The Glass Breaks, page 15
Another arrow hit the dirt near my foot. The Pure One that fired it was on the edge of another platform and darted away as soon as he’d fired, disappearing inland, likely towards the nearest village.
“Okay, let’s move,” I said, helping Arthur off the path and towards the low ground.
“Three more,” said Jaxon, covering the rear. “We made a noise and we were seen.”
We couldn’t run. The ground was uneven, and Arthur gritted his teeth every few steps. Even when we reached the flat land between the two fields, I was carrying almost half his weight. To the left, over a bramble fence-line, was a field of corn, rising as a wall between us and a distant farm house. To the right, the field was ploughed, but devoid of a crop, meaning that anyone looking in the right direction would easily see us. The forest had appeared close as we walked down from the cliffs; now, as I helped my brother hobble onwards, it looked dangerously far away.
Across the bare field, I saw three more Pure Ones – an adult woman and two young boys. The woman wore a simple grey dress, and the boys scampered behind her when they saw us. They’d appeared out of nowhere, and were more surprised than afraid, as if they’d heard of the Invaders, but never seen them. Our height, our size, our weapons, our curse words – we must have appeared as nothing more than monstrous outsiders. Luckily for them, the woman and her children fled, disappearing across the field. I had no desire to kill three such Pure Ones, but would have been forced to, had they lingered or cried for help. Though the image of their faces stuck with me as I carried my brother onwards.
“Jaxon, check the forest. We need somewhere to lie low.”
“Aye,” replied the Wisp, leaving Arthur and me, and sprinting towards the trees. He kept his head low, but his eyes aware, scanning the farms on either side of us.
“Addie,” grunted Arthur. “The bastard mangled my leg.”
“A poor start to our glorious invasion of the Bay of Bliss,” I quipped, taking as much of Arthur’s weight as I could. “You’ve had worse.”
“Why me? Why didn’t he shoot you or the Icicle?”
“Shut up,” I replied.
We edged forwards, with my brother hopping across the bare earth, keeping weight off his wounded leg. Jaxon had disappeared into the trees, leaving the two of us to limp our way to relative safety.
“When they attack – leg or no leg – I bet I kill more than you,” said Arthur with a pained smile. “Twenty at least before they overwhelm me. Not a bad way to go.”
“Shut up,” I repeated. “You’re not going to die just yet. We’ve got a job to do.”
I heard shouting from the rocky fissures behind us, and the sound of running feet on wooden platforms. It appeared the local Pure Ones were quick to react when their land was threatened, as arrows began to thud into the ground behind us. Thankfully, we were beyond an aimed shot from the platforms and getting hit would be a matter of bad luck.
Jaxon reappeared from the trees and sprinted back to join us. “The forest is wild. No paths, just animal runs. With a head start we can get lost in there easy.”
“If we get there,” grunted Arthur, motioning to the Wisp to come and help him.
With Jaxon on one side and me on the other, we broke into a laboured run, carrying Arthur between us. Arrows now flew over our shoulders, as the pursuing Mirralite reached the level ground. I couldn’t turn to confirm their numbers, but they were a large gang, shouting at each other to cut us off.
The trees loomed ahead. Tall and green with a dense canopy, and leading up to the treeline, a mass of thick bramble bushes and felled tree trunks. We weaved past the first few bushes, keeping foliage between us and our pursuers, but it was clear we’d not outrun them.
I let go of Arthur, positioning as much of his weight on Jaxon’s shoulder as he could stand. “Take him into the trees, I’ll catch up.”
The Wisp nodded and started to move off.
“Fuck off!” snapped Arthur. “If you’re standing here, I’m standing too.”
I looked back along the dirt path, between the two fields. Ten or more Pure Ones were approaching, with dozens more holding back with drawn bows. Those at the front were heavily marked in blue ink, and swinging long-spears.
“You can’t fight,” I said. “Unless I kill the first few, they’ll overwhelm us before we get you healed. You and Jaxon find a place to hide. I’ll buy you time.” I drew my cutlass and appropriated my brother’s.
