Longfoot cleared his throat. 'I take it we will not be carrying on this way.'
Ever so carefully Jezal leaned from his saddle and peered down. Far below dark water moved, foaming and churning, washing at the tortured ground beneath the foundations of the city, and out of this subterranean sea stuck broken walls, and shattered towers, and the cracked open shells of monstrous buildings. At the top of one tottering column a statue still stood, some hero long dead. His hand must once have been raised in triumph. Now it stuck up in desperation, as if he was pleading for someone to drag him from his watery hell.
Jezal sat back, feeling suddenly dizzy. 'We will not be carrying on this way,' he managed to croak.
Bayaz frowned grimly down at the grinding water. 'Then we must find another, and quickly. The city is full of these cracks. We have miles to go even on a straight course, and a bridge to cross.'
Longfoot frowned. 'Providing it still stands.'
'It still stands! Kanedias built to last.' The First of the Magi peered up into the rain. The sky was already bruising, a dark weight hanging above their heads. 'We cannot afford to linger. We will not make it through the city before dark as it is.'
Jezal looked up at the Magus, horrified. 'We'll be here overnight?'
'Clearly,' snapped Bayaz, turning his horse away from the brink.
The ruins crowded in tighter around them as they left the Caline Way behind and struck out into the thick of the city. Jezal gazed up at the threatening shadows, looming from the murk. The only thing he could imagine worse than being trapped in this place by day was being kept there in the darkness. He would have preferred to spend the night in hell. But what would have been the difference?
The river surged below them through a man-made canyon—tall embankments of smooth, wet stone. The mighty Aos, imprisoned in that narrow space, foamed with infinite, mindless fury, chewing at the polished rock and spitting angry spray high into the air. Ferro could not imagine how anything could have lasted for long above that deluge, but Bayaz had been right.
The Maker's bridge still stood.
'In all my wide travels, in every city and nation under the bountiful sun, I have never seen such a wonder.' Longfoot slowly shook his shaven head. 'How can a bridge be made from metal?'
But metal it was. Dark, smooth, lustreless, gleaming with drops of water. It soared across the dizzy space in one simple arch, impossibly delicate, a spider's web of thin rods criss-crossing the hollow air beneath it, a wide road of slotted metal plates stretching out perfectly level across the top, inviting them to cross. Every edge was sharp, every curve precise, every surface clean. It stood pristine in the midst of all that slow decay. 'As if it was finished yesterday,' muttered Quai.
'And yet it is perhaps the oldest thing in the city.' Bayaz nodded towards the ruins behind them. 'All the achievements of Juvens are laid waste. Fallen, broken, forgotten, almost as though they had never been. But the works of the Master Maker are undiminished. They shine the brighter, if anything, for they shine in a darkened world.' He snorted, and mist blew from his nostrils. 'Who knows? Perhaps they will still stand whole and unmarked at the end of time, long after all of us are in our graves.'
Luthar peered nervously down towards the thundering water, no doubt wondering if his grave might be there. 'You're sure it will carry us?'
'In the Old Time it carried thousands of people a day. Tens of thousands. Horses and carts and citizens and slaves in an endless procession, flowing both ways, day and night. It will carry us.' Ferro watched as the hooves of Bayaz' horse clanged out onto the metal.
'This Maker was plainly a man of… quite remarkable talents,' murmured the Navigator, urging his horse after.
Quai snapped his reins. 'He was indeed. All lost to the world.'
Ninefingers went next, then Luthar reluctantly followed. Ferro stayed where she was, sitting in the pattering rain, frowning at the bridge, at the cart, at the four horses and their riders. She did not like this. The river, the bridge, the city, none of it. It had been feeling more and more like a trap with every step, and now she felt sure of it. She should never have listened to Yulwei. She should never have left the South. She had no business here, out in this freezing, wet, deserted wasteland with this gang of godless pinks.
'I am not going over that,' she said.
Bayaz turned to look at her. 'Do you plan to fly across, then? Or simply stay on that side?'
She sat back and crossed her hands before her on the saddlebow. 'Perhaps I will.'
