by S. K. Holder
‘I didn’t come in the wind and sorcerers don’t have apprentices, thank you.’ He made a hasty exit, slamming the shop door behind him.
What a nightmare! If all the shopkeepers in Undren were as batty as the Draper, it was going to be a long day.
He continued to weave his way along Adle Road, considering where he should go next. He slowed down when he came to a packed sweet shop. The shopkeeper had displayed the sweets in the window in tall glass jars. Connor’s mouth filled with saliva at the sight of all the multicoloured treats. The shopkeeper didn’t look as if he had time to catch his breath. Connor watched him snatch a jar of boiled sweets from the window and fight his way back to the counter, purple-faced and wheezing.
‘Psst!’
Connor looked up and down the bustling road.
‘Psst!’ There it was again. It came from a narrow alley next to the sweet shop. Connor went to the neck of the alleyway. It was stacked with broken crates and tall wire bins, overflowing with empty glass bottles and jars. He saw a pair of boots protruding from the bottom of a mountain of crates.
‘Are you talking to me?’ he asked the boots. They were brown and badly scuffed. He hoped there was a human body attached to them and not something repugnant and beast-like. A head appeared.
‘It’s me, boy.’
Connor recognised the man’s bright blue eyes. He had seen them in his Past-telling. More curious than afraid, he walked down the alley to meet him.
The man’s hands shot out, and before Connor knew what was happening, the man had squeezed him to his chest. ‘Why did you take off like that? I’ve been worried out of my wits.’ He released Connor from his clutches.
Connor gawked at the staunch middle-aged man standing between the two crate towers. He had a broad face and a cloud of chestnut brown hair. He wore a pair of weathered trousers and a faded white shirt.
‘I’m sorry, sir. Who are you?’
‘Your guardian, Jemrah Cullen, as if you didn’t know.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve lost my memory.’
Jemrah pushed up his shirtsleeves. ‘What again? I’m not officially your guardian of course, but someone had to take care of you. Seeing as how you landed on my property, I thought it might as well be me. Come in a bit,’ he beckoned, ‘so you’re not visible from the road.’
Connor stood between the crate towers. ‘When you say landed, do you mean on a spaceship?’
‘Spaceship? Is that a fancy word for a boat where you come from?’
He tucked in his bottom lip. He had no idea how to explain outer space. ‘No…not really.’
Jemrah hoisted up the thick belt around his waist. ‘Part of your memory was gone when I found you on the castle grounds, hovering in the air, fast asleep, dressed in your warrior’s garb.’
‘You’re the castle Warden.’
‘That’s me. You said you were playing a game with your friend and that’s all you remember. So I took you in. If I treat the boy normally, he would behave normally, I told myself. Still, I wonder now if that voice was my own, if my eyes had not deceived me.
‘You arrived the day after the windstorm. I thought it might have swept you up from a distant land and carried you here. I knew you were no ordinary boy. Your cuts and grazes healed quicker than it took me to drink a mug of ale. You were having terrible nightmares. You kept me up at night with your screams. You barely touched your food. I knew it was the Mark.’ He gripped Connor’s wrist and gawked at the scar, his eyes big and gleaming. ‘The sorcerers’ pestilence. You don’t know how many times I burned this thing off.’ He released Connor’s wrist. ‘It gave me nightmares of my own, I can tell you.’
Connor hissed through his teeth and massaged the dark bruise Jemrah had left on his wrist.
Ignorant of the pain he had inflicted, Jemrah went on with his tale. ‘I was planning to get your name on the village register to enroll you in school. Next I hear, some of the Shardner’s men are riding in and they want to use Callawly Castle as their headquarters. So I took you with me to the City of Rint, out of the way. Then you ran off. You didn’t want to hear about going to school.
‘Things have taken a worrisome turn while I’ve been gone. The villagers are itchy with restlessness. There’s war talk and a dead guard up at the castle. First Councillor Haydem wants to see me. I don’t want to see him, or any of the others. I’m going to pick up my horse and cart from the stables across the way.’
