Chapter forty-six

On the way to Klethropolis

 

They walked on, following Viola. For most of them it was all very disconcerting, with periods of vague wandering followed by fleeting moments when they thought that perhaps they saw the road themselves.  Dom stayed at the back. He had mumbled something about guarding the rear, but in reality he just didn’t want to give any impression that he knew the correct route too. Viola was happy to be able to lead and to dictate the pace, although she was niggled by yet another example of her strange abilities. Kath had assumed that it was all something to do with Ophia, but Viola thought this a too general explanation to be useful.

After a few miles they spotted the milestones again, but this time sunk into the side of the road so that only someone who was already on the track would know where they were. Even the parrots flying overhead would have been unable to find them. Bit by bit the miles counted down. That night they stopped at the stone six miles out from the city.

 

For the last three nights, ever since they had started walking on the cryptic road, they had allowed themselves the luxury of a small fire. It was much colder on the top of the plateau and the parrots, especially, were feeling the cold. They were grateful to be able to hop about in front of the modest flames. The others were happy to be able brew some coffee and having something hot with their dry rations.

After supper there was a murmur of quiet conversation and then one by one they went off to sleep. The parrots were asleep by the end of twilight. Hardacre was next to doze off – he was still recovering from the spells he had cast days before. He had had no proper rest since then. Eventually there was just Dom, who had the first watch and Viola, who was finding it increasingly difficult to sleep as they got closer to their goal. Since they had lost their tents, as well, she felt very exposed sleeping rough.  She wriggled under her blankets, and eventually got up to warm herself on the glow of the dying fire.

‘Are you feeling alright?’ Dom whispered to her, coming up closer so that they didn’t have to speak too loudly. Viola’s face was just visible in the quarter light.

‘I’m just a little apprehensive’

 ‘I can understand that’    

‘It seems a long way away from home’ admitted Viola, shivering slightly

‘Do you have family there?’ asked Dom, who realised that he knew almost nothing about Viola’s life.

Viola didn’t answer for some time. Dom began to wonder if he’d inadvertently offended her. 

‘I never said before…’ Viola said, ‘perhaps I should have…’

Dom had no idea what she was talking about. He said nothing.  

‘I’m an orphan too’

Dom was surprised.

‘You are?’

Viola lent across and found Dom’s shoulder. She grasped it softly.

‘So we share something…’

 Was this what they had in common? The road would only reveal itself to orphans? Surely not.

‘Do you know who your parents were?’ asked Dom

Viola’s darkening silhouette nodded – it was only just visible now.

‘They were two Ortian elves –they died during the first Tlaxacan war.  My father was a carpenter and my mother an artist. My father died before I was born and my mother when I was about three. I don’t remember her, though. A priestess in the temple brought me up – she was very kind’

‘So, how did you end up in the Imperial army?’

‘They wanted me to be a priestess too, but I had no real, umm, spiritual talents. Then people noticed how “observant” I was and Cassius, Marthian’s father, got me a job in the Imperial intelligence service. Then Marthian inherited me’

He hadn’t been expecting all this information and he felt it only polite to contribute something himself.

 ‘Everyone wants me to be a diplomat’

‘What sort of a diplomat do you think they meant’

‘Some sort of envoy to Eth I think – I’ve never paid the idea much attention’

‘Why’s that?’  

‘I plan to go to Kinspit and train to be a full mage’

She made a little non-vocal noise of encouragement. He got the strong feeling that something else was on her mind.

‘Are you still concerned about anything?’ he asked, just stopping himself from saying ‘perhaps you’re concerned about me’

‘Well, to be honest with you, I don’t know if I should be concerned or not…’

Dom’s mouth dried just a little.

‘About what?’

 ‘I know that you can see the way…’she whispered

Dom’s heart sank. He could barely believe it. He didn’t even consider denying it.

‘But how? How do you know?’

‘I know because you’ve tried so hard to show that you don’t know. The others wander aimlessly – your blundering has been very measured. You must have realised by now – I notice things’

Dom’s heart was beating very fast.

‘Do they know?’ he hissed

‘I doubt it. How could they?’

 ‘They couldn’t’ he said, confused by the twists and turns of the conversation.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked, an edge developing in her voice.

‘I’m not sure, Viola, I just felt strange about it. I can’t explain it…’

Viola pulled a long branch from the embers of the fire. One end was cold and the other still glowing. As she lifted it out and up the air set it aflame again. She used the rekindled light to illuminate his face. 

‘Answer me this then – do you know why you can spot the way?’

He shook his head.

‘I really don’t’ he insisted

Viola held the branch very close to his face. It wasn’t dangerous but Dom immediately thought of her reputation. She was slow to anger but the consequences of angering her might just be fatal. She spoke in a very cold, commanding, voice.

‘Are you keeping something from me?’

Dom wondered how much further he had to go before his back was against the wall. He began to shake his head, but then he stopped himself. If not now, then when?

‘Yes, I am’ he said, very clearly, ‘I’m a hybrid’

‘What’s that?’ she asked, in all innocence

‘An elf-human hybrid’ he replied softly ‘a mule…’

Viola dropped the branch and it extinguished almost immediately. They were in almost total darkness.

‘I’ve never…’

‘Met one before?’ interrupted Dom, ‘not many elves have. Apparently it’s a very rare thing’

‘How did it happen?’

Dom laughed without humour.

‘I think I’ll let you work that out for yourself’

‘I mean – was your mother a… or…’

‘I only know what my gods-father told me: my mother was an elf and my father was a human – is that what you mean?’

‘Yes…’

Dom had no way of judging Viola’s reaction other than by the tone of her voice. She seemed surprised but not shocked or disgusted. It was hard to say if she was still angry.

‘So, now you know…’ He was almost daring her to react in some way.

