For a moment or two Bryony didn’t reply, but then, dragging her blanket with her, she crawled across and sat next to me. I put my arms around her and gave her a hug.
“Tell me about the witches again, Nessa,” she begged.
Bryony loved tales about witches, and sitting in front of the kitchen fire on a dark winter’s evening, I had been only too happy to oblige. I’d told her the tales I’d learned from my mother. Bryony had never known her, so it pleased me to take her place and do what she’d have done if she’d lived. The witches I told her about were from Pendle, a place a long way to the south and in a foreign country, far across a cold sea. She loved to hear about the different types of magic they used, some cutting off the thumb bones of their enemies to steal their magical power. They were scary stories, but heard in a happy and secure environment. In those days Bryony knew nothing of Slither, and I’d ensured that when he visited the farm to talk to my father, she never even glimpsed him.
But this was different. We were far from safe, and in the power of a creature who seemed just as dangerous as the witches I’d told Bryony about. I didn’t think telling her that kind of story was a good idea now.
“I’ve got a different kind of story for you tonight, Bryony. It’s a nice one about a handsome prince.”
“Oh, yes—that would be nice! Tell me a really nice story, Nessa,” she said. “Tell me one where everything turns out happily in the end.”
The last thing I felt like was telling a story, but for her sake I did my best. “Once upon a time, an evil ogre carried off a princess and locked her in a tower—”
“What did the ogre look like?” Bryony interrupted.
“He was big and ugly,” I said, “with one huge bulging bloodshot eye in the middle of his forehead. But news of the princess’s captivity came to the attention of a prince, who saddled his horse and rode to the rescue—”
“Was the prince handsome?” Bryony demanded.
I was finding it hard to concentrate because I could hear the beast moving around outside; I wasn’t much good at telling stories anyway. But at least I had her attention.
“Yes, he was tall, with fair hair and blue eyes, and he wore a sword with a silver hilt in a leather scabbard.”
“Did he have nice teeth and sweet breath?” Bryony asked.
“Yes, his breath was sweeter than spring blossom.”
“Better than the beast’s breath, then.” Susan spoke up now. “It stinks of rotten meat and blood.”
“Shhh!” I hissed. “He has sharp ears.”
“His teeth are really long and sharp, too,” Bryony added.
I took a deep breath and tried to continue with the story, but Susan interrupted again. “I’ll tell the story this time, Nessa. Your stories are always so boring and predictable!”
I was too weary to protest, so I let her carry on from where I’d left off.
“The handsome prince rode up to the dark tower,” she said, “and he was lucky because the fierce ogre with long sharp teeth and breath smelling of blood and rotten meat wasn’t at home. So the prince broke down the door and went up to the top of the tower and, after stealing one quick kiss from the beautiful princess, carried her down the steps and lifted her up onto his horse.”
Bryony had giggled when it came to the bit about the kiss, and I began to relax.
“But the ogre had been hiding in the trees behind the tower, and he rushed out and attacked the prince, who drew his sword,” Susan continued.
“Did the handsome prince cut off the ogre’s head?” Bryony asked, almost breathless with anticipation.
There was a pause. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t, and I was too late to intervene.
“No,” Susan said. “The ogre opened his big stinky mouth and bit off the head of the prince. Then he ate the horse and finished off the princess for his dessert!”
Bryony screamed and began to sob again, and at that moment the beast lurched into the cave.
“Be silent!” he growled. “End this foolishness now. You will need all your strength in the morning!”
The fierce way he spoke stunned us all into silence. I lay there for a long time, listening and waiting for the breathing of my two sisters to change as they slipped into sleep. Above it all I could hear the harsh, heavy snoring of the beast. At last I fell asleep myself and began to dream.
The rat is crawling up onto my body now. I can feel its small, sharp claws pricking into my skin through the blankets. It is sitting on my chest. Its tail goes thumpety-thump, faster and faster, keeping perfect time with the beating of my heart.
