The Quest of Narrigh (The Other Worlds Book 1)

by S. K. Holder

  It was late afternoon when he arrived at the small thatched cottage with his belongings. It was not hard to find. The further out you went, the less habitable homes were to be found.

  Skelos found Barnabas sitting in a rocking chair outside the cottage. He had not expected him to be there. The Old Man’s eyes were closed and his cotton-wool beard lay plaited in a heap on his chest. He had pulled a frayed cap over his face to prevent his nose from turning a deeper shade of red.

  The old rogue must have heard him. He lifted his flat cap. He opened his twinkling grey eyes, which were tainted with mischief and misspent youth.

  Skelos saw that he was not the same man who had accosted him in the mines. This Barnabas was calm, confident. He preferred it when the rogue had been snivelling at his knees. He no longer fears me and he should.

  ‘Were you followed?’ asked Barnabas.

  Skelos couldn’t be sure that magic hadn’t followed him. You couldn’t always see magic, couldn’t always sense it. ‘Do you think I’d come here if I was?’

  ‘Yours is the second room on the right.’ Barnabas jerked his thumb in the direction of the cottage door. ‘If you want to clean up, you can get to the well through the back door. There’s Dasenberry juice and corn cakes in the kitchen. You can bring them out.’

  Skelos went inside the cottage. The room Barnabas had allotted him was sparsely furnished, but there was a bed with a towel and a small bar of soap laid out for him. The bed was dressed in a flowery quilt. A plump feather pillow sat at its head. Skelos prodded the pillow with his finger. He gave a satisfied nod. The room was also furnished with a green armchair, a writing desk, and a small wooden closet. Skelos rapped on the floor with his feet. There were loose floorboards. Good.

  He went down on his knees. He pulled the painting from the corn sack. He carefully extracted the broken glass and dropped it into a gap in the floorboards. He then dragged out the canvas, rolled it up and returned it to the sack. He found what he was looking for, preserved within the frame’s shell, just as he had left it. He placed the Shard in the case along with the other one he had obtained from the Stores. He sighed. ‘Thank the Maker. Only one more left.’ He had given the last Shard to his niece. It had been a mistake. As her guardian, he had insisted she come to Narrigh with him. He didn’t know that the Shardner was going to separate them. He heard that she’d run off. To his knowledge, the Shardner had not found her. But by the-Will-of-the-Maker, hopefully, she will find me.

  He removed his cloak and then his own robes. Underneath, he wore a white vest and a pair of black trousers. He found the panel in the closet was loose. He lifted it. It was a convenient hiding place, which meant it wasn’t a safe one. He would look for another one later. He deposited his robes in the space beneath it, along with the Avu’lore globe, the Shards, his Worral stone, Gyan’s Logbook, the bejewelled Bolt-Shot whip (which he had not found the time to fully admire, but felt it was warranted) a large leather pouch filled with coins and the Compulog: the electronic equivalent of a picture diary. He had procured the black, faceless wrist device from one of the Shardner’s provision rooms, with the help of Gyan, the Store Administrator.

  Once he had washed and taken the care to bandage his right hand, he inspected the other rooms. There was a child’s room with a cot. Suspended above it was a mobile of rotating wooden horses. On to the next…

  Barnabas had clearly claimed the larger bedroom as his own. His clothes swamped the double bed. A map lay open on the floor. It was a map of a portion of the South. The curved rivers and streams that flowed into the Pynes Ocean were depicted on the map in blue ink; the towering Olva Mountains in mud brown, and the countless acres of land were shaded green. The high walls surrounding all sixteen villages were marked in red. The rogue was bound to have more insightful maps than the one he had left out so conveniently. Skelos had to refrain from rifling through Barnabas’s things. It wasn’t the right time.

  Skelos entered the kitchen. It had an adjoining family room set with a low table and three well-cushioned chairs. Most of the kitchen was taken up with an arched fireplace. The fireplace was stacked with logs. A pot hung over them, suspended from a metal rod. A jug of purple-coloured juice, a plate of corn cakes and two tin cups sat on a tray on the kitchen table. Skelos’s left eye began to twitch. Barnabas expected him to bring out the refreshments like a common servant. First Status Citizens did not carry trays.