‘Why didn’t tell me before?’

‘I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. My gods-father had warned me that...well... as he put it – not everyone can stomach a mule’

Viola’s voice now hinted at exasperation.

‘I’m sure that there hasn’t been a hybrid in Ortia for three generations. Our prejudices tend to be against northern barbarians in general...’

‘I’m from Gorodnikov...’Dom muttered, rather missing the point.

‘Exactly...’

‘So...’ said Dom, ‘is it a problem that I’m a hybrid? I’m sorry that I kept it from you... it didn’t seem relevant to our mission.’

 There was a short pause and then Viola said, ‘no – it’s not a big problem; but it seems that it may well be relevant’.

A silence fell, which Dom felt unable to interrupt, and which worried him more than what she had said earlier. He should have told her, he knew, if not at the beginning then when things began to get difficult. He felt that he had been a failure as a group member and, even more seriously, as a friend. He’d been a moral coward and that was something he’d never expected to be. I’m weak under pressure he told himself and it depressed him.

When Viola finally spoke again the tone of her voice had changed. She seemed almost apologetic.

 ‘I’m in no position to criticise. I have secrets myself that even I don’t know about’

Dom now wished that they had some light again. It sounded as if she was concerned that she might have a comparable secret to him, perhaps one that would be equally disturbing. But if she didn’t know what it was there was no way that he would. It was time to try to change angles.  

‘Why do you know the way, major?’ he asked, ‘if it’s not because you’re a hybrid.’

‘How do I know any of those things? How do I know about the fire snakes? How did I know how to pass through the Wall? How did I get into the bell tower in Melloreis? ’

Her voice wavered and the plaintive sound washed over him.

‘I don’t know…’ admitted Dom, engulfed in the tide of her distress.

‘Because Ophia talks to me, that’s why’

‘But why does she talk to you?’

‘I don’t know – to torment me? Perhaps it’s because there is something about me that is clearly not quite right…’

The ‘just like you’ was left hanging in the air. To Dom, Viola’s empathy felt like cold comfort.

‘Will you tell the others?’ he asked

‘What’s there to tell?’ she answered, ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me…’

Dom sighed. He made no attempt to hide his irritation.

‘About me’ he muttered, ‘not about you…’

Viola response was almost too soft to be audible.

‘I’m so sorry’ she said, ‘I won’t tell them. I promise you that I won’t’

‘Thank you. I’ll be very happy if this conversation remains just between us’

‘So will I’

‘It’s my watch’ Dom said, desperate to end the conversation, ‘you should try to get some sleep’

‘Yes, I know’ agreed Viola, ‘but I don’t find that sleep comes easily these days…’

‘Because of your dreams?’

‘Yes, because of them – it is hard to fall asleep when you both dread and crave your own dreams…’

Their talk was over. Viola tried to settle down under her blankets: Dom sat and watched the night bed in and the bright stars appear. There was no moon.  If I live forever, he wondered, will the constellations move for me? When I finally die, will it be under a different sky?

The stars remanded reassuringly immobile, at least for the time being. Dom sipped at a mug of coffee, which was rapidly growing cold. Gloom and guilt gathered around him. He studied them carefully – he hadn’t met them much before.  

Chapter forty-seven

Ortia

 

The Dictator of Ortia bowed low and waited. Aquilegia stepped forward to embrace him. Then they separated and stood a few feet apart. As they stood there, awkward and uncertain, Aurelian wondered why the Lady had chosen this grave, very young, elf as High Priestess. There was nothing that obviously recommended her above all the other one hundred and thirty eight priestesses in the temple.  

‘How can I help you, Lord Dictator?’ she asked.

He swallowed hard – he was about to ask for a big favour. He thought it best just to blurt it out.    

‘I’ve helped you, and now I need you to help me, if you can’   

Aquilegia frowned. She stood very straight but looked very frail.

‘What sort of help?’

‘I want to you to assist Baron Von Eisen’

The High Priestess took a step backwards.

‘Do you mean the former Grandmaster of the order of the Knights of the Crimson Flame?’

He nodded.

‘I went to see him yesterday. His jailor insisted that I now have authority over him’

‘He’s in custody isn’t he? How can we be of any help?’

‘I’ve been to see him several times over the last few days.  He’s ill’

Aquilegia looked puzzled.

‘We have no greater healing powers than your healers, Dictator’

‘It is not an ailment of the body, High Priestess, but of the mind. He has gone insane’

‘What form does this insanity take?’

Sweat pricked on Aurelian’s brow. He had found his visits to von Eisen harrowing and rather hard to make sense of. He made the best stab he could at explaining.

‘He sees visions, he spouts nonsense, he seems to be living in an unhappy fantasy world where he is wracked by guilt… or maybe he is in there trying to avoid the guilt – I’m not entirely sure’

She leant across to take his hands in hers.  He felt as if his feelings were being drawn out of him so that they could be analysed. One side effect, fortunately, was that briefly he felt less concerned.

‘You are disturbed by this, I can tell, but why should this trouble the Lady? He is a traitor who threatened the stability of the Empire’

He felt a strong desire to pull his hands out from under hers but he forced himself to stay completely still.

‘Because you have skills with broken minds that we cannot hope to match’

‘What are you proposing?’

‘I want you to give him sanctuary – at least until he is made well’

Aquilegia grasped on to his hands ever more tightly. She had the fingers of a slender priestess but they were powered by a god. Her voice was suddenly almost harsh.

‘Sanctuary? On what grounds?’

‘He is a broken soul and he lives in a dreadful state. He has been thrown into a dungeon and left to rot. No-one deserves such treatment and I cannot allow it’

‘What will you do with him if we refuse to look after him?’

He finally tried to drop his hands. She let go immediately. The spiritual bit was over- now it was time for politics.

