The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  ‘This is for my friend’s safe passage too, OK?’ said Eric.

  ‘More! Give!’

  ‘Will you let my friend up too?’

  The spear points came back, one jabbing close to his crotch. He gave them all he had left in the wallet, including the ten-dollar note and his driver’s licence. The nearest took this, carefully studied it and looked, amazed, from the licence’s unsmiling picture to Eric’s face. The others did likewise, and all seemed entirely lost for words.

  Something had changed here and Eric didn’t know what. The groundmen suddenly backed away, their spears pointed at the ground. ‘Let up my friend, please,’ said Eric.

  The groundmen scampered off like animals spooked by a noise. But Case said, ‘It’s going loose around me. Quick, grab me …’ Eric reached down to help him up before he fell through the widening hole. ‘What’d you do to scare em off?’ said Case, once they’d caught their breath.

  ‘Not sure. Something about my licence. The picture I think. They didn’t know what to make of it.’

  Case laughed. ‘Seen some pretty bad licence pictures in my time, too. Let’s get the hell out, what do you say? It has to be day by now.’

  Sure enough pale daylight poured through the stick-grid. ‘Why didn’t we buy bandages at that store?’ Eric said, prodding the bleeding cut gouged in his shoulder.

  ‘Why buy when you can steal?’ said Case, winking. He pulled a white roll of cloth bandages from his backpack and wrapped some around the wound. ‘Not too tight?’

  ‘No, it’s fine, unless I’m poisoned. Vicious little bastard. Wish I knew what I’d said to piss him off.’

  Through the stick-grid’s gaps there was no sign of the creatures he’d seen last night. Only when they went outside and saw the trails of spiked tracks in the ground, and some huge ones very close to the tunnel’s mouth, was he sure it had been real.

  54

  Occasional gusts of wind blew thick swirling ribbons of discoloured air between the trees, but the current as a whole was weaker than yesterday, as though magic changed day by day like the weather. The equation now was pretty simple: there was a full day’s light to find their way out of the woods, or they were probably dead. Neither of them liked the odds, nor the fact they’d seen no animal life aboveground at all, bird or beast, no longer even the nasty insect clouds that had earlier covered both their arms with itching little red bites. Trees and more trees still fenced them in with no end in sight. Like a clock’s ticking hand, their crunching footsteps began the countdown to nightfall.

  And that was if the creatures, whatever they were exactly, never came out during the day.

  The day wore on. The woods, mile after mile, were the same: nothing but the trees and Tormentor tracks. ‘You a religious man, Eric?’ said Case, as the very first fading of afternoon light began.

  ‘Don’t know. Whatever I was, all this,’ he waved at the surrounding trees, ‘being on the other side of a door we found in a train bridge … well, it’s changed the maths a little.’

  ‘If you got any prayers or favours to call in, now’s the time. Night’s coming and we’re dead men.’

  They came to a large downwards-sloped clearing, surrounded by a ring of patchy bare trees with skeletal branches. Eric was about to insist on a rest break, whatever Case had to say about it, when something at the clearing’s edge caught his eye. He said, ‘Actually, Case, maybe let’s keep our mouths shut.’

  ‘Why, what’s … ?’ Then Case saw it too: seated on a thick branch some way above their heads, a war mage stared right at them, as though it had been waiting for them. Long horns curled from its crown to its jaw line; a thick ropy beard, brows and tangled hair were like a nest about its face. A thick coat of something’s skin hung awkwardly about its body.

  ‘Is that the same one?’ Eric whispered.

  ‘Can’t tell. They all look the same, pretty much.’

  Its feet squeezed the thick branch like bird claws trying to strangle it, grinding off little pieces of bark that sprinkled to the ground. Its eyes were locked on Eric’s. ‘Get the gun out,’ he whispered. ‘And go invisible.’

  Case had already drawn the Glock. The war mage’s cat-eyes followed the motions of his hand as he raised it and aimed. ‘Not sure I’ll hit it from here,’ he said.

  ‘Hurry, put on the charm and get closer.’