‘You were going to send me to school in Undren village?’ Connor clutched the side of his face. The Warden’s admission had made him woozy.
‘Is that all you got from what I just told you? I was trying to protect you.’
‘By burning my hand?’ No wonder he’d been having nightmares while in Jemrah’s charge.
The Warden let out a frustrated sigh. ‘It was half a minute of pain. You can’t be wandering around the village with those sorts of marks. You’ll get yourself killed. Stones! You’ll get me killed.’
‘Did you give me an egg-shaped pendant? It was on a chain, I wore around my neck.’
‘You had better keep that thing out of sight. That’s Shardner’s plunder. I got it on the black market. I was going to sell it on, but you were so taken with it, I let you have it.’
‘I don’t have it anymore. I lost it.’ Connor’s eyes welled up with tears. He fought the urge to blink. He wasn’t alone. There were people in Narrigh willing to help him, but not in the way he would have liked. ‘Thank you for taking me in, but I don’t want to live in Undren or anywhere else in Narrigh.’
Running from the City of Rint so Jemrah wouldn’t send him to school; it did sound like something he would do. But how did end up in Bluewood Forest? If he was a Dream Emissary, he could have travelled in his sleep-dreams. Or did he get there on foot, goaded by the voice of the Seekers Egg? He had no way of knowing.
‘I worked tirelessly, day in and day out, to reassure you. You’ve been here over a month. One day, who knows, whatever delivered you to Narrigh, will snatch you right back up again, but it won’t likely be today or tomorrow.’ He pulled a wrinkled handkerchief from his shirt pocket and gave it to Connor. ‘Don’t go getting yourself all upset now. I’m leaving Undren tonight for the City of Rint. You can come with me.’
‘A month! I can’t have been.’ Connor bunched up the handkerchief in his hand. He was determined not to give up. ‘I’ve got a vault in Rint. There might be something in there from home.’
‘You emptied it on your last visit.’
Connor dropped the handkerchief. ‘But what about my armour and my Lightning Sword?’
‘I exchanged them for food and the clothes you’re wearing.’
‘But I need those things!’
Jemrah plucked up his handkerchief. ‘If you still had those things, you’re more likely to be dead than alive. You had better stick with me. Wait for me in the Verity Tavern in Gisil Lane. It’s an odd-bod place. Quiet. You know the one?’
There were five taverns in the village. Connor knew them all by name. The Rabbits Burrow and Undren Tavern were the most popular drinking-holes. The Murkin Mere was situated near the outskirts of the village, and the creepy Crocksford Arms was located in some dubious alley where nobody ever went.
Connor nodded and sucked in his breath as he tried to control his emotions. Getting home was going to take time and he had nowhere else left to run.
THIRTY-ONE
The Verity Tavern had been left to rack and ruin by its careless owner. Few walked through the doors of the dilapidated drinking hole with its shabby walls and creaking floorboards.
Third Councillor Victrow refused to have it knocked down, for he had bought it as a present for his idle son, Brockta, who had run off to Shanistan and returned, a corpse, in the Ottavan River.
Connor sat at a balcony table. He had a clear view of the door and of the clock on the wall beside him. He ordered a mug of a Dasenberry juice, a bowl of pea-green soup and a chunk of bread from a hawk-nosed woman with puffy eyes.
Time dragged its heels.
As he waited for the Warden, he had plenty of time to think. Jemrah was right; he wasn’t going home today and he wasn’t going home tomorrow, but some day.
A short while later the hawk-nosed woman brought out his order. She did not say a word when she placed it on the table. A hooded stranger, toying with an empty glass by the window, drew her curiosity and Connor’s too.
The stranger glanced up at Connor more than once, making him forget his thirst and his rumbling belly.
The stranger slammed his glass down on the table. It echoed like a dull stone in a bottomless pool. The figure then rose and made its way up the balcony stairs towards him. The stranger’s movements were slow and hesitant. A gold and purple hem peeked out from under his black cloak where his boots met.