And now there is a new thing, even more terrifying. The rat seems to be growing heavier by the second. Its weight is pressing down on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. How can that be possible? How can a rat be so large and heavy?
CHAPTER XII
THE KEEPER OF THE GATE
THE following day we made good progress, but finally it became necessary to kill one of the horses for food.
Despite her protests, I chose Nessa’s mount because I judged it to be the weakest of the three. Of course, when I started to drink its hot sweet blood, the purrai became upset. That didn’t stop them from eating the meat once I’d cooked some for them, though. They did what I did in order to survive. So why did they turn from me in revulsion?
From then on, Nessa and Susan were forced to ride together while I carried the youngest purra with me. Nessa protested and offered to ride with me so that Bryony could be with her elder sister, but I refused. I might have to fight again at any moment, so I wanted to spare my own horse as much as possible. Bryony was light, and mercifully she didn’t make a fuss about riding with me, though I could feel that she held herself rigid with terror.
Finally, after another week of traveling, we were within sight of Valkarky. It was just after midday, and although at this latitude the sun was still low in the sky, it was a bright, clear day and the visibility was excellent.
“What are those lights?” Nessa asked, bringing her horse alongside mine. She stared directly into my eyes as she spoke, but her sister clung to her back and averted her face so that she would not have to look at me.
On the horizon there was a shimmering curtain of color, the whole spectrum of the rainbow. At times it seemed to open, giving a glimpse of what seemed to be utter blackness within.
“The lights shine from the eyes and mouths of the creatures who are building Valkarky,” I answered. “Soon the walls of the city will be in view. That sight will delight your eyes and fill your hearts with happiness!”
I was proud of our city, but having chosen the vocation of a haizda mage, I lived far away in order to learn and develop my magic. Now, in truth, I was happy to be away from its intrigues and bustle, but it was still good to return occasionally to the place of my birth.
As we got closer, the three sisters found it difficult to look upon the city—it gleamed too brightly. Nor could they appreciate the beauty of the industrious sixteen-legged whoskor, which swarmed over Valkarky’s outskirts, engaged in the never-ending task of extending it. The eyes of these creatures swayed gracefully upon long black stalks, and their brown fur rippled in the breeze as they spat soft stone from their mouths before working it skillfully with their delicate forelimbs, adding it to the new sections of wall.
We were approaching the southern edge of the developing city. Here the walls were uneven in height, obviously in various states of construction.
“Those are terrible creatures walking the walls!” Nessa cried, pointing up toward the whoskor. Bryony and Susan were wide-eyed and silent in their shock. “They are so huge and there are so many of them. We can’t go in there! We can’t! Take us away, please.”
But I disregarded her protests and the wailing of her terrified sisters. We followed the road that led up to the main gate, flanked on either side by the walls. The farther we traveled into the city, the older the fortifications. In the course of our journey, which lasted almost half a day, we passed
through several gates in the succession of inner defensive walls. Each was already open to receive us, but I noted that they closed behind us after we had passed through, cutting off any possibility of retreat.
Eyes watched us from narrow windows far above, but I knew that no friends gazed down upon me. We haizda mages lived and worked far from the dissident groups and shifting alliances of the city’s inhabitants.
At last we reached the main gate, and here the walls towered up, lost to sight among the clouds. Covered in ice and snow, Valkarky appeared more like the vertical face of a mountain peak; the open gates were like the entrance to some wonderful dark cavern, full of unknown delights.
Two mounted Shaiksa assassins, lances at the ready, waited on either side of these huge gates, but they had rivals who would compete to seize me: three score of foot militia had lined up, their captain holding my arrest warrant with his left hand extended over his head in the traditional manner. The red seal formed from the spit and coagulated blood of the triumvirate was clearly visible.
The Rowler girls gasped in shock at the sight that greeted us. But of course, none of my enemies could touch me if I could persuade the triumvirate to allow me legal entry.