‘I will send him back to his lands in Formor, broken yes, but nonetheless still potentially dangerous’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘Because I will not hold him indefinitely without trial, and he is not fit to stand trial as he is. If you will not take him then I will not take further responsibility for his continuing decline. He would be better among his own kind. I will, of course, when I send him to Formor write to the King with full details of his actions. Perhaps he will see fit to punish him’

She scowled; her face temporarily aging by decades. She proclaimed her partial judgment.

‘His actions led to an attack on the City and the death of my predecessor. It is not fitting that he should just leave imperial jurisdiction. He must pay for his actions or atone for them’

The Dictator folded his arms. On this point he was resolute.

‘He’s lost his mind, High Priestess.  He cannot pay for anything…’

Aquilegia stood still and quiet for a second and then a decision was reached. Aurelian had no idea whether this was an individual or a collective judgement and he really didn’t care.

‘Have him brought to me and I will see what can be done’

 

***

He returned to his headquarters, had lunch with Lieutenant Gaius and then dealt with his correspondence.  He had had a flurry of letters from all corners of the Empire.  A messenger had hurried one to him from the Emperor but it hadn’t said a great deal beyond accepting his temporary appointment as dictator and telling him to wait for more orders.  Most usefully, though, it did warn him that an imperial force would be coming soon to restore Antonius to his position. He wondered what good this would do – he assumed that if she wanted to the Lady could just ping the foolish elf back to Visnea again. And so on. 

Bellis, Proconsul of Monurbis, who he had invited to take counsel with him, had written apologising that he was unable to come for the time being. He was still dealing with the rebuilding and decontamination of Monurbis and the route to Ortia was not yet entirely safe, particularly for an elf of advancing years. He offered to send troops with his general, Otto, if they were needed, but Aurelian got the strong impression that the wily old proconsul was simply being prudent. To come now might suggest an alliance of the isolated and the odd – not the sort of thing that a city full of barbarian knights and reformed kinaam ought to be doing if they sought acceptance by their compatriots.

He had written several letters to Viola in Gorodnikov, in the hope of getting some advice, or if not that, just some moral support. However, he had had no reply and that was worrying him. He was tempted to use one of the precious mail papers that Marthian had given him to check how she was. It was only now that Viola was gone that he realised what a good friend and ally she had been. She understood Marthian so very well.       

He had had a series of letters from Marthian, of course. She had told him about the message from the Lady and she had assured him that she had no intention of returning before she had a direct order from Pallatian. Aurelian’s brain agreed with this wholeheartedly, but his heart was willing her home. He struggled not to write it down in his regular letters – come home, I really miss you, or, I really don’t know what I’m doing. She was his love and his liege lady and he had no idea what to do without her.  He had set the city to hibernate, delegated what he could, and was now just waiting.  

***

Two days later von Eisen was removed to the Temple and Aquilegia took him inside to attempt to heal him. Aurelian only heard about it second hand, but he was pleased and relieved to see the old dungeon emptied. After that he ordered a team of builders to go down and seal up the area permanently. He wasn’t entirely sure why. He told them that he considered the accommodation unsuitable for a civilised city, but it wasn’t only that. The few times that he had been down there, listening to the Baron’s ranting he had felt something he had never felt before – a presence of evil, something that lurked around the poor benighted traitor and was devouring him. He had no idea what it was and he knew rationally that it was inside von Eisen and would move with him. But a visceral part of himself felt that the dark place far underground was now cursed and it felt wisest to abandon it.

Even beyond any of these justifications, he was unable to face the most profound reason for his actions. When he had been down in the cells, just he and the Baron, while the madman had chattered away to his invisible companion, he had heard something. He could have sworn that he had sensed, for a long, terrifying, moment, the other voice in the room.

Chapter forty-eight

The watches of the night

 

The night wore on. It was much quieter up on the plateau – the nocturnal movements that had worried them so much in the forest below had all but disappeared. This gave Dom a lot of time to ponder. He began to wonder if he was defective, and perhaps that was why he saw the road so clearly. Maybe the basic humanoid design was so warped in a hybrid that the enchantment on the road didn’t even notice him – he might as well have been a deer or a fox.  If so, then maybe he would be useful after all.

He often wondered about his parents and what had attracted them to each other. Was it his mother seducing his father, something like Potentilla was trying with him now, perhaps? He knew that it wasn’t uncommon. He had heard the word ‘pet’ used by more worldly-wise friends in the past. A few hundred years before, when humans were only tolerated as merchants and servants, it had been scandalously fashionable among elves of both sexes to have a human lover –it could be entered into light heartedly, often callously, as it never had to last too long. A pet would wither and die soon enough. He shivered and felt slightly sick – he had heard from his gods-father that this hadn’t been the case, that his parents had truly loved each other, but that might just be soothing words. Was he attracted to Potentilla because it titillated his fears, and within those fears was there perhaps a perverse erotic charge?  He couldn’t really bear to think about it – but at least there would be no mules produced this time. 

His mind began to tire; he had had enough of these restless fears.   Perhaps the truth was that they would just use each other and then move on – he’d heard that humans did it all the time, too. If anything this thought made him even more miserable.  Once more he made a resolution that he would not be seduced by her, and once more he knew that he might well be too weak willed to keep it.

 What time was it? He looked up at the clear sky and sought out the constellation of Antiboreion. On a clear night like this one it could be used to tell the time accurately enough by its position against Gnomonion, the pointer star. He stared into the darkness ahead and tried to imagine that the inky depths were the vastness of an ocean. His problems were just a cup of dye dropped into that immenseness. Soon enough they would be absorbed and forgotten.  

