Glock out. Shoot that thing. Save the day. Batman would do it.

  His hand had reached his pocket when from below came a shouted order. A dozen arrows shot up and fell across the platform with a fast drum roll of stone being struck. No one was hit — the arrows arced too far from the sheltering ridge — but one of them passed through the Invia’s wing. A burst of light flashed through the punctured gap; feathers puffed in the air. She spun, eyeing off the castle soldiers with still no expression troubling her face, then she swooped down fast.

  Anfen got to his feet, feeling his face, where the cut had left a smear of blood down his cheek. ‘How many times do I have to tell you,’ he snarled, ‘do not attack them? No matter what.’

  ‘Get in the cave,’ said Sharfy, tossing Anfen another sword.

  Anfen had already begun heading back to the tunnel mouth cut into the hilltop. ‘Watch below, tell me what happens,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘If they don’t kill it, we chance the groundmen’s traps. You should hope they don’t or you’re probably Marked.’

  ‘You’re welcome, boss,’ murmured Kiown.

  The Invia was less cautious of these men than she’d been of the Marked one. Most humans knew better than to shoot arrows at her — these ones would learn their mistake sure enough.

  She flashed through them, her swiping arms too fast to see, breaking bones and cracking open their hard plate armour. Ah, they would stop spears and arrows, those pretty polished shells, but not her hands if she hit with all her strength.

  Little nicks from swords cut her as the panicking soldiers slashed at the blurred force in their midst. Others fired more arrows, foolish so close to their own men. Sure enough two fell back with arrows in them. Ten were dead or near enough after just a few seconds. For fun, she broke some of their swords without removing them from their owners’ hands.

  Then her arm caught behind the hole of a breastplate, which she had punched through up to her forearm. It was enough pause for one of them to hack down with a halberd and cut her badly down the side. She shrieked. Newly strong with pain, she yanked free her arm with a spray of gore, then swatted off the attacker’s head and sent it flying like a punted ball. Light burst from the wound he’d inflicted and blood gushed down her side. Their blades hurt!

  No more cuts. Later, later, she’d return. First she’d heal. The charm was old and would wait a little more. She might never find these men a
gain — to wound her was not enough to be Marked, unless she soon died — but enough of them had already paid for firing upon her. She launched herself skywards, flying awkwardly and painfully, a dozen corpses below her, the rest of the unit scattering in panic, some holding badly broken arms, swords and armour in pieces on the ground like broken toys.

  Case hardly even knew what happened. One minute, he’d jogged away from the supply cart, thinking he’d seen Stranger, the young lass, standing up on the rocky pathway that led up like a steep ramp on the right side, the quarry side. Just a glimpse of her, less than a blink of her green dress, and he couldn’t even be certain he’d seen it.

  When he’d jogged off that way, the soldiers had been arguing. The furious commander had demanded to know who’d given an order to fire, because he sure hadn’t, he reckoned. The others had said yes, he bloody well had. Case had heard the commander’s voice too, but it had almost sounded like it came from some distance away from him.

  Next time Case looked back, most of them were knocked over like ninepins, and the woman was flying skywards with slow lurches of her wings, dark blood dribbling down one side and over her foot as the army unit scattered.

  He’d heard something going on — shouts, clashes of metal, and an unearthly shrieking that had been like a stabbing pin to all his senses. But she couldn’t have done all that damage herself, not in so little time. Surely. ‘Stranger?’ he called. ‘You here, miss?’

  ‘Case?’ called a surprised, familiar voice above.