I believed it could be done, but I must first deal with their instrument, the gatekeeper known as the kashilowa, which now undulated its way toward us, its long, pulsing body bristling with spines and its breath billowing into the cold air in great clouds. At first it was hidden by the cloud of snow kicked up by its thousand legs, but this slowly settled and it was fully revealed to us. The single kashilowa and the myriad whoskor had been created in order to serve the needs of the city. It was all part of the magic of the high mages.
Immediately, clearly terrified, the smallest sister began to scream at the top of her lungs, and Nessa brought her horse alongside my own, trying to comfort her. But before she could do so, Susan fainted away, and it took all of Nessa’s strength to prevent her from falling from their horse.
Even brave Nessa moaned in terror when the gatekeeper scuttled forward and touched her forehead with the tip of the long tongue that spiraled from its mouth. It was simply tasting her skin to determine her fitness to enter Valkarky, so I don’t know why she found it so alarming. All purrai in transit are subject to the most stringent health checks to make sure that no contagion is brought into the city.
Our two horses were Kobalos trained, but the proximity of the gatekeeper caused their nostrils to flare and their eyes to dilate; they trembled with fear. This was hardly surprising: when the huge creature yawned to feign boredom, opening its jaws to their full extent, its mouth was so big it could have swallowed them whole.
“Speak!” the kashilowa commanded, directing its one hundred eyes in my direction. Its voice was as loud as a thunderclap, and that one word brought down dozens of long icicles from the overhang of the wall above the gate. One of the spears of ice impaled a militiaman, whose blood began to stain the snow an appealing shade of red—almost as lovely as the lambskin rugs in my old ghanbala tree. One glance made my mouth start to water, and I found it difficult to concentrate on the business at hand.
Fortunately the kashilowa’s movement had disturbed the multitude of winged parasites that sheltered among its prickly spines. Quickly I reached out and plucked a few from the air, before they could settle again, and stuffed them into my mouth. Their own blood, combined with that of their host, was a tasty blend and assuaged a little of my hunger.
Now I gathered my thoughts and, not wishing to appear intimidated, leaped from my horse and grew to my largest size so that my eyes were level with the gatekeeper’s teeth. I amplified my voice, too, dislodging another shower of icicles. This time no one was harmed; the militia had sensibly withdrawn to a safe distance.
All those present at the gates knew my identity and what my business was. Nevertheless, it was necessary to make a formal statement.
“I demand entry to Valkarky!” I cried. “I have been wronged by a high mage and a band of his accomplices, including a Shaiksa assassin, who conspired together to illegally appropriate my three purrai for their own use. I request a hearing before the triumvirate!”
“Where is this high mage whom you claim appropriated your property? Who are these three purrai who accompany you? Are they the same ones you refer to? If so, they are now in your possession, so how has a crime been committed?” asked the kashilowa.
“Yes, they are the same. I seized them back, as was my right, using only minimal force. Unfortunately, in defending myself, I was forced to slay the high mage and the Shaiksa assassin. Additionally, a hyb warrior waylaid me on the road to Valkarky, and I was forced to kill him too. It is all very regrettable, but necessary.”
“Your story is questionable. How could a haizda mage such as yourself confront and slay a Shaiksa assassin, a high mage, and a hyb? What is your name?”
It already knew my name, but this was a formality of question and answer that I could not avoid, the ritual necessary to gain entry to the city.
“My name is Slither, and I did just what was necessary. Perhaps the red eye of the Dog Star looked down on me favorably, thus accounting for my victory.”
“Slither? What kind of a name is that?”
The kashilowa was no longer giving me the respect I felt was my due. I would not allow it to deride me. So I answered it with venom in my voice. It was no more than it deserved.
“It is the name I chose for myself when I came of age in the early spring of my seventieth year. It is the sound I make when I swing with my tail from a high branch of my ghanbala tree. It is the sound I make when I become very small and creep through a gap in a wall or floor to gain access to a locked, secret, or private place. It is also the sound and sensation that an enemy is aware of when I creep into his brain. Allow me to demonstrate!”
