The Sceptre of Storms

by Greg James

  Mistress Ruth shot a look at him. “She will stay as long as she needs to.”

  Sula’s face drew tight over his high cheekbones. “I say this only for our safety, Sarah. I mean to protect you according to my oath as a Watcher.”

  “I know,” said Sarah, “and I’m grateful, but you’ve seen I can fight my own battles as well as you. I’ve seen death, I’ve killed, and I’ve felt pain. I’ve grown a lot this last year. So don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, Sula. Okay?”

  “I understand,” he said stiffly.

  Sarah came to the door of the house and reached out a hand to knock. She paused, holding it in mid-air before the wood.

  What if he’s dead? What if Barra’s dead? Do I want to know? Should I see more death after all that I have seen? Should I just go on, leave this place behind, and go with Sula and Ruth? As these thoughts passed through her mind, she felt the Flame inside, and it was speaking to her without words. It was telling her to go on, to do whatever she had to and to save Seythe from the Fallen One—to do what must be done as Daughter of the Flame and the bearer of the soul of A’aron. Sarah knocked hard on the door. Her decision was made. The Flame flared furious inside her and then went silent.

  The door opened.

  Woran was there and so was Barra, the dog pushing out between the old man’s wiry legs. Woran’s eyes met Sarah’s, and there was a moment of peace in the air. Then he cried out in joy, his arms were around her, and Sarah was laughing with tears in her eyes.

  “You came back! You did! She came back to us, Barra!”

  The dog was excitedly yapping and jumping. Sarah knelt down to pet him as she turned to Sula.

  “Go on to Yrsyllor without me if you must, Sula. I have to stay here for a while. I will follow you, I promise.”

  Her companions exchanged glances. Sula rolled his shoulders, looking down the hill then out to beyond the end of the Norn Valley.

  “I will stay. I have sworn my oath, and I will honour it.”

  Mistress Ruth smiled at his words.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dinner was a rich stew of vegetables and mutton. They talked. They laughed. Barra wove in and out between their legs and nuzzled their hands under the table on his own quest for titbits and morsels. Sarah noticed that Sula did not eat with them; now she thought about it, he hadn’t eaten when she was around at Old Berace’s Inn either. After they finished, Sula rose and said he would stand watch outside in case of trouble.

  As Woran passed hot-spiced apple juice to Mistress Ruth, Sarah began to tell him all about her journey from the Norn Valley to the Fellhorn Mountain. He sat and listened, attentive and with few questions. The air became heavy as she told first of the fall of Ossen in the catacombs of the Mountains of Mourning and then Jedda’s willing death on the heights of the Fellhorn.

  “So much death,” said Woran, taking her hand in his. “You have seen so much death, and yet still you are here. You could have run away, hidden somewhere. But you came back, and you fight on. You are so strong, Sarah, and I am so proud of you.”

  Sarah felt her face flushing at his words.

  “I just went on. I did what I had to do so I could go home.” She paused to lick her lips. “I didn’t come back to fight the Fallen. My mother’s sick and she needs something from here to make her better. That’s why I came back.”

  “Where did you see her? Who told you this?” asked Mistress Ruth.

  “In a ...” Sarah searched for the right words, “... an in-between place. There was a man there called Oswald, he had one eye, just like Ossen. And there were Doctors. I didn’t see them, but that’s what Oswald called them. He said Momma needs something called the Sceptre of Storms so they can cure her cancer.”

  “Cancer ...” muttered Mistress Ruth. “I have heard the word before. I think it is like what we call the Grey Touch. And these Doctors say it can be healed with the Sceptre of Storms?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Be careful what you heed from such places as you went to, Sarah,” she went on, “because there are worlds between made from the stuff of dreams and nightmares. I’m not saying you did not see your mother sick. I am saying her peril may be worse than her sickness if she has been taken by the inhabitants of this in-between place.”

  “But it seemed so real.”

  “Yet it also was different in some ways? Somewhat strange and like a dream?”

  “Yes ...”

  “Then I fear your mother’s life is hanging by a thread.”