Eventually the need to wake up Kath, the next one on watch duty, broke him from his reverie. She was grumpy but friendly – poking him in the ribs and teasing him about falling behind on the road.  He had no spirit for conversation or banter, however, and so he crawled off to bed. He had never felt more grateful for sleep.

 

Kath sat in the black stillness, propped up against a stumpy tree. She pulled her cloak tightly around herself. This was the worst watch – stranded between the fading glow of dusk and the first hint of dawn. This was the time when one had to be alert not just for any physical intruders but also for the mental ones, the phantoms that came to taunt you into uncertainty and threaten you with despair.

At these times she was often homesick. She wondered how she had ended up with this quasi-military role: she was no fighter. She tried to imagine her study at the University of Eth; it was small but crammed full of books and artefacts. It was also in the middle of the Exotic Magic School building and so the huge flue that took the smoke from all of the fireplaces in the building made up one side of her nest. On very cold days she would prop pillows up next to it and sit against it, warming her back, while she stretched her feet out to thaw them next to her own little fire.  Here on the plateau, although it wasn’t cold, there was a fresh breeze and the atmosphere was slightly rarefied, making movement a little trying.  There was no cocoa here either, or proper tea or warm ale. She’d really had enough of travel and adventure, but she couldn’t stop now, so close to the prize.  So she would have to carry on.

Every now and then she would look at her pocket watch. It was one of her most precious possessions, given to her by her doctoral mentor, Dr Holdsworth. It was a Dwarven Magic watch. It told the time wherever you were in the world, using a combination of magic and machinery. More prosaically, but more immediately usefully, its hands and numerals glowed in the dark. However, she was discovering that two hours is a long time when you spent it staring at the hands of a clock.

To her half-sleeping mind the clock became like some awful contraption counting down the remaining minutes and hours of her life. Perhaps when the two hours were up then that would be it. Perhaps she would just expire on the spot and no-one would ever know why. And her companions, still compelled to go on into the city, would just leave her there, to rot slowly in the cold air and to be picked apart by rooks and crows. She shivered as she imagined her corpse lying by the invisible roadside. No-one would ever find her. Her family and friends would never know what had happened to her. They would send search parties out, but all in vain…

 

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped up, terrified.

‘Who’s there?’ she hissed, straining to see her assailant.

‘Were you asleep?’ asked Potentilla, who was standing right behind her. .

Kath went from mortally scared to utterly affronted in a millisecond.

‘No – of course I wasn’t’

Potentilla laughed.

‘Are you sure?’ she said, ‘you were making snorey sorts of noises…’

Kath didn’t feel like arguing. She grunted and then navigated to her bed roll using the faint light of her watch. She fell asleep almost immediately, grateful to fall into dreamless slumber. 

Potentilla sat in the hot spot where Kath had been, warming herself in the now faint heat of the fire. Her thoughts immediately turned to Dom.

Did he really like her? She hoped that he did, but she always found it difficult to tell. She had been told several times in the past that she was too eager, that she needed to take things much slower, but that was why she had a preference (scandalous though it was) for human males.  At least it didn’t take so long with them – there was none of these long talks about feelings and the sense that anything that might happen would be in the distant future. The few times that she had fallen in love with an elf she had got bored long before even the kissing stage. And that wouldn’t do, as she really liked kissing. In sharp contrast, she had met very few men who could resist her; she wasn’t sure why, but she wasn’t complaining. Dom ,however, seemed different – he certainly seemed capable of some resistance – it was almost as if he was behaving like an elf. And that was a pity.

She really wanted him. She also liked him very much, she thought him resourceful and fun, but that was a secondary feeling at present. Her mind operated best over the short-term; she naturally reacted quickly and decisively. And she wanted to do that now – she longed to snuggle next to him where he lay in his blankets and then let mutual lust take over. The thought was extremely warming and she let it linger, with variations, in her brain for a long time. She didn’t once consider actually doing it. She was a soldier and she was on guard. Duty had to take precedence over desire.

She waited until she could see the every first glow of morning, then she went to wake up Viola for the last watch. Hardacre was already up and waiting for her, even though he was still being relieved of watch duty in order that he could regenerate his magical energy. He intercepted her with a silent ‘shush’, his finger pressed against his lips.

‘Don’t wake her’ he whispered, ‘she’s having such restless nights’

Potentilla nodded and looked over to where Viola lay – she looked in the deepest of sleeps, with her blankets wrapped round her like a shroud.  Potentilla was happy not to have to wake her. She nodded at Hardacre, glanced surreptitiously at Dom and then crawled under her own cold blankets. She fell asleep almost immediately, but with a sigh on her lips.

 

Hardacre walked round their little camp; the glow in the sky was strong enough to see the general shapes of things, but not yet strong enough to allow him to write a letter. That was the thing uppermost in his mind, the need to write to his master: he owed him some sort of explanations of his actions. He would write that it was an emergency and that it had no bearing whatsoever on his so-called ‘work-to-rule’. It had the same effect, of course, and it was the kind of argument that he would normally have classified as ‘splitting hairs’.  The truth remained, whatever the motivation, that Simkins was now left to look after the household tasks alone. His blood ran cold – he couldn’t bear to think about any of this any further. If only he’d had time to find an apprentice.  Things did seem to be going from bad to worse and, for once, he was partially to blame.

He saw a flurry of movement. The parrots were awake.  They bustled round looking for food.

‘Is our lady well?’ asked Akenopteryx, hopping around and glancing across at her.

‘She is tired and full of fears, but she will be fine enough, I suppose, when we arrive at the city’

She cocked her head and stared at him with her large green eyes.

‘We have heard that this city is very old and very strange. Our histories say that it is contains a great secret that only the architects can fully understand’

‘Thou art well briefed, mistress soft-wing’ nodded Hardacre ‘we think much the same’

Akenopteryx’s tone was puzzled.

