by A. J. Smith
Moving away from the scene, they weaved down streets, through roiling dust and panicking Karesians. Ruth was unmoved by the chaos, flashing disdainful glances at the men and women rushing around her. Randall walked in her wake, scuttling out of the city with his eyes fixed on the street.
The destruction didn’t abate. By the time they reached the Long Mark and left the city, the towers behind them were toppling. Dust boiled from the streets, rising in a black cloud and eclipsing the magical city. From every road out of Thrakka, streams of people flooded into the desert. Thousands of people, leaving thousands behind.
***
The next bit was a blur. They joined a broken line of travellers, all fleeing Thrakka. Clumps of people, spread out either side of the Long Mark; some crying, others shouting, all in a chaotic whirl. Horses and carts were in short supply and fights broke out over ownership. Rich men and viziers glided through the populace, protected by armed guards, taking what they wanted.
Most of those fleeing were heading north from the ruined city towards the capital, Kessia. Only the poor took the southern road.
It was dark and they’d camped well away from the Long Mark, amidst thinly spaced trees. Other campfires encircled them at a distance and the sound of crying still filled his ears.
‘The next city is Rikara, an eldritch place of low darkness, but our road lies elsewhere,’ Ruth murmured. ‘West, through Oslan.’
‘But Utha is south.’
She smiled. ‘Perhaps you should stop thinking and kiss me. It has been a long day and coupling would relieve some tension.’
Randall’s eyes widened. ‘Please, Ruth, I’m really not up to it. And I smell.’
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. ‘I like your scent. It is deep and manly.’
‘Okay, just tell me where we’re going... what’s in Oslan?’
‘The sea. Voon and I disagreed about the way south. He favoured the Jekkan causeway, I favoured the sea. If we are to follow Utha, we must be swift.’
‘Which is quicker?’ he asked, trying to focus on finding his master.
‘The causeway, but not by much. It’s not worth it. Utha will live, but Voon will likely be killed... you would be dead before we crossed the anchorhead.’
He slumped backwards, staring up, past the treetops to the starry sky above. She curled up next to him, her arm across his chest and her head nestled against his neck.
‘Stop worrying so much,’ she said.
He focused on the stars, letting his chest rise and fall as he tried to calm his mind. ‘How do you know all this? You’ve lived in a forest for... I don’t know how long.’
‘You imagine I have been asleep? No, my kind were once common in these woods. We were gods and protectors to the Kirin people, before our might dwindled. But I have had many children and I have heard many things. I am well-prepared for travel.’
‘Children? Why does that concept disturb me so much?’ Randall squirmed and curled up on his bedroll.
‘You are a young man of a young race... and true perception will always elude you. Do you know what has happened to your mind?’
He shook his head.
‘I broke off a piece of my power and gave it to you. When the witch grasped your mind, I had to match her with equal power. My people have ever used this to invest our progeny with might. In time, you will understand the Gorlan more than you want to, for I cannot take back what I gave you. I am diminished by a fraction and you are now more than a mortal man.’
The gentle fingertip she’d stroked across his mind was like a film of warmth, keeping him safe and giving him clarity. When he spoke it was in a whisper. ‘So what am I?’
‘You’re still Randall of Darkwald, but your life-force is now linked to mine. As I endure, so will you. It will make sense in time.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘You saved my life... and my mind. I suppose I’ll wait until it makes sense.’ For a second, he just wanted to be back with Sir Leon in a dirty tavern, somewhere in Ro Tiris.
‘Nostalgia is a curiously human trait.’
‘Just shut up,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m going to sleep.’
***
It got hotter and hotter. As the fresh morning turned to burning afternoon, his skin became blistered and sore. The black robes sourced from a travelling family deflected the worst, but his skin just wasn’t used to the sun.
They’d broken from the column of refugees and entered the woods of Oslan, but the thinly spaced trees did nothing to alleviate the heat. He trailed along behind Ruth, trusting in her sense of direction. They had been alone for days. None of the other refugees from Thrakka had taken their road, and a few had shouted warnings at them. Apparently, they were going the wrong way.