  He sighed. ‘Could my life become any lowlier?’ He gathered the jug and tin cups in one hand and the plate of corn cakes in the other and took them outside.

  He set the refreshments upon a crate embedded in the front garden. He made himself comfortable, as best he could, on a weathered log.

  Barnabas gently eased himself to the edge of his chair to get a better look at him. ‘You look smaller without your robes.’ He observed. He poured some of the purple juice into a tin cup and discreetly added a drop of white liquid from a small silver flask he carried in his waist belt.

  Skelos poured himself some juice. He stared into the cup unnecessarily as he drank. The juice was warm and syrupy sweet. Skelos thought he could do with some water from the well to wash it down.

  ‘You don’t have to hide your mark from me,’ said the Old Man nodding at Skelos’s hand. ‘I’ve already seen it.’

  Skelos shot Barnabas a glance. He had forgotten to hide the mark from the Old Man. Tattoos were not uncommon in Narrigh. But Barnabas was sharp.

  Skelos took a bite of a corn cake, savouring the light sponge right up until it melted on his tongue, caring not for the crumbs that spilled onto his chest. Funny? I can’t taste any corn. He took a generous gulp of Dasenberry juice. ‘I hurt my hand.’

  The Old Man raised his white-feathered brows. ‘You don’t have to hide your ability to self-heal from me either, I’ve already seen it. What I don’t understand is why you’re hiding the mark now. Has it got something to do with the Shardner and the dead guard in Callawly castle?’

  So word has spread. Skelos pressed his lips to the tin cup. Barnabas was bold and no doubt full of secrets. He gave Barnabas a cold stare. ‘The Shardner are not here for me and I’ve never heard of Callawly Castle. If you want to know the Shardner’s business, why weren’t you in church last night? More than half the village was there. It’s fortunate they didn’t board up the mines with you in them.’ Or should I say unfortunate?

  Barnabas took a swig straight from his flask. ‘The Shardner had no business closing up those mines. Those rocks help put food on the table. It brought a lot of trade from the gypsies.’

  Skelos noted that Barnabas had not answered the question, so he took the opportunity to ask one of his own. ‘The Shardner said they have three men in custody they believe to be northern spies.’

  Barnabas’s twinkling eyes became like steel. ‘They have no one in custody, I can tell you that. But three travellers came to Undren not two nights ago.’

  ‘And how do you know?’

  ‘Cause I was the one who found them.’

  ‘I suppose you brought them up from the mines.’

  ‘They made me bring them up, same as you. Scared the hell out of me they did, but they’re not northern spies. I know that much. One of them had a mark like yours.’

  Skelos felt a twinge of panic. ‘A mark exactly like mine?’

  Barnabas nodded. ‘They said they were looking for something. Never told me what it was. They would have got into Undren with or without my help. I didn’t expect them to outstay their welcome. Their business had not been as straight forward as they would have me believe. They haven’t found what they were looking for.’

  Skelos’s panic whittled away as he greedily ventured to what that something might be. Something of inexplicable value? Or someone? These strangers were not with the Shardner or else they would have boldly entered through the Gate.

  ‘Where are they now?’

  Barnabas washed down the last of his Dasenberry juice and then gave a burp and a sigh. ‘If the Shardner’s men haven�
�t gotten to them, they’ll be in the old barn on Enoch Gleary’s unused land - not five fields from here. Odd-looking bunch. One of them was riddled with thorns. And then there was another with black belts strapped to his chest and about a thousand pockets on his breeches. His eyes were the colour of Dasenberry juice one minute and the colour of deep oak bark the next. And the third, well he seemed plain looking enough, if not a little miserable. Had a good stock of hair he did. They weren’t very engaging. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them I’d already met one of your lot. I’m a keeper of secrets me.’ He gave Skelos a quizzical look. ‘What does the mark mean?’

  Skelos smiled. ‘It means we’re untouchable.’ I shall have to find another hiding place for my valuables before I leave for Enoch Gleary’s barn.