‘Thou thinkest? Thou surely knowest, dost thou not?’

A flicker of a smile pulsed in his face.

‘I am afraid that thou art over-praising our abilities…’

The parrot cocked her head towards where Viola lay.

‘The Lady Viola  will know all these things, assuredly; she is an architect’

Hardacre shook his head sadly and frowned.

‘No – I think not. She is the leader of our group and has many fine qualities, but she is not an Archaic Elf, and not one of the original builders of this city.’

‘So the other Kaths said,’  twittered the parrot, it sounded almost like a scold, ‘but we can sense our creators. Can thou not smell them? Art thou not created too?’

‘It appears that we are’ he replied, his head full of counter-questions, ‘however…’

He paused to order his thoughts.

‘Thou must be responding to the major’s rank – she is a high ranking imperial official. Perhaps thou canst smell that’

The parrot laughed, gently. Hardacre fully appreciated the feebleness of this explanation. He looked around to see if the others were awake – they were all still fast asleep in their blankets.

‘Does Lieutenant Potentilla smell like an architect?’ he whispered, gesturing for her to go to find out. She didn’t move.

‘No, she does not. She smells like all the Kaths. And they all smell somewhat differently too – all living creatures, creator and created, have their own olfactory signal’

Hardacre let this last remark pass – he had no desire to find out how they all smelled. It was only Viola who worried him. He guessed that Quiena had done something to her, perhaps altered her in some way. He had to assume that was a good thing, but he couldn’t tell. When gods began to mess with mortals things often went awry.  It would be interesting to let Owen examine her aura; but he couldn’t see that happening any time soon.  

 Sunlight was filling up the landscape. He realised that he was running out of time to write his letter.

‘Couldst thou wake up Master Shavosky and ask him to prepare breakfast, if it is thy pleasure’

Akenopteryx nodded her green head. 

 ‘Should I wake the others?’

 ‘All except Lady Viola…’ he indicated, ‘we won’t wake her quite yet’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because she may be dreaming’

The little parrot hopped off, not really understanding the last remark, but delighted to be of service.

Hardacre sat on the grassy floor and pulled a sheet of mail paper, a quill and his pot of squid ink from his pack. He stared at the paper carefully; then he wrote a longer letter of explanation, and of apology. Behind him the camp stirred, as one by one his companions extricated themselves from their blankets. The smell of fresh burning tinder filled the air. It was nearly breakfast time.

Chapter forty-nine

The City of Klethropolis

 

There was a commotion in the middle of the camp.

‘Up, up!’ screamed Viola in the old tongue, trying to stand but struggling against her blankets, ‘enemies are near! Foul and powerful enemies!’

Hardacre dropped his cup. The lukewarm coffee split out over the ground. The others sprang up from their meals and stared over at her, transfixed by her words.

‘Who?’ asked Hardacre, getting to his feet, ‘what enemies?’

‘The serpent slayer with the parched soul – she approaches…’

Viola looked out beyond Hardacre to a patch of bracken. Her eyes were blank. There was nothing there. A buzz of fear swept through the camp. Everyone was picking up clothes and rations and shoving them into whatever containers they could find. They were all getting ready to run.

Viola was standing now, draped in her blankets and unsteady on her feet. Potentilla ran up to calm her friend. She held her still and upright; studied her carefully and then lifted her hand up to the others.

‘It’s alright!’ she shouted, ‘she’s still asleep’

Kath grunted at her.

‘Well, Tillie, I hate to have to say this again, but I think you may be missing the point…’

Kath ran for her pack; the other followed behind her rapidly. All eyes were scanning round the camp edges.  They were hardly reassured that they could see nothing. It looked like it was definitely time to leave.  

Viola started forward and then woke. She slipped out of Potentilla’s grasp and sprawled on to the ground. Her lieutenant knelt to aid her.

 ‘Bad dream’ Viola said, apparently addressing the soil, ‘very bad dream’

‘What did you see?’ asked Hardacre, stooping to help Potentilla lift her up.

Viola stood up, unsteady on her legs. She looked at Hardacre blankly. Everyone was waiting for her response.

‘What?’ she finally said

‘The dream’ he repeated. His voice was hoarse with tension.

Viola shook her head. For her the last few seconds had evaporated away.

‘Was I asleep?’ she asked, brushing her sweaty hair from her eyes. Kath rushed over and handed her her pack. She hugged her.  

‘You had a nightmare – some sort of warning. I think we need to move out as soon as we can’

Viola stepped out of Kath’s embrace and smiled in a puzzled way. She took the pack without any clear idea of what she was meant to do with it. Hardacre and Dom kicked over the traces of the fire.

‘As Kath just said, we need to move on quickly’ said Hardacre. Then he turned to talk to Kath, ‘and I, for one, take Viola’s dreams very seriously’

Viola’s smile began to fade. She slung her bag over her shoulder. Reality returned in the shape of a growing apprehension.

‘What dream?’ she asked warily.  

By now all of the humanoid members of the group were standing in a rough circle around her.

‘She can’t remember a damn thing’ Kath muttered in Ethian, ‘I’m beginning to hate that bloody Quiena’

Hardacre shot her a disapproving look, but Viola seemed either not to hear what she had said or she had not fully understood it. Dom shifted his gaze from Viola to Hardacre.

 ‘If we need to escape from enemies, which way should we go?’

‘What enemies’ asked Viola, finally catching up.

‘Bea, it seems, from your dream message…’ replied Hardacre

‘And so…?’ continued Dom

‘We must move as fast as possible away from her – we have no resources to combat her. Our only chance is to escape’

Kath scanned round the edge of their camp one more time. Her voice was tremulous. She could remember the nocturnal false-panthers all too clearly. She had no wish to meet their mistress.  