They were now deep in the forest, with blazing sunlight slicing through the open canopy. The ground was dusty and dotted with sharp stones and rocky river-beds, making the going slow and uncomfortable. The land was unspoilt; the trees huge and the dense shrubs wild, with no recognizable paths. Bumpy ground rose and fell in strange, jagged ways, making their path chaotic.
‘Do the Kirin have towns?’ he asked.
‘Some villages, a few farms. No real civilization... not that you would recognize.’
Ruth stopped walking and studied a broad tree-trunk in her path. She stood on a grassy rise, nestled between rugged hills.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘An arrow. I believe it’s a territory marking.’
Randall joined her. The arrow was buried in the bark, with nothing of the steel arrow-head visible. The haft was fletched in red with rings of blue around the wood.
‘There is an old saying, young Randall. Well, old in the timescale of men. That the Kirin woods remain free only as long as their longbows remain the best and their arrows fly true. These lands are dangerous for outsiders.’
She took a slow look around the uneven, wooded ground. ‘Let’s keep walking,’ she said.
‘What... hang on!’ he spluttered, as Ruth hopped from the grassy rise and walked off.
Randall followed, scuttling into a shallow valley between rocky hills.
‘I’ve been shot before, you know. I got a crossbow bolt in the stomach. Here, have a look.’ He pulled up his tunic to reveal the circular scar. She didn’t look. ‘It was in Cozz. It really hurt.’
The valley wended its way through a dry river-bed of sharp stones and soft mud. On either side, crumbling walls of earth and moss sloped away from them. The wind dropped and, for the first time in days, he didn’t need to shield his eyes from the sun.
The valley turned and the ground fell away, a shallow gradient covered in grey stone and slowly trickling water. At the end of the gully, in the shadow of a huge, gnarly tree, was a wooden stockade. It was solid and dug deeply into the muddy bank.
‘Randall, come stand by me,’ said Ruth, stopping well away from the wall.
He didn’t argue, hurrying over the rocks to join her.
‘Can’t see anyone,’ he observed.
Ruth slowly looked upwards, away from the stockade and into the branches of the tree. Randall followed her gaze and gulped at four drawn longbows held by well-camouflaged Kirin men. They wore dark green cloaks, with thick hoods obscuring their faces.
‘Nice day for a walk in the woods,’ said a gruff voice from the tree.
Ruth didn’t respond.
‘Which one is the slave and which is the master?’ asked the Kirin. ‘The Ro is only a boy, too young to own a woman like that.’
‘Where’s she from?’ asked a second Kirin. ‘She’s not Karesian.’
‘Or Ro,’ offered a third man.
‘How much are they worth, do you think?’ asked the first man. ‘The woman should fetch a nice price. Not sure about the lad, he’s a bit scrawny.’
‘Err, can you relax the bows?’ spluttered Randall.
One of the Kirin slung his longbow and swung from his branch. He dropped to the high ground next to the stockade and strolled along the wooden str
ucture to stand before them. He was swarthy, but his features were sharp and delicate.
‘This is not a place where travellers wander lightly,’ said the Kirin. ‘We are far from roads, towns... no-one strolls into these woods.’
‘We really should just kill them,’ said another Kirin.
‘Please, just shut up!’ said Randall, louder than he intended. ‘We’re only passing through. We’re not an army of Purple clerics.’
There was silence. Ruth raised an eyebrow at him, the Kirin man pursed his lips and the longbows remained drawn.
‘Hmm,’ said the Kirin man, elongating the sound. ‘My name is Arjav.’ He drew his bow and placed the arrow carefully, not taking his eyes from Ruth, and looking at her down the wooden shaft. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Passing through. We are bound for the coast.’
He hadn’t lowered his bow. ‘That’s no easy journey,’ he replied. ‘You’ll be shot at a lot. And how are you with spiders?’
Randall barely contained a laugh.
‘You’ve not put down your weapon,’ observed Ruth. ‘You may regret that. And I am well-acquainted with spiders.’