Arthur wasn’t happy, but the wound in his leg was now bleeding heavily, and he wasn’t so stupid as to ignore his big sister, especially when she was right. They hobbled away, past the bushes and into the trees. I turned to face the oncoming warriors, making sure I had relative cover from the archers. Bramble thickets would not stop a blade at close range, but did wonders when faced with long-range arrows.
“Once more for the Severed Hand,” I whispered, crouching out of sight and edging along a fallen tree trunk. My wyrd was already tingling along my limbs as a consequence of having to flee, and it was a simple matter to flood my extremities with power. Ten men was a lot, even for Adeline Brand, and I squeezed every ounce of strength from my body. I’d need to sleep to recuperate from the expenditure of wyrd, but it was preferable to dying in such a pitiful fashion.
The spearmen slowed as they reached the edge of the forest, clustering together to pick their way through the bramble bushes and fallen tree trunks. When I broke cover, it was behind the lead man. I cut his throat and threw him backwards, into the path of the nearest two. I then hopped over the tree trunk and engaged three more. With two cutlasses I could parry their weak spear thrusts and kill them with minimal effort. Their arms and shoulders were bare, giving me ample room for a killing or crippling blow. As long as they flailed individually to get to me, I was safe, able to tackle them in ones and twos, using the natural cover to my advantage.
“Invader!” they shouted, as if I was their worst nightmare, conjured from a dark pit to end their lives. Each man was frenzied, with tears of anger flowing down their faces. But still they died, unable to match my strength or speed.
My limbs began to burn as wyrd bubbled to the surface. I unleashed a ferocious thrust at a man’s head, driving the blade clean through his face, and wheeled to engage another.
Then I was cut on the cheek by a stray arrow. It turned me sideways just long enough for a glancing blow to strike the side of my head. I tumbled backwards, into a thicket, and struggled to stand, as the remaining Pure Ones surrounded me. I wasn’t sure how many were left, but four spears were being driven downwards. Two were deflected by my leather armour, one missed the mark, just to the left of my head, but the last found a gap between my breastplate and my belt. The steel bit into my side and I howled in sudden pain.
The wound was bad, but a split-second later my wyrd numbed the pain, allowing me to grit my teeth and wrestle the spear from its wielder. More thrusts came in, but I used the spear to pull myself upright and out of the thicket. I rolled forwards, thinking of escape. Behind me, a handful of Pure Ones were still alive, with many more approaching. Jaxon and Arthur had made their escape, and it was time for me to leave.
“Stop them!” bellowed a man at the rear.
“For the Lodge of the Rock!” screamed another.
I had to kill a final man who was quick enough to cut me off, but after he fell from my blade I was amidst trees and thick brush, running north as best I could, whilst holding my bleeding side. Arthur had been shot from cover, wounded by a cowardly attack; I had been cut in a stand-up fight, and gritted my teeth in anger that I’d been so sloppy as to disregard the distant archers.
My pursuers slowed, forming up into a single mob before they entered the forest. I paused next to a gnarled oak tree, and ran my hand down the bark, looking for a sign from Jaxon. Two horizontal cuts formed an arrow, pointing to the left, and I followed the sign, deeper into the trees.
The Mirralite made an almighty racket, stomping and cutting their way into the dense forest. I heard wails of anguish as men reached the bodies of those I’d killed. They were not eager to follow their brothers in death, but neither would they accept Invaders in their lands. And there was something else. They were afraid we would reach something. Some barrier beyond which they felt powerless. They kept saying don’t let them pass the vale, though it meant nothing to me.
They floundered at the treeline, arguing about where I was and the dangers of pursuing. I was well hidden and moving quickly away by the time they’d finished arguing. A good thing too, for my wound made running impossible. If it weren’t for the trees, providing support as I fled, I’d be crawling, with a hand pressed to my wounded side. Luck was with me and the Pure Ones followed only slowly, taking their time and spreading out, and I had a chance to tear a piece of cloth from my belt and soak up the seeping blood.