Connor’s heart hammered in his chest. Whoever was under the cloak might not even be human? He had learned that Parrs’ wore hooded cloaks and Drone Elves, but sorcerers wore them too. Sorcerers preferred black or grey cloaks. All sorcerers in Narrigh were inherently evil. Worse than Plowmen, you could not trade or barter with them. They couldn’t take away your powers, but they could cast a spell on you and you wouldn’t even know it, not at first - not until something went wrong; like you became as still as stone because they had cast an Immobility Spell, or you woke up in a cemetery because they hit you with a Death Star curse.
Parrs’ didn’t go to taverns, he told himself and no Drone Elves came this way. A sorcerer then? A raw fear raged in his belly. The stranger came over to Connor’s table. He was a rather large man with a nose shaped like a funnel and a thick dark beard.
‘Hello,’ he said, smiling. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
Connor did mind. He didn’t want a Sorcerer at his table. He opened his mouth to speak. Fear had struck such terror in him that the Sorcerer had hauled up a rickety chair and sat down before he could form a reply.
He now understood why the others had left: the elderly couple who had sat just inside the doorway hobbled out when the Sorcerer arrived, and a thin man who knocked back one flagon of ale, staggered out shortly afterwards, ignoring the barmaid’s pleas for him to stay and the offer of free drinks.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ asked the Sorcerer.
Connor stared into his bowl of soup. He didn’t like the way the Sorcerer looked at him with his blazing speckled brown eyes. He thought about getting up and leaving, but that would cause suspicion and he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than he had done already.
The Sorcerer ordered a flagon of cider from the barmaid. Connor watched him cautiously sip the frothy liquid and wince before placing it back onto the table. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’
‘No!’ He glanced at the window by the door. He must have been in the village for hours. It was already growing dark. He could wait for Jemrah outside. He willed himself to get to his feet. The only problem was he couldn’t feel his legs.
‘Are you waiting for someone?’
‘It’s none of your business.’ He thought he saw a flame burst from the Sorcerer’s gleaming eyes. Was he casting a spell on him at that very moment?
And what was that! A crude mark had ‘appeared’ on the palm of the Sorcerer’s hand. He shrunk back horrified. ‘What’s that?’ he breathed.
‘What?’ A look of confusion erupted on the Sorcerer’s face.
‘Your hand.’ Connor began to shake uncontrollably. He felt as if something was crawling under the skin of his own hand, consuming him. The Sorcerers Pestilence!
Baffled, the Sorcerer looked down at his own hands, turning them over, repeatedly. Then he nodded slowly as if in understanding. He showed Connor the palm of his right hand.
‘You mean the Status Mark? You have seen it before, perhaps on your own hand.’
‘No,’ said Connor at once, baring the ugly blue-black scar on his right hand. ‘I don’t have a Status Mark and I’m not a sorcerer.’
‘You think I’m a sorcerer.’ He gave a good-humoured grunt. ‘Don’t be fooled by this cloak. I’m no sorcerer.’ He took a sharp breath and drew back, taking his arms from the table. ‘My name’s Gyan. I can help you get back to Odisiris.’
‘I don’t know you and I’m not from Odisiris.’ He wedged his hands between his knees and rocked back and forth ever so gently. His own voice scared him. His ankle was all covered up and yet the man knew his name.
‘You remember something of your homeland, a sense of not belonging. I can see it in your eyes.’
Connor smothered his face with his hands. ‘Don’t look at them then.’
‘I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. You don’t have to be afraid.’ The man’s voice came in a low urgent whisper.
‘I won’t go with you.’ How many times had he been told he was a Citizen?
‘Enough for it to be true,’ said the Authoritative Voice.
‘What about your family and your friends? Don’t you want to see them again?’
Gradually, Connor withdrew his hands from his face. The hammering in his chest had slowed and the man’s face seemed less harsh, his eyes softer.
‘I live with my mum and brother in London.’
The man nodded eagerly. He smiled. ‘Your brother said you might be confused. He’s here in Undren, looking for you.’
