by Lucy Hounsom
Before she could reply, Ma said brusquely, ‘Send this envoi, if you must, but as soon as it’s done, we strike out for Khronosta.’
‘Khronosta,’ Kyndra repeated, her eyes distant. ‘Medavle wanted me to contact them, you know. He talked about making an alliance.’ She paused, took a breath. ‘What if, when the time comes, he won’t return with us?’
Ma’s hands strayed to her kali sticks, fingers lightly touching their smooth surface. ‘I will do what I must to protect this world,’ she said.
30
The Eastern Set, Acre
Brégenne
‘Thank you for coming so swiftly,’ Brégenne said to Argat as they stood once more on the deck of the Eastern Set. ‘It seems we’re in your debt again. Gareth isn’t up to a long journey on foot.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The trek south from Stjórna nearly killed him.’
Gareth slumped on some barrels nearby, his eyes hollow and staring. If it hadn’t been for Ümvast’s warriors, Brégenne wasn’t sure they’d have made it back to the forest’s edge, not with Gareth collapsing every hour. They’d been forced to leave most of the warriors behind – there wasn’t room on the ship for them all – but half a dozen remained to watch over Gareth … or to ensure he kept his end of the bargain.
‘Looks like he’s on his last legs,’ Yara muttered. ‘What’ve you been doing since we dropped you off?’
Brégenne thought of the withered forest and the deathly chill in Gareth’s eyes. She thought of their battle with the wyverns, the shock of their confrontation with Ümvast and the revelations about the gauntlet. ‘It’s been a mad few weeks,’ she sighed.
‘I might be inclined to accept payment in stories,’ Argat said with a nod to Gareth. ‘I’m thinking of writing a book.’
Yara rolled her eyes. ‘To business,’ she said to Brégenne. ‘You might feel reassured to know that there’s only one viable route into Mariar.’
‘We’ve flown up and down the border, looking for potential crossing points,’ Argat added, ‘but the wasteland is as extensive as the mountains used to be. No army of reasonable size could cross unseen or with any speed.’
‘That is reassuring,’ Brégenne said. ‘But to be honest, I’m amazed you haven’t flown halfway across Acre by now.’
‘We spent some time in Jarra,’ the first mate said. ‘I told the captain it would be a poor idea to fly into the unknown with anything less than a full complement of fuel.’
Brégenne gazed at the hills of broken stone beneath the airship’s hull. From this height, they resembled the ridged back of a colossal beast stretched out in sleep. ‘Kyndra sent me a message,’ she said. ‘She and her companions believe that the ruins of Kalast still exist as part of an extensive burial ground.’ Brégenne strove to suppress a shudder, but she didn’t quite manage it. Kyndra’s description of Ben-haugr reminded her unpleasantly of the images she’d seen when she’d tried to remove the gauntlet. The enthroned king, winding passages, the ceiling pressing down like the lid of a coffin.
She shook herself. ‘We just need to find some landmarks. One’s a city called Parth. Kyndra says it’ll be a nine-week journey on horseback.’
Yara’s brow creased. ‘I’d say we could more than halve that,’ she said, after some swift calculation. ‘But we’ll be running at a reduced speed to conserve fuel—’
‘And tying up at night, if possible,’ Argat told her. ‘I won’t endanger my ship by flying blind across unfamiliar terrain.’ He looked at Brégenne. ‘Don’t suppose you happen to have a map?’
‘I have a rough one in here.’ Brégenne tapped her skull.
‘Much good that will do.’
‘You’ll have to trust me,’ she said, which only caused Argat to grumble.
‘How accurate is your information?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘It’s the best we’re going to get, Argat. Kyndra told me everything she knew about the knights.’ That wasn’t all Kyndra had told her. Brégenne glanced at Gareth. The news of Shika’s death had deeply shocked her, coming so suddenly in the midst of the message about Kalast. She knew she owed Gareth the truth about his friend, but she hadn’t been able to tell him. He was already so frail; she feared what it might do to him. She had so many questions about events in the red valley and such an incomplete account of Shika’s death. What did they mean by saying they’d had no body to bury? If she told Gareth, he’d want to know everything, he should know everything.