Feeling insulted that the gatekeeper should bring the suitability of my chosen name into question, I spat into the nearest of its hundred eyes. I had quickly combined with my saliva two substances that cause instant itchiness and irritation. Simultaneously my mind slithered into its brain.
The reaction of the gatekeeper was somewhat extreme. It must have had a low tolerance for pain. It leaped backward so quickly that most of its thousand legs became entangled; it lost its balance and rolled sideways in the snow, crushing another unfortunate militiaman.
Do you like the sensation of slither? I asked, speaking my words straight into its head.
Enough! Enough! it cried—although of all the sentient minds around, I was the only one who heard it, its thoughts trembling within my head.
Allow me my rights! I demanded. Grant me entry into Valkarky and a hearing before the triumvirate, and I will ease the discomfort in your eyes and slither right out of your brain.
Yes! Yes! I grant it! it said.
Keeping my promise, I withdrew. It rolled back onto most of its feet and brought its head close so that my horse began to tremble even more violently and little Nessa began to moan with terror. Quickly I spat into its nearest eye for a second time. This time, my saliva contained an antidote to the irritation.
However, it was a long time before it spoke, and for a moment I feared betrayal. “I must test you to verify your claims,” it growled.
I nodded acceptance, and now it was my turn to feel the touch of its long tongue on my forehead. It would be able to taste whether I was lying or not. At last it withdrew its tongue back into its cavernous mouth.
“You believe that you are telling the truth. But lies can sometimes be cloaked by magic. Nevertheless, your claims deserve further investigation. Would you submit to a rigorous probing?” it asked.
“Willingly,” I said.
“On that condition, I grant entry to the city and a hearing for this haizda mage!” it cried out, and it was done.
I leaned down and whispered into Nessa’s ear. “That wasn’t too bad, was it? I promised your father that I would look after you, and I am certainly keeping that promise!”
Thus we wer
e given permission to enter Valkarky, and our enemies could do nothing to prevent it. The two younger sisters were hysterical now, while even brave Nessa was clearly struggling with the prospect of entering our beautiful city. So I breathed into each of their faces in turn, using boska, and caused them to fall into a very deep sleep.
So long as I lived, they were safe. So long as I kept them in separate rooms in my own quarters and always accompanied them in public in the appropriate manner, the law would protect them.
I walked through the gates, my head held high, while the sisters were carried inside by the Kobalos servants summoned by the gatekeeper. We haizda mages rarely visit Valkarky, but in case it ever proves necessary, we maintain quarters here, along with a small number of servants to receive us. Within an hour I was safe in that refuge, all my needs attended to, while the sisters slept.
What lucky girls they were to have such a benevolent owner!
First I tried to wake Nessa.
I had already breathed into her face to counter the effects of boska, but her eyes remained stubbornly shut. She was proving very difficult to rouse, and for a few moments I feared that in my haste to render her unconscious, I had made the chemical mixture too strong and damaged her brain. This happens only rarely, but it is always a risk. My error would have been forgivable. After all, I had been occupied with my negotiations with the gatekeeper and had other, more important things on my mind.
I studied her face, willing her to wake up. My anxiety growing, I began to call out her name.
CHAPTER XIII
THE HAGGENBROOD
“WAKE up, little Nessa!” cried a voice. It seemed to come from a great distance. I was in a deep, comfortable sleep and just wanted to be left alone. Then I was shaken roughly by the shoulder.
The moment I opened my eyes, I was filled with the extreme terror that comes to one whose nightmare follows her back to the waking world. Instantly I remembered the horrors before the gates of Valkarky and the terrible sensation of choking when Slither breathed into my face. I had fallen into darkness, believing that I was dying. But it wasn’t that which caused my heart to flutter and my whole body to shake. Nor was it the snarl on the face of the beast as he shook me.
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