'It might be better to discuss such matters once we have made it through the city,' murmured Brother Longfoot, looking nervously back into the empty streets.
'He's right,' said Luthar. 'This place has an evil air—'
'Shit on its air,' growled Ferro, 'and shit on you. Why should I cross? What is it exactly, that is so useful to me about that side of a river? You have promised me vengeance, old pink, and given me nothing but lies, and rain, and bad food. Why should I take another stride with you? Tell me that!'
Bayaz frowned. 'My brother Yulwei helped you in the desert. You would have been killed if not for him. You gave him your word—'
'Word? Hah! A word is an easy chain to break, old man.' And she jerked her wrists apart in front of her. 'There. I am free of it. I did not promise to make a slave of myself!'
The Magus gave vent to a long sigh, slumping wearily forward in his saddle. 'As if life were not hard enough without your contributions. Why is it, Ferro, that you would rather make things difficult than easy?'
'Perhaps God had some purpose in mind when he made me so, but I do not know it. What is the Seed?'
Straight to the root of the matter. The old pink's eye seemed to give a sudden twitch as she said the word. 'Seed?' muttered Luthar, baffled.
Bayaz frowned at the puzzled faces of the others. 'It might be better not to know.'
'Not good enough. If you fall asleep for a week again, I want to know what we are doing, and why.'
'I am well recovered now,' snapped Bayaz, but Ferro knew it for a lie. Every part of him seemed shrunken, older and weaker than it had been. He might have been awake, and talking, but he was far from recovered. It would take more than bland assurances to fool her. 'It will not happen again, you can depend on—'
'I will ask you one more time, and hope at last for a simple answer. What is the Seed?'
Bayaz looked at her for a long moment, and she looked back. 'Very well. We will sit in the rain and discuss the nature of things.' And he nudged his horse back off the bridge until it was no more than a stride away. 'The Seed is one name for that thing that Glustrod dug for in the deep earth. It is that thing he used to do all this.'
'This?' grunted Ninefingers.
'All this.' And the First of the Magi swept his arm towards the wreckage that surrounded them. 'The Seed made a ruin of the greatest city in the world, and blighted the land about it from now until eternity.'
'It is a weapon, then?' murmured Ferro.
'It is a stone,' said Quai suddenly, hunched on his cart, looking at no one. 'A rock from the world below. Left behind, buried, when Euz cast the devils from our world. It is the Other Side made flesh. The very stuff of magic'
'It is indeed,' whispered Bayaz. 'My congratulations, Master Quai. One subject at least of which you are not entirely ignorant. Well? Answers enough for you, Ferro?'
'A rock did all this?' Ninefingers did not look happy. 'What in hell do we want with it?'
'I think some among us can guess.' Bayaz was looking at Ferro, right in the eye, and smiling a sickly grin, as if he knew exactly what she thought. Perhaps he did.
It was no secret.
Stories of devils, and digging, and old wet ruins, none of that mattered to Ferro. She was busy imagining the Empire of Gurkhul made a dead land. Its people vanished. Its Emperor forgotten. Its cities brought to dust. Its power a faded memory. Her mind churned with thoughts of death and vengeance. Then she smiled.
'Good,' she said. 'But why do you need me?'
'Who says I do need you that badly?'
She snorted at him. 'I doubt you would have suffered me this long if you didn't.'
'True enough.'
'Then why?'
'Because the Seed cannot be touched. It is painful even to look upon. We came into the shattered city with the Emperor's army, after the fall of Glustrod, searching for survivors. We found none. Only horrors, and ruins, and bodies. Too many of those to count. Thousands upon thousands we buried, in pits for a hundred each, all through the city. It was long work, and while we were about it a company of soldiers found something strange in the ruins. Their Captain wrapped it in his cloak and brought it to Juvens. By dusk he had withered and died, and his company were not spared. Their hair fell out, their bodies shrivelled. Within a week all hundred men were corpses. But Juvens himself was unharmed.' He nodded at the cart. 'That is why Kanedias made the box, and that is why we have it with us now. To protect us. None of us are safe. Except for you.'
'Why me?'