  Sarah fumbled at the hilt on her belt. “Then I must find the sceptre they want. Do you know where it is?”

  Mistress Ruth reached across the table and took hold of Sarah’s hand. “It is just a legend ... I do not know if it exists anymore.”

  Sarah noticed Mistress Ruth’s eyes stray to the front door of the house.

  “I can’t just abandon her to them,” said Sarah. “I have to find this sceptre.”

  “I know, my dear, I know. But the sceptre is well hidden, if it is real.”

  “Where is it?”

  “On an island away to the south—one that no one goes to.”

  Woran spoke. “You are talking of K’th’li’li.”

  Mistress Ruth nodded. Sarah could see that her lips were growing white and her face was pinched.

  “What is K’th’li’li?”

  “The Kingdom of Webs, Sarah,” said Mistress Ruth. “It is rumoured that the keepers of the island guard the tower of the First Wayfarer. The sceptre is there. It is the source of his power and was once the horn of Adraxis, the last of the Unicorns.”

  “Ossen told me about the First Wayfarer. He fought the Iron Gods at the Mountains of Mourning, right?”

  “Yes, he comes as a storm and retreats in silence. He sleeps in the tower until the day comes when we forget him and all the lights go out.”

  “And I have to go to this tower?”

  “He is your one hope, as he walks in the worlds of dream and nightmare now. Only with his guidance will you be able to find a way to free your mother, for these creatures that have her must never control the Sceptre of Storms.”

  “So, how do I get there?”

  “Yrsyllor has ships,” said Mistress Ruth. “If the Fallen have not scuttled them all then you will be able to sail from the port to K’th’li’li.”

  “Then we will set off in the morning for Yrsyllor with Sula,” said Sarah.

  Tired and well fed, they retired for the night.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was later and Sarah was half awake as the door to her room eased open. Through bleary eyes, she saw him enter, undress and then climb into bed with her. His arms sliding around her, holding onto her tight. He whispered soft words in her ear and kissed her earlobe and neck before settling down to sleep. Sula’s bodily warmth was a balm against the terrors of the night for Sarah.

  Safe and warm, thought Sarah as she drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face. I never thought I would feel this safe and warm again. Not ever.

  Chapter Ten

  Sarah was running in the icehouse where Dad used to work, loading up the truck along with the other workers, all men in jeans and shirts with rough faces and rougher beards. Sarah always thought of them as giants, ogres, and bears. Everything about them suggested they were of the woods, the rocks, and the high mountains, not born to them but grown from soil, roots, and old stone. The chutes that ran down from the dark above into the icehouse hissed as the great shimmering blocks came hurtling down. This was her game, dodging those ice blocks, imagining they were being spat out by frost-encrusted Dragons that hid in the shadows. She was a knight, born to slay them, to take down the Dragons, kill the monsters dead.

  Ice block after ice block came thundering down.

  Faster, faster, and faster they came.

  Sarah ran hard, throwing herself past them, slithering dizzily across the wet ground. She slipped and spun and heard a roar—something she’d never heard before. In the darkness there, shimmering, shifting, were flakes of cru
sty white and silver, scattering beneath the polished hooks of claws. Ancient nostrils trailed arctic mist and eyes shone like bright moons. A tongue the colour of corpses flickered out and licked teeth as long as Sarah’s leg. Sarah ran, and the thing gave chase, the ground shaking from the violence of its pursuit. Each step was an earthquake. The sound of its tail and wings beating the air was a tsunami.

  I just need to find Mom, thought Sarah, just find Mom and it’ll go away. Everything will be okay.

  She was pelting along, ice blocks smashing into walls and flying from the chutes, shattering in mid-air. The creature behind her let loose a shriek, and Sarah’s eardrums popped.

  It was close to her, too close.

  Ahead was a light, a door to open space.

  Mom was there, waiting. Sarah pumped her legs against the ground for all she was worth, feeling as if she were about to take flight. The ground was cracking and groaning. Sarah weaved left to right, right to left, feeling air part and snap shut from the Dragon’s jaws. Hurling herself forward, Sarah landed in Momma’s arms. She was crushed against Mom’s blouse. Big arms tight around her. Sarah could feel the big woman’s heart beating.