‘This is intolerable!’
Kul’Das’s strident voice broke into her thoughts and Brégenne briefly closed her eyes. How she wished they’d been able to leave the woman behind. When she opened them, she saw Kul’Das tottering across the deck, her hand clapped to her mouth.
‘I demand you land this … this thing right now.’
‘Demand?’ Argat said with a dangerous smile. ‘No one demands anything of me, especially on board my own ship.’
‘I am a Kul –’ she began but stopped. Yara was casually tossing her dagger back and forth between her hands.
‘You are under the captain’s authority,’ the first mate said. ‘If you want off, the rail’s right there.’
Kul’Das glanced over the side of the airship and then clearly wished she hadn’t, for the hand went back over her mouth. She turned and rushed to the other rail, where they all heard her violent retching.
‘That should keep her busy,’ Yara announced smugly to Brégenne. ‘It took me a full six months to stop feeling ill when I first came aboard.’
Doing her best to block out the sounds of Kul’Das losing her lunch, Brégenne sighed. This was going to be a long voyage.
The first night passed without incident. Yara stilled the rear paddles and the crew scurried like rats down ropes to anchor the great ship amongst a stand of pines. They’d come to the end of the wasteland that evening. Though they were officially in Acre now, to Brégenne it didn’t seem any different. I’m travelling a land out of the stories, she thought, but the rock looked like rock, the trees like trees and she couldn’t help but feel it was all a bit anticlimactic.
When morning came, they sailed west. Brégenne stood at the rail, enjoying the breeze in her face and her hair flying behind her, as she studied the landscape beneath. She wasn’t the only one; Argat’s crew were fascinated, often glancing up from whatever chores he’d set them to gaze at the scenery. So too were the warriors from Ümvast. Though a few shared Kul’Das’s distaste for flying, they were all as equally stunned at the fact that they’d passed over the westernmost mountains into a land long thought lost.
At midday they flew over a settlement and had their first glimpse of Acre’s people. The town was small, built into the rocky highlands, and when the shadow of the ship slid over it like a hunting dragon, cries reached Brégenne’s ears. The crew’s eyes were bright, the warriors crowded at the rail like excited children, and even Gareth managed a grin. Kul’Das looked as surly as always, but she was the only one. Argat and Yara stood shoulder to shoulder at the prow and their smiles were as wide as Brégenne had ever seen them.
‘We’ll sail into history,’ the captain declared, his leather coat slapping the wind. ‘Our names will be inked for luck in the margins of every logbook.’
Buoyed by the mood, they spent the rest of the afternoon gliding along the fringes of the highlands, but enthusiasm gradually faded to nervousness as evening fell and the time came to anchor. Brégenne thought she knew why. Up in the sky, they felt as untouchable as gods. Down here, they were mortal again.
Argat finally found a spot he deemed acceptable, at the steep lip of a valley that sloped back into barren hills. The braziers were extinguished and without their constant heat, the vast balloons sagged until the ship settled to ground with a groan. They took it in turns to eat and keep watch. The air was still cold, and Brégenne was glad they’d left the snows of Ümvast behind. It was a clear night, the stars scattered like silver coins across a merchant’s counting cloth, and she felt the moon in her bones. Its light was crisp
and strong as it flowed through her body.
Gareth was restless. Brégenne noticed his eyes straying to the edge of the trees that marched down the high valley, until they stopped short of the airship. He was always worse when the sun set and the Solar power slept – she was certain it served as a buffer between him and the gauntlet. She watched as he wandered to the ship’s rail, the moon riming his fur-trimmed cloak.
He had no shadow.
Brégenne’s breath caught. The moon scored her own silhouette in sharp lines on the deck behind her, but when she looked at Gareth, there was nothing, as if he lacked substance. She glanced around. Sailors were superstitious; there’d be no telling what the crew would do if they noticed. Gareth seemed unaware, so Brégenne decided not to say anything. He still complained of feeling cold, even standing in sunlight, and each day his face was more corpse-like, his skin more waxen.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked cautiously, coming to lean beside him on the rail.
The look he gave her was answer enough. Brégenne tried to inject some confidence into her voice. ‘We’ll find it, Gareth.’
