by S. K. Holder
Skelos stood perfectly still for several minutes allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness and penetrate the shadows. The cellar door stood open.
He climbed the flight of stairs, pausing when he reached the top. Two lamps, secured in brackets, burned low on the sombre walls. A nail in the wall and a faded rectangular patch told him that a picture once hung there. He had overheard one of the guards commenting on how it would fit in nicely with ‘the drab background.’ The castle was drab by all accounts. All of its twenty-two rooms needed extensive repair work, too costly for its Ward, Jemrah Cullen, to contemplate.
The painting was among the list of ‘luxury items’ the Pareusian officials had permitted Skelos to bring with him from Odisiris. It had never hung in his own home. When he learned the Pareusian officials knew of his unlawful experiments and the whereabouts of his secret laboratory, within the Red Caves, he had been swift to conceal any evidence that might link him to a misdemeanour before they arrived to question him.
He had dropped his tablet of notes through a discreet opening in the floor and sent a bucket of water chasing after it. He rolled his subject’s body in a sheet and stuffed it in the cupboard under his bench. It had not taken them long to discover the body. (He had left half the sheet trailing on the floor). But the body had not been his priority. He had found the painting in amongst a mountain of junk in a leaky chamber at the back of his laboratory cave. He had told the Pareusian officials it was worthless family heirloom and they had let him hang on to it, mainly because they couldn’t take the mouldy smell. To cover any suspicion they might have about the painting, he went on to inform them that all the junk in the leaky chamber belonged to him. It didn’t bode well for him when they discovered another body buried beneath all the junk, one that he had not known was there.
Skelos came to a rectangular hallway. A strong aroma guided him through an open door to his left. He had entered a well-equipped, half-moon shaped kitchen. The stove was a black lump hewn from brick and metal. Brass pots, ladles, and knives hung from iron hooks jutting from the walls. Some indescribable carcass hung on a meat hook above the kitchen sink. A broad oak table was set with stale cheese and mouldy bread. There were sacks on the floor filled with potato and grain, and a large assortment of jars and bottles lined the rows of shelves fixed to the walls.
And then there was that familiar smell, mingled with the foulness of the others. It made him feel light-headed. He discovered its source in an alcove beyond the kitchen doors, where there sat two wooden barrels. He pulled the stopper from one and dipped his finger into the liquid. He tasted it sparingly. It had a subtle dry flavour that burnt the palate as it hit the back of his throat. Zaskian: a beverage from his native planet, produced on a small island off the west coast of Pareus.
So the Shardner has been here.
He took a silver-encased vial from his pocket. He plunged it into the barrel and brought it up again, full to the brim. He secured the lid tightly in place and stowed it away.
He heard a noise from the kitchen and made his way back inside. Perhaps it’s the infamous Ward. The poor lord of the castle.
He found a man steadying himself against the table, one hand clutching a bloody wound in his leg. In his other hand, he held a Lightning Sword heavily coated with his own blood. He wore the leather armour of an Undren guard.
‘You almost gave me a fright,’ said Skelos. He watched the man crumple to the ground. ‘Are we under attack?’ He ripped the Lightning Sword from the man’s hand, his heart thumping.
‘There’s been a raid.’
‘And you are?’
‘The name’s Sledge Owen. Help me. Heal me.’
‘I haven’t the means to,’ said Skelos, making no move to help the guard. ‘Sadly under all this camouflage, I’m nothing but a Citizen at best. What did they take exactly?’
Sledge shook his head and groaned. ‘The picture in the hall and the last of the silverware.’
Skelos offered up a friendly smile. ‘What was it a picture of?’
The man winced. His hand flopped to his side. There was blood on his teeth. ‘Red flowers. I tried to stop them. I’m supposed to be guarding the place.’
‘They took the frame as well?’
Sledge Owen gave a weak nod. The blood was now forming a pool beneath him.
‘And what would the thieves do with such items?’
His voice grew raspy. ‘Me-melt the silver-’
‘I meant with the painting.’
‘Sell it on the ba-black market or-or take to auction-’ The guard gave a loud moan.