Her lip curled into the thinnest of smiles and her eyes darted across the stockade to the forested brush nearby. Randall, standing behind her shoulder, followed her gaze and gasped as the bushes began to shake. From the forest floor, scuttling en masse, came Gorlan, lots and lots of Gorlan. Some were the size of large dogs, others as small as a fist. They appeared from bushes, grass and, most alarmingly, from the high branches of the Kirins’ tree. The archers, utterly surprised by the flood of arachnids, turned their bows towards the larger creatures and shouted alarm at Arjav.
The Kirin leader spun round and loosed an arrow at a large spider, then ran for the tree to assist his fellows. They were frantically trying to fire and reload before they were overwhelmed by web and fang. The larger beasts dropped vertically on lines of thick silk and attacked ferociously, biting and enveloping the three Kirin men quicker than Randall’s eyes could follow.
‘Arjav!’ gurgled one of the men as a huge Gorlan began to wrap him in silk.
The creatures stayed back from the leader, allowing him a small circle in which to move without being bitten. He twitched manically, flexing his bowstring in shaking hands as his friends disappeared in a whirlwind of legs, fangs and web.
‘Drop. Your. Weapon,’ ordered the Gorlan mother.
He dropped the bow and held up his hands. ‘Where in the halls beyond did they come from?’
‘We picked them up travelling through your woods,’ she replied. ‘My companion is a little skittish, so I commanded them to scout ahead. They found you before we did.’
Randall frowned, before accepting that he was indeed skittish.
‘Thanks for keeping them away,’ he said quietly.
‘My pleasure,’ she replied out of the corner of her mouth.
Arjav moved back to the stockade, keeping his haunted eyes on the larger spiders.
‘Who are you? What are you?’ he spluttered.
‘I am called Ryuthula. I am marked by Atlach-Nacha. I am a herald of silence and a child of deep time.’
Realization slowly dawned on the Kirin’s face. Legend said that the greatest Gorlan lived in these woods. The man would live, day-to-day, with huge spiders. Randall didn’t know whether he’d ever have met one as old as Ruth.
‘You’re a Gorlan mother!’ said Arjav, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He dropped to his knees and averted his stare. ‘Forgive me, great mother. Forgive my people.’
The swarming spiders moved back, many disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared. There was no sound other than the low clicking of their legs. A handful of dog-sized creatures remained, hanging from the branches of the large tree.
‘You are forgiven,’ replied Ruth. ‘If you do as I ask.’
‘Anything, great mother,’ said Arjav.
She smiled, appearing like nothing more than a woman rather pleased with herself. For all her enormity and power, she still had a girlish side that Randall found unnaturally attractive.
Arjav, clearly more afraid than impressed, was still kneeling. His delicate features were pinched into an expression of extreme fear, his hands shook and his mouth quivered.
‘You will escort us through this forest and assist us in reaching the coast. We are bound for the south.’
***
The Kirin man had stayed ahead of them, glancing back only to make sure they were following. He led them through winding, wooded passageways between rocks, trees, gullies and other primeval landscape. They passed occasional structures and lone settlements, well-hidden in the forest, whose inhabitants timidly kept behind walls and glanced through narrow shutters. There were numerous bowmen, positioned in high trees, but they were waved away by Arjav.
Ahead of them, a wide valley stretched away into the wilds of Oslan with a flowing river at its centre. Farms and homesteads lined the riverbanks, with cattle pens and windmills at the edges. Small, wooden jetties and riverboats lined Randall’s field of vision and the smell of fish hit his nostrils. From the crystal blue of the water, across the vibrant green of the valley, to the deep grey of the mountains, it was a beautiful scene.
‘It’s almost a town,’ observed Randall. ‘At a distance.’
‘So it’s not just a rumour,’ said Arjav, turning back to them. ‘The arrogance of the Ro.’
‘Sorry,’ replied Randall.
‘Great mother, he is a strange choice of pet,’ he said.
‘He is my lover, not my pet,’ she replied.
Arjav was stunned, glancing in disbelief at the young squire. Randall smiled, nodding awkwardly. He wanted to make some show of manly virility, but he knew he just looked like a boy, hopelessly out of his depth.
‘Perhaps he has qualities I’m unable to see,’ replied Arjav with a straight face.
‘He has qualities he is unable to see,’ she said.