  She felt safe. She felt warm.

  Momma had her.

  The Dragon howled, a dwindling sound retreating back into darkness.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sarah awoke in the night. A figure stood over her bed and she could not move. She tried to call out but her mouth was too dry. It was Woran, but there was something wrong with his eyes; they were glowing a dull red in the shadows, like the dying embers of a fire.

  “I am one with His Shadow, and they have come for you.”

  There was a further shadow by his feet. It was Barra—red-eyed and growling low in his thin throat.

  “First, they came for me. They turned me. They showed me His Darkness and now I will stand in His Shadow forever.” Tears formed in the old man’s eyes as he spoke.

  Sarah could hear shouts from outside. Some voices that she knew: Saltwines, Taproots, and Trotters. They had come to take her away and exact revenge for what had happened to Esiah. Woran’s hands were upon her, shaking Sarah hard until she felt the dryness and stiffness, which felt like death, leaving her body.

  “Woran, what’s going on?”

  His wrinkled, tear-stained face was close to hers, and she could see the red burning in his eyes. It was so fierce, and yet it did not seem as overpowering as it had a few moments ago. When he spoke, his voice was as it should be.

  “Sarah, please go, with your friends. I have been touched by Him. You have much to do and a long road ahead. There is no time left for us in this world, Sarah. Out the back. I can keep them at bay until He takes me over again.”

  Sarah was crying, “Woran ... Grandfather ... I can’t leave you. They’ll kill you.”

  “For betraying His Shadow, they will burn me, or He will strike me dead Himself. I can feel His fire in my mind. It scorches and it freezes. It bites and it gnaws. Go now, while I still have strength enough to fight Him and them.”

  The shouts were growing louder and the windows blazed with the light of many torches gathered at the front of the house. It would not be long before they spread around the back to cut off all escape. Woran grabbed Sarah by the arm as she stumbled into her boots and snatched the hilt off the small table beside the bed.

  Sula and Mistress Ruth were already at the back door. She exchanged a glance with Sula, wondering why he had left her after she fell asleep. But they could talk about that later.

  Clearly, they had both allowed Woran a few moments to say his goodbyes before they fled. Sarah could feel their eyes watching as Woran embraced her tightly and she kissed his whiskered cheeks. Her eyes caught his gaze, the red light there flaring brighter with every moment that passed.

  If he dies, I will kill you, Sarah thought, as she stared into the burning red.

  And she thought she heard something in response: a dreadful, dismaying sound. A laughter that was not laughter. Then, Mistress Ruth was leading her out through the back door of the house, and Sula was following them. As they ran down the hill, Sarah looked back at the silhouette of Woran standing in the light of the doorway. She was sure she heard the sound of rending wood and shattering glass. As the three travellers plunged into the shadows at the bottom of the hill, Sarah looked back one last time and saw the first flames licking up to the sky from Woran’s house.

  Tears stung her eyes as she looked away.

  “There’s nothing you could have done, Sarah,” said Mistress Ruth.

  “But there should have been. I let him do that. It’s my fault. I brought them to his door.”

  “It’s the fault of no one but the Fallen One, Sarah,” said Ruth. “He is the Darkness that is not Darkness. You are the Daughter of the Flame—”

  “I know all that. I also know what happened to A’aron after she fell. When her soul was lost, she went mad and became Yagga. I don’t want this, Ruth, any of it! This is her world, not mine. I hate it. I’m going to get what I need to save my mom and then I’m going home and leaving this world behind.”

  “Sarah—”

  “Don’t start on me. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve made my decision and you can help me. You just have to accept that I no longer care. I’m becoming a monster and a killer because of this thing inside of me. If gods and goddesses kill and are so cruel, then I don’t want to be one of them. Ever.”

  Chapter Twelve

  That night, A’aron came to Sarah again, robed in flames. Her face seemed fiercer in its expression than the last time.

  “You have delayed. You endanger yourself and the gift you bear.”