Skelos didn’t want to stand around helplessly and watch the man die. The thieves may yet return. He stepped over the dying guard and raced from the kitchen. He headed for the cellar.
He heard the clatter of steel. He snatched up the Lightning Sword and took a pinch of Binding Dust from his pocket. He aimed the Lightning Sword at the first person he saw: a member of the Shardner’s Special Army, dressed in shining silver armour with a silver cloak billowing out behind him. The soldier’s mouth dropped open. A bolt of blue light shot from Skelos’s sword, striking the soldier in the middle of the chest, sending him flying backwards into the another soldier sprinting up the cellar stairs behind him with a bejewelled Bolt-Shot whip in his hand.
Skelos careered down the steps, flinging the Binding Dust into the obscured faces of two more soldiers, at the same time slashing the air with the sword. The Binding Dust produced a torrent of purple smoke. The next three soldiers bounding up the steps, collided with one another, pulled by the magical force of the Binding Dust. They fell in a gangly heap, trapped within the purple vapour, unable to break free.
The Binding Dust had missed an Undren guard, lying in wait at the bottom of the steps. Skelos drew his sword. The lightning bolt bounced off the guard’s helm. It was enough to startle him. He spun around and Skelos caught him with an uppercut to the chin, sending him floundering into a stack of broken crates.
Skelos hurled himself through the breach in the wall and then sprang up. The bejewelled Bolt-Shot whip coursed through the air. He caught it with one hand as it passed over his shoulder. He dropped the Lightning Sword and dashed back to the barn.
TWENTY-TWO
Connor stared slack-jawed at the black-scaled creature shackled to the front of the wobbly cart. It was as tall as the Silver Riders horses and the same length as a bus. ‘What is it?’
‘A Rogghorn. It don’t bite,’ said the one twin who had given Connor his name.
Thaul wore a smart pair of green gloves. It was the only way Connor could tell them apart.
The Rogghorn looked more than capable of eating or crushing him. It didn’t appear to have any teeth, but that didn’t mean they were not tucked inside its mouth, waiting to come out when it was hungry. The creature reminded him of a black centipede. It reared up, revealing a thousand white wavy antennae. Yellow pin-like feelers ran down the length of its fat round body. Reins had been attached to the bit in its mouth.
A large rock had been placed to one side of the Rogghorn to allow its rider to mount it.
Connor gingerly put out his hand and touched the Rogghorn’s feelers. The creature gave forth a high-pitched hum. He thought he had seen its feelers somewhere before, and then he remembered they had been in the soup Yate had given him. He snatched his hand away, feeling sick. ‘It’s got no eyes,’ he said, or none that he could see from where he stood.
‘Don’t need no eyes. Got them things, ain’t it?’ said the Unnamed Twin, nodding at the creature’s antennae. He untethered the Rogghorn from the cart. ‘You want to pay us now.’
Connor was careful to give the twins three pieces of silver each. He kept his gold well hidden. The twins seemed more than satisfied with the payment. Thaul grinned and slapped his brother on the back.
‘This Bray tunnel,’ said Thaul, pointing to a gaping black hole in the wall, ‘slopes down on the east side of the crater. It goes deep underground. The ground is rough. It’s too dan
gerous on foot. You can take the Rogghorn. Ride clean on its back. It will take you straight to the fortress.’
‘I thought you were coming with me,’ said Connor. Waking to find himself alone in a forest full of giant flesh-eating birds was bad enough, but travelling through a dark, deep tunnel with no idea what was waiting at the other end, if indeed there was another end, terrified him.
‘You want us to come with you. We’ll want more coin,’ said the Unnamed Twin.
Thaul gave his twin a nod. ‘Thirty pieces of gold is our price.’
Thirty pieces of gold! That was more gold than he had on him. He began to delve into his bag, hoping there was uncounted gold hidden somewhere within the lining.
‘Put your coin away, you stupid boy,’ said the Authoritative Voice. ‘You don’t need them.’
‘Can I owe you?’ he asked in earnest. If they said yes, he had no idea when or how he would get the gold to them and if they said no, he had to make a choice: to stay with the Sighraith Band or to try to find his way home alone.
