The Fathomless Fire

by Thomas Wharton

  “Very well, Will Lightfoot,” he said. “Take the boy home to his father. And we shall see about the rain.”

  Corr swept away with his men, and the golem turned and followed ponderously after him, as silent and impassive as always. The doctor stood apart, waiting for Finn, who watched his brother stride away.

  When they were alone, the doctor took Finn’s arm and said to him in a low, urgent voice, “Nonn is using your brother for his own ends. He has some kind of power over him. Surely you can see that?”

  “I’ve seen it,” Finn said sadly. “That’s why I have to stay.”

  He turned to Will.” Take care of yourself. Once you warn the Errantry, don’t remain in Fable. Leave with the loremaster and Rowen. Find a refuge, or get back home if you can.”

  “You don’t have to stay here, Finn,” Will said. “He would let you go, too, if you asked him. I’m sure of it.”

  “Very likely,” Finn said. “But I lost him once, and I’m not going to abandon him now.” He turned to the wildman. “Get Will home, Balor. That’s all I ask of you, old friend.”

  “And what do you want me to say when I return to Appleyard?” Balor asked him. “About Corr, about all of this?”

  “You can tell Lord Caliburn that I still intend to fulfil my oath. I will bring my brother home. It just might take a while longer.”

  “I think you’ve sniffed too much gaal already, ’Zar,” Balor said to the doctor. “But if you’re hellbent on tending to these madmen, just don’t try to be a hero. That’s my job.”

  “I agree,” the doctor said with a thin smile. “And this way I won’t have to listen to your singing all the way home.”

  He turned to Will and handed him a small cloth pouch.

  “Take this, Will. It’s some of the dwarves’ herb. Brew it in boiling water when you get the chance and drink it. Make sure Balor does too. He has a habit of not listening to his doctor. Farewell for now.”

  “Goodbye,” Will said.

  Finn and the doctor turned away and followed Corr. Will watched them go. They disappeared into the haze of bitter smoke drifting along the walls.

  Master: Where have you been?

  Apprentice: I climbed to the top of the mountain.

  Master: Did you find anyone there?

  Apprentice: I found no one there.

  Master: Then you have not been to the top of the mountain.

  – The Enigmatist’s Handbook

  AS ROWAN STEPPED OUT of the raincabinet with Riddle at her side, she heard raised voices coming from below. Edweth’s she recognized, arguing heatedly with someone. The mage, she guessed, had returned and was demanding entrance.

  Rowen looked back into the darkness of the raincabinet. She thought for a moment of her grandmother, and the impossibly vast world that lay within that darkness. How had her grandfather hidden it? What had he done to make it look like an ordinary broom cupboard?

  You take what is, and you nudge it a little, with what might be.

  Rowen looked down at her feet. A small puddle of water from the endless rain had formed at the sill of the doorway. Just as it might in a cupboard with mops and buckets. She closed her eyes.

  “Be hidden,” she whispered desperately. The voices below were getting louder.

  The sound of the rain faded. Rowen opened her eyes. She was looking into a small cupboard with dark stone walls. A broom and mop stood in the corners. A bucket with a rag draped over its rim sat in the middle of the puddled floor.

  Rowen took a step into the cupboard. She reached out a hand and touched the back wall. Her palm pressed up against cold, solid stone. She gave a push. The wall did not move.

  “It will have to do,” she whispered. She turned from the raincabinet and hurried downstairs with Riddle at her heels.

  She found Edweth and Freya in the front hall, facing three of Thorne’s guards. To Rowen’s dismay the mage Ammon Brax was there, too, standing to one side and smiling indulgently like someone waiting for a troublesome obstruction to be cleared out of his way. Edweth had a large iron frying pan in her hand that she had raised menacingly. Freya was not armed, but looked grim-faced and ready for a fight.

  “You were telling me,” the mage said to Edweth when he caught sight of Rowen, “that Master Pendrake’s granddaugher had run away. Clearly she didn’t get far.”