'Did you never wonder why you are not as others are? Why you see no colours? Why you feel no pain? You are what Juvens was, and Kanedias. You are what Glustrod was. You are what Euz himself was, if it comes to that.'
'Devil-blood,' murmured Quai. 'Blessed and cursed.'
Ferro glowered at him. 'What do you mean?'
'You are descended from demons.' And one corner of the apprentice's mouth curled up in a knowing smile. 'Far back into the Old Time and beyond, perhaps, but still, you are not entirely human. You are a relic. A last weak trace of the blood of the Other Side.'
Ferro opened her mouth to snarl an insult back at him but Bayaz cut her off.
'There can be no denying it, Ferro. I would not have brought you if there were any doubt. But you should not seek to deny it. You should embrace it. It is a rare gift. You can touch the Seed. Perhaps only you in all the wide Circle of the World. Only you can touch it, and only you can carry it to war.' He leaned close and whispered to her. 'But only I can make it burn. Hot enough to turn all Gurkhul to a desert. Hot enough to make bitter ashes of Khalul and all his servants. Hot enough to make such vengeance that even you will have your fill of it, and more. Are you coming now?' And he clicked his tongue, pulling his horse away and back onto the bridge.
Ferro frowned at the old pink's back as she rode after him, chewing hard at her lip. When she licked it, she tasted blood. Blood, but no pain. She did not like to believe anything the Magus said, but there was no denying that she was not as others were. She remembered she had bitten Aruf once, and he had told her that she must have had a snake for a mother. Why not a demon? She watched the water thundering by far below, through the slots in the metal, frowning, and thinking on vengeance.
'Don't hardly matter whose blood you've got.' Ninefingers was riding beside her. Riding badly, as usual, and looking across, voice gentle. 'Man makes his own choices, my father used to tell me. Reckon that goes for women just as much.'
Ferro did not answer. She dragged on her reins and let the others pull ahead. Woman, or demon, or snake, it made no difference. Her concern was hurting the Gurkish. Her hatred was strong, and deep-rooted, warm and familiar. Her oldest friend.
She could trust nothing else.
Ferro was the last one off the bridge. She took a look back over her shoulder as they moved off into the crumbling city, towards the ruins they had come from, half hidden on the far bank by the grey shroud of drizzle.
'Ssss!' She jerked on her reins, glaring over the surging water, eyes flicking over the hundreds of empty windows, the hundreds of empty doorways, the hundreds of cracks and gaps and spaces in the crumbling walls.
'What did you see?' came Ninefingers' worried voice.
'Something.' But she saw nothing now. Along the crumbling embankment the endless shells of buildings squatted, empty and lifeless.
'There is nothing left alive in this place,' said Bayaz. 'Night will find us soon, and I for one could do with a roof to keep the rain off my old bones tonight. Your eyes are playing tricks.'
Ferro scowled. Her eyes played no tricks, devil's eyes or no. There was something out there, in the city. She felt it.
Watching them.
* * *
Luck
« ^ »
'Up you get, Luthar.'
Jezal's eyes fluttered open. It was so bright that he could hardly make out where he was, and he grunted and blinked, shading his eyes with one hand. Someone had been shaking his shoulder. Ninefingers.
'We need to be on our way.'
Jezal sat up. Sunlight was streaming into the narrow chamber, straight into his face, specks of dust floating in the glare. 'Where is everyone?' he croaked, tongue thick and lazy with sleep.
The Northman jerked his shaggy head towards the tall window. Squinting, Jezal could just see Brother Longfoot standing there, looking out, hands clasped behind him. 'Our Navigator's taking in the view. Rest of the crew are out front, seeing to the horses, reckoning the route. Thought you might use a few minutes more under the blanket.'
'Thanks.' He could have used a few hours more yet. Jezal worked his sour mouth, licking at the aching holes in his teeth, the sore crease in his lip, checking how painful they were this morning. Every day the swelling was a little less. He was almost getting used to it.
'Here.' Jezal looked up to see Ninefingers tossing him a biscuit. He tried to catch it but his bad hand was still clumsy and it dropped in the dirt. The Northman shrugged. 'Bit of dust won't do you any harm.'