The Kirin’s face creased with confusion, but he let the matter drop. ‘These people are common folk,’ he said, ‘they have seen few outsiders who didn’t mean them harm. Please respect that, great mother.’
‘We are not interested in you or your people,’ replied Ruth.
They continued walking. The valley twisted and turned away from them, each new turn revealing more homesteads and more Kirin. They went about mundane tasks, barely registering the two travellers. Children played in the grass, fishermen hauled in their catch and daily tasks were completed. It was a fishing village, hidden deep in the forests of Oslan, with none of the criminality Randall associated with the Kirin people.
‘They can be at peace here,’ said Ruth. ‘The Kirin are a godless race. No Giant or Old One gives them sanctuary, so they skulk at the edges of the world, making do with scraps. Scraps of lands, food, prosperity.’
‘The only Kirin I’d met was an assassin called Rham Jas who killed my old master.’
Randall hadn’t thought about either man for some time. Rham Jas would hopefully be well on the way to eradicating the Seven Sisters, and Torian would be at peace in the stone halls beyond the world.
At the far end of the valley was another huge, wooden stockade with an open sluice, allowing the river to flow loudly over jagged rocks and tumble away from the farmsteads. The structure was old, but solid, and well-maintained. It was built from one sheer cliff face to another and had numerous platforms and walkways from which bowmen could keep watch. Arjav led them to a large farmhouse, built partly atop a huge boulder. A plume of smoke rose from an irregular chimney and a plump woman of middle years sat on a stool outside. She puffed happily on a long, wooden pipe, surveying the valley.
‘You’ve found some new friends, my boy,’ said the woman.
Arjav ran to her side and whispered in her ear. Her eyes flickered and became wide as she listened and looked at Ruth. She stood suddenly, knocking her stool to the wooden porch. ‘Great mother!’
Ruth gave her a shallow nod. ‘We require food and rest.
’
‘Of course. My home is yours.’
Arjav stood to the side and bowed his head. ‘This is Lylla Vekerian, protector of the Creeping Downs.’
The woman smiled, revealing dimples and small, sparkling eyes. ‘A terrible name, I know, but it serves to scare interested men with swords. Please, come inside. Arjav, bring food.’
‘At once.’
The Kirin man turned quickly, glad to be leaving Ruth’s presence, and they followed Lylla Vekerian into her home. Randall felt his body relax, as if his every muscle untensed at once. Within, he faced a wide sitting room of thick, red carpet and low, mahogany armchairs. There was a lot of clutter, piled in corners and upon tables. Discarded crockery, broken arrows and dusty books. The fireplace was empty and an ornate katana was displayed above.
‘Who are you, young man?’ asked Lylla, tapping out her pipe on the side of a chair. ‘You are a man of Ro, unless my eyes are deceived.’
He shook his head. ‘I am just a man of Ro, but I need your help as much as my companion. And my name’s Randall.’
Lylla made a sweeping motion with her arm, indicating the chairs, and then sat down herself. Ruth maintained her poise, keeping a straight back and not sinking into the padded armchair, while Randall let out a grunt of pleasure and slumped into the thick cushions.
‘I hope my house is comfortable for you,’ said the Kirin, averting her eyes as she spoke to Ruth. ‘We have few luxuries here, but such a mighty guest can have all she wishes.’
‘Randall needs to eat and sleep,’ she replied, ‘and we require assistance in finding a ship to take us south. We are on a hunt of sorts and our quarry has a good start.’
‘Well, food will be here presently. Rest can be had at your leisure. We welcome your presence for as long as you wish, great mother.’
‘And a ship bound for the south?’ asked Randall. ‘We need to get to a place called Oron Kaa.’
Lylla Vekerian jolted backwards and gulped. The city at the edge of the earth held some special fear for this woman and she took a deep breath before opening her mouth to reply. Her words were halted by running feet as Arjav and a young girl hurried into the farmhouse with a basket of bread and fish. They noted the haunted expression on Lylla’s face, but didn’t comment as they silently laid out a platter of food for their guests. The young girl, an eager Kirin child of no more than ten years, looked at Ruth with fearful reverence, as if she’d asked to come just to get a glimpse of the Gorlan.