‘But where are we? We have no idea where the enchanted path has led us’

‘True’ said Hardacre, ‘so we must go back along it and hope to sneak past her’

Viola gazed intently down the path for several seconds, apparently through miles of blocking vegetation. She shook her head.

‘I see her – right on the edge of my vision and I can feel her through my feet. She is not alone; I sense a great amassing of power. I think we will not get past her that way’

‘But we can’t go on’ murmured Dom, ‘we’ll lead her straight to the city’

Viola continued to stare down the road but now when she spoke her voice was calmer.

‘If think that if she has found the road then it is probable that she will find the city. So, I believe that we must carry on. We stand a much greater chance of avoiding her in the complexity of the ruins. I don’t think that she can have seen us yet. Even with the humans we are much less conspicuous than them’

‘You must be joking…’ Kath said, her voice fading as she spoke.

‘But, major, what will we do when we get there?’ asked Hardacre, ‘any way that you frame this it feel like we are walking into a trap…’

‘At the very least I need to warn the naga’ said Viola softly. She had made up her mind.  

‘Warn her about what?’ asked Dom

‘That Bea is coming to kill her’

 

***

They hurried on down the road, running from their invisible pursuers. At first they were travelling so fast that it was counter-productive: they tripped over roots, walking through soggy ground and slashing themselves on thorny shrubs. After a few minutes of this they slowed down to less of a mad scramble, but all the time they imagined Bea’s Outer Void panthers pursuing them through the rough countryside until they caught them and tore them apart.

 Viola was at the back, constantly turning to look for any sign of their enemies. There was nothing she could see now, but her fear had, if anything, grown – perhaps it had been better when she could sense them near; at least that meant that they couldn’t be ambushed.

Viola shouted instructions to Dom, but they were nonsense, as he was leading and he, of course, knew exactly where he was going.  Dom was terrified by the pursuit but he grateful for this little charade – it reassured him that Viola was keeping his secret, at least for a while.  Also, he was a lot faster along the hidden track than she was, so it all worked out well enough. 

Within twenty minutes they stumbled on the gates of the city.  There was no interruption to the scattered trees and scrub that they had been travelling through – the path just stopped and there they were.

In front of them now were two interlocking arches, five times the height of a tall human, and each arch held a huge black door. Away from the gate on both sides ran a red brick wall, about twice eye level but without battlements. They couldn’t see very far, but everywhere the wall had been co-opted by plants – trees grew up by its side, climbers squirmed up its stone face and shrubs struggled on what once had been walkways above. But in not one place had a root, branch or bough penetrated the fabric of the wall.

‘Now that’s not something you see all that often’ murmured Kath, intrigued despite her fears.   

No-one took any notice of her; they were all too busy looking at Viola, who had strode forward to the doors and, apparently without giving it any thought, had moved to press a hand against the hard surface of each door simultaneously. Then she whispered something that no-one else could hear.

‘Wait!’ shouted Kath, but it was too late. Viola looked back at her with unfocused eyes. She seemed to be working to some internal compulsion invisible to everyone else.

The doors swung open.

Kath shook her head wearily.

‘I just thought it might be worth checking that it was safe’ she said softly. They stared though the doors. 

The city was lit up by the summer sun. Everything in it was a shade of green, except where flowers clustered in splashes of red, blue and yellow.  None of them could see clearly where the vegetation ended and the city began; but, just as with the walls, there were no ruins. There was no way to tell whether it had always been like this or whether the plants had simply learned to live with the city harmoniously.  Without a second thought Viola strode through the doors. The other followed more cautiously into the strange hybrid place. 

Akenopteryx flew on to Hardacre’s shoulder. She spoke with considerable relish.

‘I told thee that our Lady Viola is an architect, did I not?’

‘Yes, you did’ he responded, ‘I am sorry that I doubted thee’

‘So, you see’ continued the little bird, her voice full of hope, ‘we are in safe hands’

Hardacre murmured noncommittally but said no actual words. He had begun to consider what he would do if he was confronted by Bea or by Vala again – she would undoubtedly be there too. At that moment he had no answer but he had to think fast; it could happen at any moment. He could only hope to outrun the pursuers for long enough to allow them to escape or to summon help. Neither possibility seemed very likely now. He just hoped that their little scout was right.   

Chapter fifty

Somewhere very far from home

 

Celia slept at the edge of two worlds, in a hammock of insect silk, with Boo slumbering on her stomach. She slept deeply but yet she still dreamed. 

 A very tall black elf stood over her bed; he was the colour of midnight and bitumen. The stranger, whose face she had trouble focusing on, grinned down at her.

‘Well met, mighty witch queen! ’

She struggled up. She was home in Eth City and there was no sign of either Owen or Boo. She was dressed in the same long nightshirt that she’d been wearing at The Anchor. She felt very grateful that she’d slipped it on a few minutes earlier when she’d gone to the bathroom.   That that thought made no sense didn’t occur to her for a while.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded. 

Her intruder bowed. He was naked and elf-shaped but, as with his face, there seemed to be nothing to focus on – no definition, no colour, no clear shape: he was an approximate elf seen through murky water.  His fuzzy smile broadened.

‘You can call me Kojo[1] – I like that name – I was given it by you humans a very long time ago, when I first padded up to warm myself by a camp fire’

‘I don’t care what you’re called – what are you doing in my bedroom?’

He laughed and lifted up the hem of her nightdress very slightly so that her ankles were briefly revealed. He didn’t seem to need hands for that at all.

‘Well, bedrooms are a place that I do love, but the people in them are usually wearing less unflattering clothes. Or no clothes at all, if my work is going really well’

She stopped herself from blushing (some witches can do that). She was damned if she’d let an intruder embarrass her.