‘Even if we do, my mother wants it. She wants them both. We promised the gauntlets to Argat.’ His tone was expressionless.
‘It’s a problem I haven’t figured out an answer to yet,’ Brégenne admitted. She studied him closely. ‘Don’t say you want to keep them, Gareth? After everything you’ve been through?’
He was silent.
‘Your mother wants them to protect her people,’ Brégenne said. ‘Perhaps we can convince Argat that it’s a worthier cause.’ She paused. ‘If it were up to me, I’d say nobody should have them. They sound too powerful and too dangerous.’
‘She’ll do it, you know,’ Gareth said. ‘If she doesn’t hear from us, or if we don’t return with the gauntlets, she’ll march on the southlands.’
‘Would she really?’ Brégenne asked. ‘Knowing that Rairam is itself in danger of invasion, would she weaken what strength we have?’
Gareth stared at the moonlit woods. ‘You don’t understand. It’s a matter of honour. Whoever holds the title of Ümvast is responsible for the well-being of the north. None of Mother’s predecessors have ever been driven from our ancestral home.’ He sounded old to Brégenne, his voice, his choice of words, as if a lifetime had passed since he’d left Naris. ‘She will do what she must to protect our people. If that means starting a war …’ He trailed off, leaning forward over the rail to peer more closely at the treeline.
‘I knew I saw movement,’ he said, clenching his fist as if in self-rebuke. ‘There –’ he pointed – ‘and there. We’re being watched.’
Brégenne drew on her Lunar vision as she had done for so many years, but still couldn’t see anything. ‘Are you sure it’s not just an animal?’
Gareth shook his head. ‘It’s people.’ He glanced at his right wrist, shuddered briefly. ‘I can feel them.’
‘Stay here and keep watch. I’ll tell Argat.’
She found the captain in his saloon. ‘Gareth spotted movement among the trees,’ she said as soon as she opened the door. ‘He thinks we’re being watched.’
Argat snapped a box shut and swiftly made it disappear. ‘How many?’ he asked, heading around his desk.
‘I don’t—’
The rest of her sentence was lost in a wild shout from above. She and Argat both ran for the deck. One of the balloons was on fire. Yara tore past Brégenne with a bucket, her teeth bared in fury. ‘Get those flames out!’ she bellowed, tossing her water at the fire, which hissed and spat.
As Argat added his voice to the order, Brégenne looked for Gareth. The young man had backed away from the rail, his eyes sweeping the darkness on both sides of the ship. ‘It’s just a distraction,’ he gasped as Brégenne hurried up to him. ‘They’re surrounding us.’
Brégenne looked where he was pointing and saw figures creeping out of the night. One held a torch; the bowman responsible for setting the balloon alight. He wore a dented breastplate and his legs were dubiously protected by scuffed greaves. An axe – more a woodcutter’s than a warrior’s – hung at his side.
But the Lunar revealed other men, a whole lot of them, whose armour looked more serviceable and whose unsheathed weapons gleamed violent promises in their hands. The bowman was on the verge of sending another lit arrow into the balloon, but a man stopped him. Bandits who wanted to keep the airship intact? Brégenne wondered.
She was almost rewarded for her staring with an arrow through the neck. Brégenne seized the Lunar and a barrier sprang up at her skin, knocking the missile harmlessly aside. She saw the bowman call a warning as he pointed in her direction. Nediah had told her about ‘aberrations’ – Acre’s name for Wielders – maybe they took her for one.
There was no sign of Kul’Das when Ümvast’s warriors burst out onto the deck. ‘Keep them off the ship,’ Brégenne cried at them. Their leader, a woman, nodded at her and unsheathed a bow, taking careful aim in the low light. The airship’s crew was still focused on the balloon, though the flames seemed to be under control now. Brégenne threw up a shield behind which the warriors could safely shoot. ‘Argat!’ she shouted.
The captain’s face was as furious as Yara’s as he took in their situation. They were badly outnumbered – there had to be a hundred men out there.
Brégenne gathered her resolve. If they wanted a fight, she’d give them a fight. Once they saw what she was capable of, they’d flee into the hills. She raised her arms, exulting in the power that burned in her veins, sending the same Lunar lightning that she’d conjured in Ümvast’s hall shooting into their midst.