  Rowen looked at the housekeeper, who returned the silent urgency of her glance. She knew that Edweth wanted to hear what had happened to her in the Weaving, and Rowen wanted more than anything to tell her she’d found her grandmother, but this was not the time. Instead she summoned up all her outrage and strode forward.

  “What are these men doing here?” she demanded.

  “They think they’re going to throw us out,” Edweth cried. “Out of our home.”

  “Our orders come from the Marshal himself,” one of the guards said. “You’re to come with us to Appleyard immediately. All of you.”

  “What about Freya?” Rowen asked. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

  “Those are my orders, miss.”

  “I know who you are,” Edweth said to the guard who had spoken. “You’re Hutch Kenning, the miller’s son. I don’t think your father would approve of this sort of conduct.”

  “My orders, ma’am,” the guard said with calm resolve.

  “Lord Caliburn would never agree to this,” Edweth said. “He is a good friend of the Master.”

  “But Master Pendrake is not here,” Brax said. “The city of Fable has lost its loremaster, and as unworthy as I am, the Marshal has appointed me to take his place, at least until he is found or returns on his own.”

  “So you’re taking his place and his house as well?” Edweth snapped.

  The mage took a deep breath, and Rowen saw with a kind of bitter gladness that the housekeeper had finally begun to fray his careful self-control.

  “Lord Caliburn has asked me to search the toyshop for any clues as to what happened to Master Pendrake. And he wishes the two of you to be safe, which this house clearly no longer is. Surely, madam, you can see that the girl needs protecting. What if more of those spell-creatures find their way here?”

  “The loremaster told me this was the safest place for Rowen to be,” Edweth protested, but Rowen could see that the mage’s last argument had carried some weight with her. She folded her arms across her chest, but there was doubt in her eyes.

  “It may have been once,” the mage said, turning to Rowen. “Believe me, if it was my choice I would let you stay. After all, you’ve lived in this house most of your life. You know it better than anyone, I would imagine, and you might notice things I wouldn’t. You might be able to help me find your grandfather. I will speak to the Marshal when I can, and perhaps he will relent.”

  The way he looked at her sent a chill through Rowen. He knew. Somehow Brax had worked out that she was only pretending to be ignorant and uninterested in her grandfather’s secrets. He wanted her to see him as the only hope she had, so that she would give in and confide in him.

  She was struggling for a reply that would give nothing more away, when the guard named Kenning cleared his throat.

  “The Marshal is waiting,” he said to Edweth. “You’re to come with us willingly to Appleyard, otherwise we’ll have no choice but to drag you there.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Edweth said. The guard’s face darkened and he moved towards the housekeeper.

  Rowen was about to step in the way, when she looked past the mage into the street outside. Flakes of snow were drifting slowly down through the evening shadows.

  Snow. It was late summer and the days were warm and sunny. There was never snow in Fable at this time of year. The guards had seen it too, and were gazing out of the doorway in wonder.

  All at once she knew, and her heart leapt. It was the dragon. Whitewing Stonegrinder had come, as he had promised.

  “We’ll go,” Rowen said quickly. “We won’t give you any trouble.”

  Freya stared at her in surprise, but
when she caught Edweth’s eye a wordless understanding passed between them. The housekeeper had known Rowen since she was a mischievous little girl who used to sneak into the kitchen to steal cookies. Edweth could always tell when she had something up her sleeve.

  “Rowen?” Freya said. “We’re just going to let them…”

  “We can’t do anything about it now,” Rowen said. “At least at Appleyard we can talk to the Marshal about all of this, like Master Brax said.”

  “Very well, then,” the housekeeper said with a heavy sigh that was almost too theatrical, then she pointed a finger at Brax. “I am serving you a warning, Mister mage. If anything of the Master’s is disturbed or broken or missing when I come back, and I will be coming back…”

  “I shall give you no cause for grievance, madam,” the mage said with an exaggerated bow. Then he turned to Rowen with a look of feigned pity and understanding that she wanted dearly to wipe off his face with a slap.

  “I know this is hard for you,” he said to her. “But it’s what your grandfather would have wished.”