‘Why are you here?’ she growled, preparing to zap him where he stood if necessary.

‘Well, I’m not really here’ he said, ‘and neither are you. You’re asleep and I’m in your dream. You see it’s just a lot easier to infiltrate a dream when everything else in the dream is totally normal, otherwise one has to deal with all the boring extra flotsam in the dream – or do I mean jetsam?’ He pretended to wonder about this for a second.

Celia shook herself, so that her nightgown shivered. I’m dreaming. Of course I’m dreaming. Only the gods knew where she was in reality. It certainly wasn’t at home in her bedroom. 

‘Why are you inside my dream, then?’ she asked, relaxing slightly. Zapping probably wouldn’t work anyway.

‘Well – you’re in the deepest part of the deepest sleep that you’re ever likely to experience, so this seemed like a jolly good time to sneak in and find some things out, then sneak out. You’ll never remember this conversation; at best you’ll have a shadowy memory of me, who is, as you can see, often a bit on the shadowy side anyway. I have no desire to leave any trail’

‘What are you trying to find out?’

‘Whether it’s worth staying on for a bit longer. I’m beginning to wonder if I should leave before everything starts to get a bit too wearisome. Eventually even the best heavy stuff is a bit boring, don’t you think? Particularly when things are starting to fall apart ’

‘Are things falling apart, then? What do you mean?’

‘Oh yes – no-one took into account mad witches when they set up this lovely little clockwork toy. And they certainly didn’t expect coruscatingly insane witches with petulant death wishes. I was all for humans you know – they are so wonderfully raw and brief, but we can’t have them breaking out of their cages’

She was beginning to realise what he meant.

‘You mean Kratos – and Bea, the necromancers? You mean that they are the vandals, do you?’

He laughed as if considering the punch line of a mildly amusing joke.    

‘We made you, as stupid, brutish children, scooped from the pure energy of the void, fashioned into roughhewn minds and then left to get on with it. So what did we expect? Anyway, we got what they deserved; centuries of unfettered couplings have sired these splendid monsters. And now, in horribleness at least, they threaten to outgrow their parents.’

‘I don’t understand…’

He looked at her intently and smiled in some way so that made his face suddenly clear. She was astonished by the intensity of his gaze. He had the kindest mouth and cruellest eyes that she had ever seen. She had no desire to spend any more than the shortest possible time looking at them, but she sensed that not everyone would share her repulsion.  She looked away.

‘You’re immune’ he said, his voice lower, ‘well, isn’t that extraordinary. Maybe they are right about you after all. Maybe you are our… ’ He stopped himself with a sharp frown, ‘…I mean ‘their’ saviour, after all’

Even in the dream, her heart sank. This was becoming a distressing refrain.

‘I’m just a jobbing witch’ she said, ‘helping wherever I can. I’m no-one’s saviour – I work as one small part of a team’

He yawned ostentatiously.

‘Well, that really is rather tedious stuff I’m afraid – I have absolutely no interest in your many limiting weaknesses. I just need you to tell me how likely it is that you’ll be able to wipe out those two rabid mongrels, (beautiful though they were once, admittedly) and let us get on with enjoying this wonderful thing… ’

Celia shook her head. His voice was soft, and sweet and sour. She could feel her skin prickling, as if a host of centipedes were crawling over it.

‘Why are you asking me? I know nothing’

He took in a deep ham-actor’s breath and the whole of his body swirled like smoke.

‘Humility, modesty, tolerance, kindness… The list of human ‘virtues’ is the most boring thing in the universe, it really is. It’s exactly the things that those two rogues have eschewed, and just look how much they’ve achieved. Most of it hugely unhelpful, admittedly, but nonetheless…’

‘I’m sorry’ she said stubbornly, ‘my group are trying to find and destroy Kratos and Bea, that is true, but we have had very little success’

‘But you defeated him, on that hilltop in Huatalacan. The earth shook with thunder and the birds of the air rose as a host; well, for twenty minutes or so. It was quite a sensation’

‘It was luck’ she said firmly, ‘blind luck – I would not be able to repeat it’

He shook his head. He seemed caught between disappointment and exultation.

‘I am not surprised – they are consummate experts of their craft, particularly the witch lord. I have seen his laboratories, his libraries, his workshops. His island crackles with the energy of wild creation, he has the best minds there you know: it was all so marvellous when all he wanted was power. But, even I draw the line at destroying absolutely everything. It’s hard to be a jester to the void.’

Celia was astonished.

‘Island?’ she said, ‘he occupies an island? We had no idea. Where is it?’

He lifted his head back and pursed his lips.

‘As if I’d tell you that…’

‘But why wouldn’t you?’ she asked insistently, ‘you just said that you don’t want the world to end…’

‘True – but I can’t get involved. It’s my job to stir up, confuse and titillate, but never be let it said that I helped a person’. He shivered. It was like vapours dancing.

‘Why did you go to all this trouble then? Why did you invade my sleep?’

‘Because I’m nosy and because there was an opportunity, and normally these things aren’t risk free. The last thing I want to do is bump into more frequent dream intruders. I know my lump of a brother has been known to…’ He stopped himself. ‘Anyway, as you have said, you know nothing and have no plan, so I really do seem to have wasted my time’

He studied her closely for a few more seconds and then he smiled, almost a little sadly. His tragicomic pity was like a raw wind.  

‘That’s that then’ he said, quietly ‘looks like it’s time to start packing. I’m not of a mood to sit around waiting for the end of the world, I must say. It is a bit of a shame, though. It was quite a ride – intrigue, pride, hatred, lust and fear, and all of it all at once… there’ll never be another place like this, I’m telling you…’ His voice trailed off – he was no longer talking to her; it sounded like distant dinner party conversation.