  The war mage’s head cocked sideways inquisitively. Its hand slapped the air like it was swatting a bug. The gun was knocked flying to the ground, skidding along across broken sticks and dead leaves. Turning back to Eric, it crouched down on the tree branch, pointed a long finger at him and spoke, deep voice rasping, ‘You’re Shadow.’

  ‘Should I answer it?’ Eric whispered.

  ‘You’re Shadow,’ the war mage repeated, its voice as deep as a machine’s. It clawed at the air, as though trying to express something and struggling for the words. ‘A servant,’ it said at last.

  ‘It’s nuts,’ said Case. ‘Be careful what you say.’

  Thanks for the tip. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered. To the war mage, ‘We don’t want to fight you. We’re just lost travellers.’

  The war mage’s head cocked like a bird’s, then it dropped down from the branch, thick beard and hair rising as it fell into a crouch. ‘You’re Shadow,’ it rasped. It began to speak twice, then said, ‘Four converging points met across a plain. A cloud formed of erupted heat. A battle, a victory. A servant delivered them.’

  ‘Shadow. I keep hearing that,’ Case murmured. ‘Why?’ He had the necklace out. The war mage’s eyes were on him again as he slipped it around his neck and vanished. It shifted on its feet, alarmed, bright yellow eyes carefully following the disturbed leaves of his footsteps. When Case neared the gun, the war mage again patted the air with one palm, making the gun skitter sideways along the ground. It said more urgently, ‘Heat comes. Much heat. A servant. Your wish, I’ve purpose.’ Frustrated, it crouched and scratched the air again.

  ‘Case, stop. I’m not sure it’s going to attack.’

  ‘From what I hear, these things don’t do much else but attack.’

  ‘It’s trying to tell us something—’

  The war mage dug the tip of its staff into the ground and wrenched its top around in chopping motions for a minute or more. Swirls of magic threaded through the air from above the tree tops, curling down in a long thin funnel, the thin end drawn to the staff’s tip. It sucked air and seemed to inhale tiny threads of magic, curling like smoke between its lips. ‘Look at that,’ Eric whispered, before remembering that to Case’s eyes it would seem the war mage was just breathing air.

  ‘You’re Shadow,’ rasped the war mage, now staring at him, eyes wide, imploring him to understand. It crouched low and scooped a bunch of leaves, sticks and dirt into its mouth, eyes unblinking on Eric as it chewed and swallowed. He remembered his first encounter with one of these creatures, the way it had eaten the flesh of its victims, and Sharfy’s voice: helps them cool off …

  ‘My shadow,’ Eric said, nodding. The war mage listened to this with head cocked then made a hissing noise of frustration.

  ‘Come away from it, Eric,’ said Case, worried.

  Eric went towards Case’s voice. ‘We can’t leave the gun. Let me try something.’ To the war mage, ‘I’m going to pick up our weapon. I will not use it to attack you. But we must find our way out of these woods, and we need it. Trust me. I won’t attack you.’

  It watched him with eyes as uncomprehending as a beast’s, crumbled leaves and bits of chewed twig scattered in the beard near its mouth. Eric slowly went to the gun, the war mage’s head following every movement as he picked it up. Slowly into Eric’s pocket it went, then he backed out of the clearing. ‘Where are you?’ he murmured.

  ‘Here,’ said Case.

  He followed the sound of Case’s footsteps. The war mage watched, then sprang from a crouch up to its feet and shuffled after them. ‘A servant,’ it called. ‘Dangers. A … guide.’

  ‘Run,’ said Case, yank
ing off the necklace. He was lurching along slowly and wincing with each step. Sharp, reaching tree branches scratched and cut them both. They did not even notice the darker shapes standing here and there among the trees as they went.

  Then Case’s feet caught on something and he fell forwards, sliding on his belly for a moment and rolling down a slope in the ground. Eric skidded to a halt and helped him up, but Case was in no shape to run further; he clutched at his knee and grimaced. They had put enough distance between them and the war mage that it couldn’t be seen through the trees, but suddenly Eric became aware of something else just ahead of them.

  Its feet were shaped like tree roots, balancing it on knife-sharp points digging into the dirt. Two arms so long their dagger tips scraped the ground were for the moment motionless, the creature bent over in a crouch from its waist. The whole body looked to have been wound from threads of muscle like dark unreflective glass. Spikes of varying length covered it. A huge mane spread behind it in a fan of long needles. Its face bore misshaped eyes like shards of obsidian embedded deep above a large half-canine, half-human jaw, filled with long curved teeth the same colour as its skin.