  The Old man shrugged, indifferent. ‘No one’s untouchable in Narrigh, not even a sorcerer.’ And with that said, Barnabas closed his eyes and gently rocked himself back to sleep.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Connor had cried himself hoarse. His head was throbbing and he had bruised his knuckles hammering on the ironclad door. He forgot all about his plans to outwit the Traceless One, to charm and distract It into letting him go. The door was his only way out. He had no other means of escape. There was no window to jump out of, no gap in the floor for him to slip through.

  ‘But what about our payment?’ said the Traceless One. ‘Our agreement?’

  ‘That wasn’t a proper telling.’ He had told the Traceless One this repeatedly. A past-telling is what he came for and so far the past-telling had proved to be false. And It had refused to give him another. He had not run away. He could not enter the World of Dreams and teleport from one place to the next. He tried not to give the past-telling any more thought. Thinking about it might make it true.

  ‘It was a proper telling,’ the Traceless One argued. ‘It was what you asked.’

  Connor hopped from one end of the door to the other. ‘I don’t have a keyhole-of-light in my mind.’ If he could fall asleep to teleport himself out of this nightmare, he would have done it by now. And if he fell asleep in the fortress, he might never wake up!

  ‘You’re a Gifted One, a Citizen.’

  ‘How many times must I tell you, I’m not a Cit-’

  He stopped himself before he dug himself into a hole bigger than the one the Dal-Carrions had almost buried him in. The payment was his soul and if he gave that up the past-telling would count for nothing. They hadn’t taken his soul yet. If he refused to pay them, he’d never leave.

  He stopped hopping and announced to the room, ‘You’re right. I am a Citizen.’

  ‘Then why did you deny it?’ asked the Traceless One.

  ‘I was scared.’ And he was still scared.

  ‘We understand fear. We would also like to see the future. So we will gladly take you as payment.’

  ‘I don’t see the future with my mind.’ He pulled the chain from around his neck and held up the Seekers Egg. ‘I see it through this. This is-is the Dark Window. All my visions are stored in here. Visions of war, big floating ships made of iron, dragons…’ He trailed off. He couldn’t think of anything else that might enthrall them.

  ‘Dragons?’ hissed the Traceless One.

  ‘Huge flying lizards that breathe fire,’ said Connor. ‘If you take my soul, you won’t be able to see the future. If you let me go, I’ll give you the Dark Window.’ He removed the chain from around his neck and held it in his fist. His heart galloping.

  ‘We will take both yourself and this Dark Window of yours,’ replied the Traceless One.

  ‘No!’ said Connor. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Of course, they would want both. ‘The Drone Elf told me you take one payment for one past-telling. The Dark Window is more valuable than my soul. And if you think about it, you don’t need a keyhole-of-light to get about. You can make yourself invisible.’

  A long silence followed. Connor heard what sounded like a thousand voices whispering. He realised the Traceless One was consulting with other the Traceless. Connor was determined to do all he could to convince them not to take his soul.

  He clumsily turned the bands of stone. A blue light shot from it and then disappeared in a flash. He had forgotten the Egg’s power was fading. ‘Please,’ he hissed into it, turning the band anti-clockwise. ‘Do something, I’m running out of time.’

  A translucent clock appeared with two silver hands. It floated in the darkness.

  ‘Time is of the essence,’ said the voice of the Seekers Egg.

  The Traceless started whispering again. Connor wished he knew what they were saying. He wished he could see a look of awe on their faces, and then he would know he had won them over.

  Finally, the bodiless head of the Traceless One drifted into view again. ‘We have agreed. This is an exceptional item. It is worth more than your soul.’

  Worth more? thought Connor. ‘Does that mean I can go?’

  ‘Yes, once you have given us the Dark Window.’

  Connor threw the Seekers Egg, aiming it at one of the walls. He watched it freeze for a second in mid-air before vanishing.

  ‘I need to get to Undren village. Do you know the way?’

  ‘You should use your keyhole-of-light.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m not tired. And I don’t want to be knocked out either,’ he added quickly. ‘My head still hurts from the last time.’