He made to turn away and disappear back into the waking realm. His body began to melt, like rain streaming upwards from black snow.  She looked at his leaving not with terror or awe but with a pique of extraordinary irritation. Her voice rose to meet her mood.

 ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she barked

He turned back, the slushy downpour reforming back into snow again.

 ‘Away…’ he said, half-smiling, ‘and be assured that you will never see me again’

She shook her head.

‘No you’re not going – not yet. This isn’t the real world you know. I’m sure that there you would be able to escape in as second. I know exactly what sort of thing you are – I can feel your power’

‘And that’s true in any world, my dear lady’ he said, bowing facetiously, ‘some truths never alter’

As he unbent she took a step closer to him and fixed her eyes on his.

‘So why haven’t you gone yet then?’

His gaze remained unflinching but she was certain that she saw a tiny tremor in his face.

‘Because I choose not to’ he insisted, ‘you entertain me. Such a strange meld of strength and weakness’

‘Is that so? Well, I’m not sure that dreams work like that, you know; I’m not sure they are actually under conscious control. I’m no expert but I think that if you’re in my dream then in some sense I must in yours too, and I think that then it’s a matter of pure will, not of power. And sometimes I surprise myself’

His body began to lose its shape again, twisting and turning like wind-blown clouds, but his gaze seemed trapped by hers. His voice was edged, quite suddenly, with irritation.  

‘What do you want, witch?’ he snapped, ‘I think that you’ve proven your point. I’ll appoint you Empress of Dreamspace and you can rule your little realm for ever. I promise never to cross your borders again’

‘I want you tell me where Kratos’s island hideout is’

He sniggered. He had stopped struggling to break free.

‘What good will that do you? You won’t be able to recall anything roughly two seconds after I’ve told it to you. This deep inside a dream it will all trickle away; you won’t remember a dickybird’

‘Nonetheless – I want you to tell me. You can at least give me some temporary satisfaction’

She held his eyes doggedly. It couldn’t last long, but she might as well make him squirm a little. God or no god, he was clearly a bit of a git.  

‘Well, I guess that if you’re clever enough to remember anything then you deserve to use it, and if you’re that clever then you might be resourceful enough to defeat our… your… enemies. Not that I care much, of course…’

‘Tell me, then…’

His eyes began to fade. Soon he’d escape. It was time to give in.

‘Please…’ she implored him, softly.

His eyes were free now, but he stayed a little longer. He gave a wry smile – for once it looked to be just what it was – no trickery. 

‘It’s a volcanic island at the very western end of the Pedamon archipelago, hidden from navigation by enchantments. It’s on the Architect’s maps, if you can find them, although I have no idea what they called it then.  You barbarians renamed it Pelican Island, rather unimaginatively, but now he calls it Ynys Bara, the last island. He has a great sense of the dramatic, does Kratos. He’s rather ridiculous, to be honest, but then aren’t you all?’

‘But how do we find it?’

‘It’s in folded space, but it can be reached by boat if you throw away your charts and suspend your disbelief.  Make for the Green Isle of Hoy. Sail to it from the east, round it twice anticlockwise on the north side, and then bear due south for a day. Just don’t be distracted by anything you might see on the way. I travelled that route recently  – it’s rather an extraordinary thaumato-geographical experience’

‘How have you been there?’

‘Well, that’s none of your business, but if you must know – I went in disguise, they never knew who I was at all, and I went because I was…’ he hesitated. She sensed that the word he gave her was not the one that had sprung first to his mind, ‘…fascinated, and I wanted to find out what was going on’  

‘But…’

‘No more questions, witch lady. I have broken free!’ 

He laughed and dissolved into a triumphant squall. The bedroom began to flex and bulge. It had had enough of being a room.         

Celia sank down to the ground.  How could she remember all of this? Perhaps if she wrote it down she could hide it somewhere? She knew this was nonsense, but what else did she have?

The dream space began to slip away. It was like a holed and rusty ship being pushed into a deep harbour. Pointless, she knew, but she still had to try something. She struggled up to her dream desk and pulled open the desk drawer. Inside was a pile of paper. She scrabbled out a sheet, along with a pencil, and forced herself to scrawl his words on it as best she could. Fortunately this seemed much easier in a dream. She folded up the paper and put it into the ball of her hand.

The bedroom had now slid under the waves and she was treading water in a grey glassy sea. She struggled to keep the paper above the water, kicking out for dry land; the wind seemed to blow her on towards a vague shoreline.  She reached it and pulled herself up.

The sea rolled into a massive oak-beamed library – there were two steps up and then the bookcases began.  They library had no roof. Celia ran up along the aisle from Z to A, looking for a book that she recognised; one that she might be able to find again.

There was a crack of thunder overhead. Torrential black rain began to fall, and a river formed at her feet. She scrambled through the burgeoning mud and reached for the first book that she could grab on the shelves. It was a volume of Kalappos’s Secret Elven Histories. Why had her mind chosen that book?  It was in Old Elven and she had certainly never read it or even heard of it before. She opened a page at random, intending to stuff her sheet of paper inside it, and her eyes instinctively scanned a few lines:

So, when the east fell, Adrial was overcome by his fears and despite the endless love of his lady he could not resist despair and he fell into it and was consumed by it. And Ophia knew at the end that she had been mistaken…

What was that? It seemed to be nothing to do with her at all. She laid the note in the page, shut the book up and pushed it securely back into the shelf. She had the sense that a tiny spider has on a balloon of silk.

She dropped back into the mud and inky water. Her nightdress was sodden but she didn’t mind. She just wanted to get away from here, to sleep on in the hope of waking.  The flood took her back down into the grey ocean and then covered her like a stone falling onto a coffin. She allowed the dream to finally unravel and its parts were scattered everywhere.

---

[1] Pronounced ‘koy-yo’