  Though it faced them, nothing in its face indicated recognition of their presence. The mouth seemed twisted and frozen into the shape of an inhuman smile. Its only movement was the occasional bending of its spikes, one or two slowly curling then going still. Lalie’s words echoed in Eric’s head loud as an alarm: They were perfectly still … perfectly still …

  Case, who lay on the forest floor clutching his knee, had just seen the creature. ‘Shit,’ he said with a humourless chuckle. ‘That’s done us. Luck can’t hold forever. You go. Run. I can’t.’

  Eric went to pick him up, but could barely manage the weight. Case let his backpack drop to the ground. ‘There’s another one, further down,’ said Case. ‘Can just make it out down there. Two more, over yonder. Don’t go that way.’

  Eric’s eyes never left the Tormentor but still it didn’t move. He dragged Case backwards away from it, and still it was motionless, until Eric’s feet caught on the uneven ground and they both toppled over.

  There was a sound like a wire fence being shaken as the long thin needles of its star-shaped mane rattled. The creature sprang to life as though roused from sleep. Its head swung slowly their way. No change came to its face, locked still in that frozen alien smile. One hand clumsily rose, pointed at them, and then it came, its awkward stiff gait covering ground quickly with long strides.

  In panic, Eric tried to run, but suddenly it was impossible to move fast. He felt that he was being sucked towards the Tormentor as though by a powerful current. Everything about him slowed down, from his heartbeat to the way sounds stretched out, dreamlike: crunching undergrowth, Case’s voice speaking too slowly to understand, the sound like slowed-down tape. He slowly craned his neck to see the thing reach for him with its long knife-fingers. One hand for him, one for Case. It moved very slowly now too, something almost beautiful in the sight, and in the way each slow deliberate second drew out, promising death still some distance away but inevitably coming. They were pulled towards its stretching arms like people sliding down hill.

  The spell was broken with a cracking sound and a flash of fire. The hand reaching for Eric was severed neatly at the wrist with a burst of searing heat, enough to burn some of his hair. Time caught up, seeming far too fast as he crawled away from the creature, dragging Case with him along the dead leaves and scratching fallen branches. There was another cracking noise, another wave of scorching heat, and the Tormentor’s other arm split and dropped. It swung round in one big exaggerated motion, no reaction on its face, still locked in a smile. Little fires burned on the ground around both severed limbs.

  A little way away from it, the war mage crouched low, teeth bared in a look of amazing savagery, the tips of its horns already blackened and smoking. It quickly stuffed a handful of stiff grass into its mouth, swallowed, then lunged forwards, another wave of shimmering heat spreading through the space between it and the Tormentor, which began stalking towards it. There was a noise like a whip cracking, then the Tormentor’s head split and shattered like a rock struck with massive force, shards of its head thudding heavily to the ground. Its feet propelled it two more steps then it stopped still.

  ‘A servant,’ the hoarse voice of the war mage. Heat emanated from it in pulsing waves. Thick smoke trailed from the tips of its horns and it panted for breath. Eric saw a great twister-shaped plume of disturbed magic bending and swaying high, high into the sky, and more of them stretching from each other spot where the war mage had cast its spells.

  Slowly, the Tormentor’s stiff body toppled backwards and fell. Its hands still twitched and grappled. Case and Eric looked at each other. There was a long silence, just the Tormentor’s severed hands still clutching at the ground, disturbing the leaves, and the sound of the war mage chewing undergrowth and twigs, its eyes flickering round the woods.

  ‘A servant,’ said Eric. ‘I see.’

  ‘I guess,’ said Case with a shrug, ‘he’s OK by me.’

  55

  ‘There’s something weird about this,’ Eric muttered. ‘Why have they sent it after us?’

  ‘It’s nuts. No offence if you can hear me, buddy,’ he said to the war mage. It locked its cat-yellow eyes on Case and he took an involuntary backwards step. Heat still emanated from its body though many minutes had passed. Foul-smelling smoke curled off its blackened horns. Case stamped out the small fires starting near the Tormentor’s severed hands. The pieces of its broken head showed no sign of interior organs: they were like cleaved stone.