  “I don’t want it, any of it. It’s not a gift to me, A’aron. You are a curse.”

  “His Shadow is working on you. Making you feel and say these things.”

  “No, this is nothing to do with Him. I just lost someone dear to me, can you understand that? Can you?”

  “E’blis was as dear to me as a brother. We were one with the Great Tree before we were born from its roots.”

  Sarah looked into the flickering face as it spoke and found that she did not believe it. Though it used the word brother, she doubted that meant the same thing to A’aron as it did to her.

  “I wish it to be taken away from me, that I could just give it away.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Daughter.”

  “I told you before not to call me that!”

  “Be careful that it does not happen to you. Remember, your mother needs you and the Flame is what has kept you alive in this world so far.”

  Sarah ground her teeth, biting back what she wanted to say, she turned her back on A’aron and walked away into the dark of her dreams.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was a few days before they came out of the Norn Valley and in that time, the mood remained sombre. Sarah spoke little, eating and drinking sparingly and lagging behind her companions, adrift in dark thoughts. As the land around them evened out, they sought cover in small woods, ditches, and lonesome houses to avoid being seen by the patrols of Fellfolk and the shrieking shadows that swept through the air. All fauna seemed to have fled along with the people, though funnels of smoke rose from grisly piles by the roadsides and on the horizon. Mistress Ruth would not let Sarah inspect them any closer. The first snows of winter had started to fall, covering some of the worst sights left by the Fallen with shrouds of white.

  They had crossed the border into Yrsyllor, and Sarah wondered at Sula’s calmness as they travelled the roads and crossed the scorched fields of his homeland. She wished she could be as restrained as he was, but her heart was still aching from leaving Woran to burn and from learning what was holding her mother hostage.

  On the third evening, they sat in the shadows of a clearing, watching the low flames of a fire flickering before them. Mistress Ruth had woven a subtle magick to hide the smoke and fire from those who hunted them. That day, Sarah had seen more and more bodies lying in the ditches,
waterways, and canals that cut through the thickly grassed land of the kingdom. Sula sat away from Sarah and Mistress Ruth, in repose beneath one of the trees. He had grown distant since they left the valley. Sarah wondered what she might have done to offend him, or if this were his way of dealing with what he had seen of Yrsyllor so far.

  “The Fallen will slay as many as they press into submission,” Mistress Ruth said. “The Black Lord cares not whether the living die or serve him. Desolation across the worlds is all that He seeks.”

  “Ossen said that he comes from somewhere outside of the Thirteen Worlds. Is he like the things that have Mom? Could He be the same as them?”

  “Perhaps, Sarah, perhaps. But the dimensions out there are the stuff of chaos and flux. There is no telling what He might be in comparison to them. He could be equivalent to a god or He could be the smallest of ants. This is why you must seek the wisdom of the First Wayfarer, only Ka’aron can help you.”

  “Ka’aron is his name? So, he’s like A’aron? Like me?”

  “Only as an ant might be to a god, or rather goddess,” said Ruth. “The Fallen One’s taint touches all men throughout the world; it makes them weaker and smaller than women in many respects.”

  “The Fallen One, does He have a name?”

  Mistress Ruth’s eyes widened. “Don’t speak of such things. Such knowledge is worse than dangerous. It would be poison to the tongue that spoke it.”

  A rustling came from the undergrowth. Sula was on his feet, without a word, striding towards it when the bushes and branches parted. A figure strode into the clearing. Sarah remembered the billowing shadow-shape she had seen pursuing them after they left Highmount.

  She drew the hilt, and the flaming blade ignited from the ether. Using its flickering light as a lantern, Sarah discerned the stranger’s features. It was dressed in cerulean robes that shone in the light, and its raised hands were not hands, but rather glistening translucent tendrils. The thing’s head was a gelatinous bulb, bluish in colour and fringed with trailing purple tentacles. It made Sarah think of a jellyfish she’d seen drifting offshore when she’d been on holiday back home, except for the transparent gaping snout that extended from the front of its otherwise featureless head.