'Daresay it won't, at that.' Jezal picked it up, brushed it off with the back of his hand and took a dry bite from it, making sure to use the good side of his mouth. He threw his blanket back, rolled over and pushed himself stiffly from the ground.
Logen watched him take a few trial steps, arms spread out wide for balance, biscuit clutched in one hand. 'How's the leg?'
'It's been worse.' It had been better too. He walked with a fool of a limp, sore leg held straight. The knee and the ankle hurt every time he put his weight on it, but he could walk, and every morning it was improving. When he made it to the rough stone wall he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, half wanting to laugh, half wanting to cry with relief at the simple joy of being able to stand on his own feet again.
'From now on I will be grateful for every moment that I can walk.'
Ninefingers grinned. 'That feeling lasts a day or two, then you'll be moaning about the food again.'
'I will not,' said Jezal firmly.
'Alright. A week then.' He walked towards the window at the far end of the room, casting a stretched-out shadow across the dusty floor. 'In the meantime, you should have a look at this.'
'At what?' Jezal hopped up beside Brother Longfoot, leaned against the pitted column at the side of the window, breathing hard and shaking out his aching leg. Then he looked up, and his mouth fell open.
They must have been high up. At the top of the steep slope of a hill perhaps, looking out over the city. The just-risen sun hung level with Jezal's eyes, watery yellow through the morning haze. The sky was clear and pale above it, a few shreds of white cloud stretched out almost still.
Even in ruins, hundreds of years after its fall, the vista of Aulcus was breathtaking.
Broken roofs stretched away into the far distance, crumbling walls brightly lit or sunk in long shadows. Stately domes, teetering towers, leaping arches and proud columns thrust up above the jumble. He could make out the gaps left by wide squares, by broad avenues, the yawning space cut by the river, curving gently through the forest of stone on his right, light glittering on the shifting water. In every direction, as far as Jezal could see, wet stone glowed in the morning sun.
'And this is why I love to travel,' breathed Longfoot. 'At one stroke, in one moment, this whole journey has been made worthwhile. Has there ever been such another sight? How many men living can have gazed upon it? The three of us stand at a window upon history, at a gate into the long forgotten past. No longer will I dream of fair Talins, glittering on the
sea in the red morning, or Ul-Nahb, glowing beneath the azure bowl of the heavens in the bright midday, or Ospria, proud upon her mountain slopes, lights shining like the stars in the soft evening. From this day forth, my heart will forever belong to Aulcus. Truly, the jewel of cities. Sublime beyond words in death, dare one even dream of how she must have looked in life? Who could not be struck with wonder at the magnificence of this sight? Who could not be struck with awe at the—'
'A load of old buildings,' growled Ferro, right behind him. 'And it is past time we were out of them. Get your gear stowed.' And she turned and stalked off towards the entrance.
Jezal frowned back over his shoulder at the gleaming sweep of dark ruins, stretching away into the distant haze. There was no denying that it was magnificent, and yet it was frightening as well. The splendid buildings of Adua, the mighty walls and towers of the Agriont: all that Jezal had thought of as magnificent seemed mean and feeble copies. He felt like a tiny, ignorant boy, from a small and barbaric country, in a petty, insignificant time. He was glad to turn away, and to leave the jewel of cities in the past where it belonged. He would not be dreaming of Aulcus.
Nightmares, maybe.
It must have been late morning when they came upon the only square in the city that was still crowded. A giant space, and thronging from one side to the other. A motionless, silent crowd. A crowd carved from stone.
Statues of every attitude, size, and material. There was black basalt and white marble, green alabaster and red porphyry, grey granite and a hundred other stones of which Jezal could not guess the names. The variety was strange enough, but it was the one thing they all had in common which he found truly worrying. Not one of them had a face.
Colossal features had been picked away leaving formless messes of pock-marked rock. Small ones had been hacked out leaving empty craters of rough stone. Ugly messages in some script that Jezal did not recognise had been chiselled across marble chests, down arms, round necks, into foreheads. It seemed that everything in Aulcus had been done on an epic scale, and the vandalism was no exception.
Before They Are Hanged Page 40