Thaul shook his head. ‘We’ll take the gold now. We’d be deserting our posts to come with you. Thirty pieces of gold will give us a fresh start south.’
Connor took a deep breath. ‘I don’t have it.’ It was settled then; he would have to go alone. What was to become of him if he stayed? Yate thought he was a Citizen. He’d never help him get back to his real home. He swung his bag over his shoulder and tried to choke down his fear.
‘That’s the spirit,’ said the Authoritative Voice. ‘Now off you go.’
‘You’ll be there in no time,’ Thaul assured him. He passed him the reins.
They felt heavy in Connor’s hands and quite unnatural. He had sat astride a donkey before, but there were no reins. His brother had been holding him. It hadn’t stopped him from crying and screaming that he wanted to get down. He had been seven at the time and almost as big as the donkey. There were no reins, but at least there was a saddle and my brother.
‘You can have this for free,’ said Thaul. He produced a wooden stake. ‘It’s knife-sharp.’
Connor went to take the stake from him. ‘Allow me,’ said Thaul. He stooped down and carefully slid the stake into the neck of Connor’s boot, sharp end up.
‘Thanks,’ said Connor. He mounted the rock step, his bottom lip trembling, hands sweating. He was afraid if he shed one tear the twins would tell him he had to stay behind and they would probably take the rest of his coins just for wasting their time.
‘Ground your heels into the Rogghorn’s sides,’ said the Unnamed Twin.
Connor climbed on top of the Rogghorn’s back. The creature’s skin was a lot tougher than it looked - leathery and plump. He dug his heels into its sides. ‘How will it know where to go?’
‘Tell it,’ replied Thaul.
Connor gave a hard tug on the reins. ‘Moride Fortress. Shile-Shilemoor.’
The Rogghorn plunged into the gaping tunnel, gliding swift and daring over the pitted rocks and ridges that flowed in the network of gloomy tunnels.
Connor loosened his hold on the reins, hoping the Rogghorn would slow down, but the creature set its own pace and he soon realised the reins were only in place to stop its rider from falling off. He found himself bouncing up and down on the creature’s back and had to regain his footing several times.
The Rogghorn manoeuvred itself up and around boulders. It cut across slopes where yawning holes belched cold air, swathing the tunnels with a thick mist. It took a sharp and unexpected corner. Connor yanked the reigns up in haste, jerking them clear of a mass of jagged rocks. The Rogghorn gave a long sonorous hum, which sent tiny ripples down its body.
He winced. ‘Sorry.’
The darkness ensued.
They hurtled on.
Connor thought of home. His mum would be out of her mind with worry. His brother would be in bits; that’s if he wasn’t fuming over Connor’s deception with his laptop. Once again, he wondered if Riley was somewhere in Narrigh. If I think about home long enough, I might just wake up there.
‘Optimistic, but pointless,’ replied the Authoritative Voice.
‘Why don’t you ever say anything useful?’ snapped Connor.
The Authoritative Voice went quiet and Connor freed his mind of all thought.
TWENTY-THREE
Built of irregular coursed blocks and cemented with craybine, Braystay church is not the most attractive landmark. It is, however, the most frequented premises in Undren village. The church’s arched windows are small and featureless, save the stained glass window above the altar, which depicts twelve stars. The building’s tall eastern tower houses a large brass bell, which rings sporadically during the course of the day and night. A simple iron cross sits atop the tower.
Many meetings take place in the extensive hall at the rear of the church and the doors are always open for those wishing to seek spiritual guidance. It is said that the residing Parr himself sleeps on the pews to be close to the altar and thus the God he so faithfully serves…
Skelos entered the church via its high-arched door and slid into the back pew, unsurprised to witness half the congregation turn away from Parr[6] Lona’s late night sermon to scrutinise him.
Skelos was not well dressed for the occasion. He wore a brown frayed waistcoat over an ill-fitting linen shirt. (Half of the buttons had popped off when he had tried to do them up). His trousers had no buckles or fastenings, so he had used a leather cord to hold them up. Thankfully, the waistcoat was large enough to cover the damage. His right hand remained bandaged. He had found a straw hat and had pushed it as far over his forehead as it would go.