  ‘I think our new friend used up a lot of juice to kill that thing,’ said Eric. ‘If another one starts moving, or a bigger one arrives, it might cook itself right away.’ To the war mage, ‘Can you handle many more of those?’

  It clawed at the air in some gesture they couldn’t interpret.

  ‘That a yes or a no?’ said Case.

  It skipped towards him and croaked, ‘Horse’s hooves. Ticks and fleas. Fleas and ticks.’ Its head tilted back and its mouth opened to the sky as it gave the curdling scream Eric and Case had both heard before, then cocked its head, waiting, it seemed, for an answering call. If one came, the war mage alone heard it. ‘Are you calling for help?’ said Eric.

  ‘A servant,’ it said tiredly. ‘Heat.’

  The war mage approached the Tormentor’s corpse, its clawed feet finding careful purchase between spikes on the dead creature’s chest. Some of the spikes still moved. It poked the body with its staff, gripped a spike and with a hissed breath and a strain that made its arm shake, wrenched the spike free, cutting its hand badly in the process. All this, apparently, to see whether the spike was suitable for eating, for it poked the tip experimentally in its mouth, bit down, cut its gums, then threw the undamaged spike away. Blood spilled through its lips, into its beard, but it seemed not to notice.

  The war mage cocked its head. ‘A threaded course is narrow,’ it said. ‘Rival comes. Running fast. I’ve purpose, too much heat besides, to death it. We flee.’ It pointed a hand dripping blood in the direction, if Eric judged right, of the river, then set off that way in shuffling steps, every now and then hopping up to levitate a short distance. It crouched at the edge of the clearing to wait for them to catch up. They looked at each other, then followed.

  As Eric had guessed, they soon came to the river again. He didn’t think there was much point trying to talk to the war mage, but: ‘How are we meant to cross? Is there a bridge near?’

  It ignored this and grabbed Case under his arms. Alarmed, he reached for the gun before remembering Eric now had it. His legs cycled the air as the war mage jumped, sailed lightly over the river, bore him across to the far bank and set him gently down. It then flew back, grabbed Eric in rough, coarse hands and jumped him across too, seemingly untroubled by the weight, despite him wearing a pack. Case said, ‘With your leave, whatever your name is, we’re hungry and sore. Is it safe for u
s to stop a while and eat?’

  Again the war mage gave no answer, just raked at the floor with its long toes like bird’s feet as though in irritation, and crouched down low to munch the undergrowth. The heat arising from its exertions slowly faded. Its horns had almost resumed their normal dull yellow, and no longer gave off smoke.

  Case, taking its reaction for assent, dug around in their supplies pack for food, taking some of the bread — a touch stiffer by now — and strips of salted pink-red meat, which looked like ham but tasted like fish.

  ‘Just what the hell is it doing here?’ Eric whispered, nodding to the war mage, which gazed across the river at the far bank, its face watchful. ‘We have to assume it’s working for the castle. And maybe it’s here to help us get back to Anfen. Just like Kiown said he wanted to. Which meant maybe he wasn’t lying about that.’

  Case took a swig from the water-skin. ‘A servant, sounds right. What’s the other part mean? Your shadow?’

  ‘No idea. Maybe it means it has to stay close to us, like it is our shadow.’

  ‘But it only says it to you, not me,’ said Case.

  ‘Actually, you’re right. Then I have no idea at all.’ They munched for a while, both ravenously hungry, both aware it was very nearly a meal they’d never have eaten, and for that it tasted better than any. Back where they’d been, the tall winding spires of magic could still be seen towering over the treetops.

  ‘Hey, bird man, you hungry? Try this, it’s better than leaves and dirt.’ Case took a handful of bread and brought it to the war mage. It sniffed and pawed blindly for the bread, its eyes never leaving whatever it gazed at beyond the far riverbank. Its head occasionally moved as though following something’s passage, but they could see nothing across there but the all too familiar trees.

  ‘What the hell is he looking at?’ said Eric.

  ‘Maybe he can see more of those monsters in the distance.’