  Why are you talking about him as if he’s dead? Rowen wanted to scream, but she held tightly to her anger. It would have to wait. She had one last chance now to throw him off the scent before the toyshop was his. If he already suspected how much she knew, then she could use that to her advantage. She had to make him think she was not troubled about leaving, then maybe he would wonder if she was walking out of the door with the very thing he was desperate to find.

  “Thank you for helping us, Master Brax,” she said, and she smiled. It was a false smile, but that was what she wanted him to see. The smug grin of someone getting away with something.

  And for a moment suspicion and doubt flickered across the mage’s guarded features. It had worked. He wasn’t so sure of his victory now. She hoped the doubt would gnaw at him, keep him preoccupied, until she could find a way to return.

  Then before he might see the calculating in her own eyes, she scooped Riddle up in her arms, turned quickly and went out of the door, followed by Edweth, Freya and the guards.

  As they walked up the silent, white-shrouded lane she turned to look back. Through the falling snow she saw Brax standing in the doorway, a dark figure against the light from within. As she watched, still unable to believe that this was really happening, he slowly shut the door.

  When they arrived shortly afterwards at the Gathering House, the guard named Kenning showed them to the small, tidy room that would be theirs for the time being. Then he nodded to the other two guards, who stood on either side of Freya. One of them took her arm.

  “Come along,” he said.

  “Where are you taking her?” Rowen asked.

  “Captain Thorne wants to question her further about what happened to Master Pendrake,” Kenning said, “then she’ll be escorted out of the city with her friends.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Rowen,” Freya said as the guards took her away. “I’ll tell the captain everything I know about Brax.”

  Kenning ushered Rowen and Edweth into the room.

  “You aren’t prisoners here,” he said in an effort to conciliate Edweth, who was still smouldering with anger. “The door will not be locked. But for your own safety you should stay here. We’ll be keeping watch.”

  As soon as he’d shut the door behind him, Rowen set Riddle down and ran to Edweth. She threw her arms around the housekeeper.

  “I met Grandmother,” she whispered. “She’s alive. Oh, Edweth, there’s so much to tell you, but there isn’t time now.”

  That was true, but Edweth tearfully insisted on hearing more about Maya. So Rowen quickly told her as much as she could of what had happened in the Weaving and how she had met her grandmother at the cottage. Throughout the tale Edweth laughed and wept and held Rowen’s hands.

  “You found her,” she kept saying in wonder. “If only Nicholas could hear this.”

  “I have to go now, Edweth,” Rowen said, gently pulling her hands away. “The snow means that Whitewing Stonegrinder is here. The dragon. He told me that when I saw snow I should climb to the highest place and he’d be there waiting for me. The highest place around here is Appleyard Hill.”

  “Yes, yes,” Edweth said, wiping her eyes. “That must be the place. I see now. That’s why you let them take us here.”

  “In the meantime, keep demanding to see Lord Caliburn. If you get to talk to him, tell him that Brax is only after Grandfather’s secrets.”

  “I will, Rowen. Now you go. Find the dragon and bring him here to terrify some sense into these stupid men.”

  Rowen nodded, and kissed Edweth on the cheek. The housekeeper looked at her, startled, then understanding came into her eyes.

  “You’re not coming back, are you?”

  Rowen leaned forward and Riddle jumped into her arms again.

  “I need to find Will,” she said, “then I have to get back to the raincabinet somehow, to search for Grandfather.”

  “Very well,” Edweth said, brushing back Rowen’s hair. “You’re not a child any more, are you? You’re a young woman. Do what you must, my love. I will take care of things here. Yes, I will raise such a commotion… They’ll regret bringing me to Appleyard, make no mistake.”

  They rose from where they were sitting, and Rowen opened the door. A guard stood in the corridor. He was unarmed, but older and dour-faced.

  “We demand to speak with the Marshal,” Edweth said imperiously.

  “He’s got no time to chat with women and children,” the guard said coldly.

  “I am going to see him,” Edweth said, striding past the guard into the corridor. “I have important news that he must hear.”

  The guard moved in front of her.