The woman standing next to him gawked at his hat. Skelos gave a thin smile. She had drowned her herself in a dove-grey shawl. A boy, no more than a toddler, clung to her skirt, sucking on his thumb. She stroked the back of his head and smiled back uneasily.
Skelos realised his error and whipped the hat off his head as a mark of respect. The congregation returned their gaze to the Parr.
The Councillors sat in the front pew in order of rank: First to Twelfth. The Shardner appointed twelve councillors to each village to keep law and order, collect money or goods for taxes, settle disputes, and decide the best way to spend the public’s purse. The public purse strings had drawn tighter ever since Gulliver Haydem had worked his way up from Twelfth Councillor to First, in the space of a year, through scrupulous associations and well-placed bribes.
‘Will everyone please rise for grace,’ said Parr Lona.
The sermon hasn’t finished. Skelos’s eyes lit up in horror. It’s only just beginning.
He bowed his head along with the rest of them.
Parr Lona had adopted a solemn countenance. He swayed from side to side as if in a trance. He clutched at his chest with his skinny fingers. His stark brown cloth robes swished on the flagstones. As he became immersed in his own reverie, his clouded eyes rolled upwards. He mumbled a barely audible prayer. The whole congregation recited it in perfect unison with their heads bowed. They knew it well.
Skelos lifted his head ever so slightly. He could not fail to notice the four men in silver-grey cloaks that had remained seated. They were huddled together in the third row of pews with their heads held high, as if oblivious to the fact that everyone else’s was bowed. Skelos was confident the Shardner’s men would not see through his disguise. Undren would be the last place they would look for me.
Once the prayer had ended, the congregation dutifully took to their seats to allow Parr Lona the pleasure of reciting parables from a frayed leather-bound Bible on his pedestal. His voice was toneless, and his parables: his usual choice favourites. The congregation nodded along, content with what was familiar to them.
After some time, the congregation had half-risen from their seats in preparation for the closing hymn, when Parr Lona unexpectedly bade they remain seated. He invited the Shardner to address the congregation. The congregation were unaccustomed to such a break in their routine and a series of gasps and wh
ispers rippled along the pews. They had not seen a disruption like this since the night of the windstorm.
Parr Lona stepped humbly aside to allow the Shardner members to take to the pedestal. They did not remove their hoods. But if there was any disapproval to be had, by this break in tradition, Parr Lona did not show it. It brought to light the gravity and importance of the matter to be addressed.
Some of the congregation could not bring themselves to sit down. Others looked nervously towards the door as if they expected the entire parliament to descend on them at any moment.
The tallest of the cloaked figures stood behind the pedestal to speak. He had a prominent hooked nose and high forehead. His green eyes appeared colourless in the shadows of his hood. His sallow complexion merged with the silver-grey cloth of his robes giving him an almost ghostly appearance.
Osaphar. Skelos shrunk in his seat. Their lives had taken very different directions. Unlike Skelos, Osaphar had chosen to come to Narrigh.
‘People of Olvastan,’ he began, ‘Greetings. I am Osaphar. I hope our presence here does not cause you too much alarm. I can assure you that you are not in any immediate danger. However, I will not deceive you. It is a serious business that has brought us here today.
‘Over the last few weeks, there have been some incidents which you may or may not be aware of.’ Osaphar nodded at the twelve Councillors who set rigidly in the front pew.
Skelos tensed in his seat, wondering if he was one such incident.
‘The first relates directly to this village, where we have three strangers in custody. I say strangers, not visitors, for they are not tradesman or explorers and they are most definitely no ordinary men – so I beg you, do not approach them.
‘About a month ago to the day, the bodies of four men were found floating in the Ottavan River. The river flows directly from the lake at Shile Point, as you well know. The bodies were so badly mauled they were almost unrecognisable – yet the water did not turn red with their blood. Their bodies had been in the water for weeks preserved from decay, no doubt, in the chilly Northern flows.