  ‘We do have one exceptional item that can take you South. A Storm Shifter.’

  A small corked glass bottle drifted across the room. Connor reached out and grabbed it. He shook it. It felt empty. He tugged at the cork stopper. How was a storm going to take him to Undren? Wouldn’t he need a boat?

  ‘Use it when you are out of the courtyard,’ said the Traceless One. ‘Set it on the ground, open it and then state your destination. It will only work once.’

  The door creaked open and Connor raced out before they changed their minds. He hurtled down the narrow stairwell and back across the courtyard to the tunnel where he had asked the Rogghorn to wait for him. He stumbled a little way into the tunnel. He didn’t want to use the Storm Shifter, not unless he absolutely had to. For a start, he didn’t know how it worked or if it would work. He knew how the Rogghorn worked, even if it wasn’t the most comfortable of rides.

  But there was no sign of the Rogghorn.

  He returned to the mouth of the tunnel and unplugged the cork from the bottle. A watery mist rose from it. ‘Undren village,’ he said.

  Shouldn’t he have put it on the ground before he opened it? Did it matter? Concluding that it probably did matter, he went to push the cork back into the bottle. The bottle slipped from his hand and rolled along the grass. A grey mist billowed from it, like smoke from a burning chimney, only there was no fire.

  Connor’s senses were reeling. He had a bitter taste in his mouth and his skin tingled. He could smell the sweet fragrance of flowers: daffodils, pansies, honeysuckles, and poppies. He smelt oak, birch, and grass.

  There came a sudden gust of wind, which ended too abruptly.

  He peered at the sky. The clouds drew in to obliterate the sun. There came another gust, stronger than the first, which caught him off guard, forcing him to his knees. He struggled back to his feet.

  Windstorm!

  He opened his mouth in terror. He heard a clap of thunder. The sky darkened to a reckless grey. Trailing clouds shifted and merged to form one giant snowball. The wind howled and whined like a pack of hungry wolves. Lightning ripped white across the sky. An almighty roar erupted from the orb of cloud and with it a profusion of sounds: glass shattering and the resonant creaking of timber trying to hold out against the wind’s force.

  The wind howled fiercely in Connor’s ears. He took the violence of the storm head on. The wind thrust him forward. He gritted his teeth, struggling against it.

  It sniped back.

  A vast rotating column came weaving its way across the land. A high-pitched whistle and a boom of thunder accompanied it.

  Connor h
ad seen a film about tornadoes: great cones shrouded in wind, mist, and rain, but he had never witnessed one with his own eyes. He watched in horror as the tornado lapped up two huge oak trees that looked as if they had stood sentry outside the fortress walls for decades.

  Then the wailing tornado twisted sharply to the left and advanced towards him like a lightning-charged spinning wheel. He started to run. The wind walloped him from behind, slashing at his spine like a belt of ice. Tears stung his eyes. His head felt numb. His lips turned indigo. He lost track of where he was going. He rambled around in circles until the tornado ripped him from the ground and smothered him in its cold embrace.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Enoch Gleary is a fifth generation farmer of significant standing in the Undren community. Approximately, ten acres of his land is unused, on account of the poor soil. On one of these acres, sits a weathered barn, nestled in long rank grass and nettles. Unattended paddocks border it. The unassuming traveller may find this abode cosy if they do not mind the view...

  As Skelos drew near the barn, he was struck with a compelling desire to turn back. He did not want to know and yet he needed to be sure. If Citizens had come through the mines, they would not be under the Shardner’s service. They could be outlaws. Fugitives. We could forge an alliance. They may have items I can make use of and vital news from home. He quickly shrugged off the idea. He didn’t need allies. He was on the brink of obtaining one of the most powerful artefacts in the universe and he had no intention of returning to his home planet, so what did he care for news.

  He found himself knocking on the barn door, his trepidation mounting. He did not know what he expected to see when he entered the barn’s stuffy interior, some marvellous spectacle he did not doubt; an ordinary barn full of extraordinary men.