Smoke curled up from charred patches of earth and voices cried out in pain. Brégenne hardened her heart. Using the Lunar to harm had always seemed abominable to her, the very worst exercise of power. She clothed herself in the moon, so that she appeared a blazing, faceless figure, hoping she’d instil enough terror to send them running.
The bandits retreated. Frowning after them, Brégenne had only a moment’s warning before a storm of arrows hurtled at the airship from both sides. She moved faster than she ever had, sending out a wave of light that incinerated the projectiles in mid-air. But she’d panicked and thrown too much energy into the blast. Depending how full their quivers were, she couldn’t use the same technique more than half a dozen times. Perhaps a shield instead, she thought feverishly – they needed to get out of range. Could she hold a shield large enough to cover the whole ship?
Another volley of arrows came and she wasn’t fast enough to destroy them all. One grazed her cheekbone and thudded into the mast behind her. The pain arrived almost instantly; she raised a hand and stared numbly at the blood on her fingers.
Their attackers shouted as they saw her falter. One of Ümvast’s warriors was down, an arrow through his knee. The woman who led them raced low across the deck, using whatever she could find as cover. Her quiver was nearly empty; Brégenne watched her last two arrows streak into the dark and heard screams as they found their marks.
Gareth was standing rigid. He was staring at Brégenne, at the blood on her face, and she watched his own darken with anger. His chest rose and fell hugely, as if he struggled for breath. His thin ribs stood out with the movement.
Before her eyes, he changed. Darkness like descending night enveloped him, flowing out of the gauntlet. ‘No!’ she gasped and stumbled towards him. ‘Gareth, fight it.’
If he heard her, he gave no sign. His eyes were black, filmed like an oil slick over clear water. Despite the still night, tattered shadows streamed off him as if he stood in a gale. He walked towards the airship’s rail.
‘Gareth!’ she screamed, watching helplessly as he climbed over and dropped onto the bare ground below. Regardless of the danger, Brégenne rushed to the rail, still calling his name. His rash action gave their attackers pause; they eyed him uncertainly, but the young man bore no visible weapon and their hesitation didn’t last long. They encircled him until Gareth was an island in a bristlin
g sea of steel. He seemed a figure of darkness, clad in shifting ebony armour hammered out of shadow.
Gareth crouched and plunged his hands into the earth.
It was impossible, of course, the ground here was solid rock with a scant layer of dirt atop it, but Gareth’s fingers sank straight through and black streams boiled up around them, flowing towards their attackers. When the first tendril licked at a man’s boots, he began to scream. His companions backed away as he held out beseeching arms swiftly riddling with rot. The bones in his legs disintegrated beneath him and he toppled to the ground. Brégenne stood frozen, unable to tear her eyes from the scene. The dark power devoured the man’s flesh until the only thing left was a perfect skeleton, its jaw hanging open, as if to scream still.
Their attackers broke, turning and hurling themselves into the night. When some tripped and fell in the gloom, the black bubbling streams found them too, turning flesh to rot and then bone. Gareth – or the thing that had been Gareth – straightened to watch. He was floating a little off the ground, Brégenne saw, and the black raiment continued to billow about him.
Yara was shouting orders at the panicked crew. ‘Get them reinflated!’ Brégenne heard her yell. ‘They’re not too damaged to lift us out of here.’
‘Wait!’ Brégenne called. ‘We can’t leave him.’
‘I’m not having that thing anywhere near me,’ Yara gasped, the whites of her eyes showing. It was the first time Brégenne had seen her scared. And maybe she was right. When Gareth turned to look at her, there was nothing of the young man in his face, nothing even of the living. He’d come back from the brink before, but had never been so consumed. Her heart sank. Dawn was hours away – there was no help to be had from the Solar.
Brégenne swallowed. Lunar was Solar, she thought. In its basic state, the energy was the same; perhaps she could use it to reach him. I have to go down there. Her courage wavered; a part of her desperately wanted to turn and flee. The ground around the airship was spotted white with bones and the charnel stink of decaying flesh lingered in the air.