  “You can’t go marching around the Gathering House as you please,” he said. “Stay in your room and I will send someone with a message to the Marshal.”

  While the guard was blocking Edweth’s path, Rowen turned and began to walk the other way. The guard noticed and shouted after her, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I don’t feel very well,” Rowen said in a weak, submissive voice. “I need some fresh air. I won’t go far, I promise.”

  “And in the meantime,” Edweth said hotly to the guard, “I’m not waiting for someone to deliver my message whenever it suits them. This is a matter of grave importance. I am going to see the Marshal.”

  The guard looked from Edweth to Rowen and back again. Clearly he decided the housekeeper was the bigger problem, because he turned his back on Rowen. The last thing she heard as she hurried along the corridor was Edweth using several impolite words that Rowen hadn’t been aware the housekeeper even knew.

  The two sentries at the doors of the Gathering House were busy sweeping snow from the stairs. They gave Rowen suspicious looks as she passed, but when she turned and walked away from the gates, they said nothing and let her go. Once around the corner of the building, she let Riddle go and they hurried up the stone path through the apple groves. The trees were all white-headed from the snow. They almost seemed to be glowing with their own light in the thickening gloom.

  By the time the two of them were nearing the crest of the hill, the snow was up to Rowen’s ankles and Riddle was ploughing gamely through it, sending up puffs of powdery white with each bound. Ahead of her Rowen could see two sentries at the top of the beacon tower, scarves around their heads, huddled around a brazier for warmth.

  She and Riddle passed under the tower, trying to go quietly, though her shoes made what sounded like a terribly loud squeaking in the fresh snow. But the sentries didn’t seem to notice.

  They came to the low wall where Rowen had sat with Will only a few days before. Below her, Fable was almost hidden by darkness and flurrying flakes, though she could see a few of the blue lamps gleaming dimly. She turned away from the sight and gazed around the shrouded hilltop. The only sound was the soft whistle of the wind. She looked at Riddle, and he looked at her, but said nothing. The cat seemed to have become ve
ry quiet since he’d returned to the place he came from. She found she missed the talkative Riddle, just a little bit.

  Rowen stood still, and her attention was caught by one of the thousands upon thousands of tiny white flakes fluttering down out of the sky. It whirled and spun as it fell, and landed on the sleeve of her tunic. She had seen many snowflakes, and had always marvelled at their perfect shapes, like tiny crystal flowers, or stars. But she had never seen a snowflake like this. It pulsed with a faint blue glow, and it did not have petals or rays, like most snowflakes did, but was shaped more like a leaf. Or a scale, Rowen thought excitedly. A dragon scale. The snowflake rested on her sleeve only a moment, not melting as other snowflakes would, and then it lifted off again and joined all the others whirling around her.

  “Whitewing Stonegrinder,” she said quietly, scarcely daring to speak. “Are you here?”

  Rowen of Blue Hill. I have come.

  She gasped as the voice, seeming to come up from the earth, thrummed in her bones. She glanced at the sentries in alarm. They were still huddled over their fire and hadn’t noticed anything. Perhaps the voice had truly only sounded in her bones and nowhere else.

  “Where are you?” she asked. “I can’t see you.”

  You see me all around you, the dragon’s voice said, and Rowen now heard what Freya had heard in it: a great struggle being made, as if the owner of this voice was sick or in pain. This is all that I am now.

  For a moment she thought she saw a huge shape forming in the flurrying of the snow before her eyes, then it was gone, scattering into countless whirling flakes.

  “I don’t understand. What happened to you?”

  The river of ice was my home for longer than you small beings with two legs have crawled upon the land. In truth I was the ice. I could take any form that water shapes itself to. From ice as hard as stone, to snow and rain, to the thinnest mist. But no longer.

  “Why not?”

  The ice high in the mountains has been melting. My home is dying, more swiftly than I would ever have thought possible. The world is unweaving once more. I can no longer defend the high places from those who would defile them. The slaves of the Storyeater are pouring through the high passes in great numbers. They are coming here, to destroy this city. And so I have come to defend it.