Connor was lost for words. His brother couldn’t be here in Undren…unless he was trapped in the game too. ‘You-you spoke to him?’
‘Yes and I assured him, I’d keep a look out for you.’
‘What’s his name?’ Connor held his breath, waiting.
‘Duffy, or so he told me. You look very much alike.’
Duffy was the name of his brother’s player character. If Luke wasn’t in Narrigh, then how would Gyan know the name, Duffy? He didn’t remember telling anyone in Narrigh that his brother had used that name.
The Citizen propped his elbows up on the table, his brow wrinkled. ‘I’m curious to learn how you came to Narrigh. Your brother seems to think it was through a portal?’
‘I used a Storm Shifter spell to come to Undren, but I don’t remember how I came to Narrigh. The Shardner’s Special Army found me in Bluewood forest, and then I met this girl. She told me she was a Citizen-’
Gyan’s jaw began to twitch. ‘Girl? What girl?’
‘Amelia. She helped me escape. We went to the Great Northern Crater.’ He stopped there. He knew better than to talk about the Sighraith Band and their plans of invasion.
The man put his fist to his mouth. ‘Did you come to Undren together?’
Connor didn’t answer. So what if Gyan knew Luke’s player character’s name? It didn’t mean he could trust him. What if he wanted to hurt Amelia? What if he was working with the Shardner?
‘I can take you to your brother. We can all leave Narrigh together. First, there is something I wish to show you.’
Gyan caught the barmaid hovering in the background. He saw her off with a chilling glance. He placed his flagon of cider on the next table. He glanced round and then brought a black case from beneath his cloak. He opened the case and took from it a slender glass rod. He eyed Connor cautiously. ‘Have you ever seen one of these?
Connor pushed his bowl and mug of Dasenberry juice to one end of the table. He stared at the glass rod for a long time. Amelia must have put one of the rods in his bag when they were in Bluewood forest. Hazy images of his Past-telling swept through his mind: the Avu’lore, the spy in the gold and purple robes and the white-hooded figure that used the Avu’lore to make his would-be killer slit his own throat. Wolth said the glass rod was part of a whole. What if that ‘whole’ was the Avu’lore and Gyan had stolen it?
The tavern door creaked open. A woman dressed in a green and gold embroidered cloak floated in. She took residence at Gyan’s former table. The barmaid came scuttling from the kitchen, grateful for a less disconcerting customer.
Connor chewed his bottom lip. He swayed his head indecisively.
‘It’s all right, you
can tell me. You’re not in any trouble. I swear. It’s very important.’
‘Amelia has one. She’s staying in a cottage in Burlington farm.’ He knew of a Burlington Inn and was pretty sure there was a Burlington farm around it somewhere. ‘I know the owner. I can fetch her for you. It’s not far. I’ll have to go on my own though. Mr Burlington doesn’t like strange men - I mean strangers.’ There was no Mr Burlington.
Gyan reached his hand across the table and squeezed Connor’s arm. ‘If you can’t fetch her, don’t worry. The important thing is that you bring me the Shard.’ He held up the glass rod. ‘This, this is the Shard.’
Gyan placed two silver coins on the table to cover the cost of the food and drinks. He returned the Shard to its case and slid it under his cloak. ‘There are many eyes upon us Connor. You get the Shard, and then we’ll find your brother. Tell me, do you know of a secret place we can meet?’
Connor didn’t hesitate, ‘The Crocksford Arms. No one ever goes in there.’
THIRTY-TWO
Connor tore through the village streets. He had to keep moving before Gyan caught up with him. He didn’t believe Gyan would help him find his brother. He had seen the keen look in the Citizen’s eye when he asked him about the Shard; it was all he cared about. If Luke was somewhere in the village, he had to find him and fast.
He had been told by more than one person that he was a Citizen. He was starting to believe it. He certainly hadn’t been himself since arriving in Narrigh. What if he had turned into a whole other person when he had entered the game? What if there was a keyhole-of-light in his mind? It would mean he had powerful abilities: he could teleport. Teleport between worlds. Teleport home!