I moved past trees and around bushes, following marks from Jaxon and staying ahead of the cautious Mirralite, until a wide game trail crossed my path. A large beast hunted the area, and it’d trodden all foliage into a channel of mulch. On the opposite side, hanging on lines of woven rope, suspended on the low branches, were thousands of seashells. A salty smell hit my nostrils, and seaweed, hanging from the branches as ropey tentacles, barred the way ahead. I paused, before crossing the game trail and pushing my way past falling strands of seaweed and dangling seashells.
“Addie!” snapped Jaxon, crouching in the brush, between two fallen trees. “Keep low.”
I ducked into the brush, half vaulting, half falling over one of the tree trunks. Arthur lay opposite me, clutching his wounded leg. They’d removed the arrow and bound the wound. A subtle glow of wyrd swirled over the leg, and I saw my brother wincing as the wound was healed. It would take time, but he’d be fine. My own wound felt like a punch to the heart as I hit the ground and took cover.
“What happened to you?” asked Arthur, sweating from exertion.
“Shush now,” said Jaxon, poking his head over the log and scanning the wide game trail. “I want to see if they’ll cross the line of seashells. I think it’s a warning.”
I pulled myself to my knees, joining the Wisp in looking behind for our pursuers. “A warning from who?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But the spirits here are restless … hostile even. Just wait, we’ll see.”
From a little way down the game trail, a gang of Mirralite appeared. They broke the treeline, but wouldn’t cross the barrier of shells and seaweed. They looked both ways, but said nothing, though several clutched at private tokens or made signs of protection in the air. Grimly, the pursuing Mirralite stowed their weapons and gave up the pursuit, turning back towards their pastures and wooden hunting platforms.
“That answers one question,” said Jaxon. “They’re afraid of something. Now we just need to know what.”
“One tribe hates another,” offered Arthur, still clutching his leg. “Maybe an argument about who gets to fuck the village goat.”
I turned around and took a seat, pulling back a section of my leather breastplate. “Maybe,” I said. “But they looked afraid, not angry.”
Jaxon crouched next to me and prodded at the spear wound in my side. “Nasty,” he said. “Did you lose concentration, or perhaps you let one strike you to make the fight more interesting?”
“Just seal the wound,” I muttered, aware that my brother was smirking at me.
The Wisp placed his palms on my skin and the wound quickly became numb. As my own wyrd receded and exhaustion took over, I felt the gentle touch of healing energy, flowing across my skin. Jaxon put one hand against my forehead and smoothed back my hair. “Sleep, Addie, sleep. Rest in the arms of your wyrd.” I only distantly heard the words, as I fell into a deep sleep.
12
It was approaching dusk when we first spied the village. A night spent in the dense forest had healed our wounds and recharged our wyrd, and we were now within sight of our destination. The Place Where We Hear The Sea was a horseshoe of wood, facing a jagged reef, just off the coast. It had streets of mud, and homes of stone and thatch, though many were in bad repair, with cracked walls and exposed roof frames. It looked old, far older than any other Pure One settlement I had seen. It was like a piece of the landscape, a rock or some-such thing, pressed into the mud of Nibonay a thousand years ago. Yet it was missing the touch of nature that I associated with Pure Ones. There were no trees in the settlement, and the earth had long turned to mud. All that stood out was the square stone building, half-poking out from the shallows of the Bay of Bliss. It was of strange design, different to the rest of the village, with sharp angles and deep recesses.
“What kind of village is that?” asked Arthur, as the three of us looked down from the encircling cliffs. “Is that a building in the sea?”
“It’s not part of the reef,” replied Jaxon. “How many people live there, do you think? A few hundred?”
“I can’t see anyone,” I said. “Looks empty.”
“No, a few hearths still burn,” observed Jaxon, pointing to a series of thatched halls, emanating a dull, golden glow. “Though this is like no village of men I have seen … or felt.”
I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Felt? Speak plain, Jaxon.”
“The glass is thin here,” he replied. “As if some great weight presses on it from the void.”
“Spirits?” queried Arthur.
Jaxon nodded. “Many. Multitudes, but … I don’t know. Something. I don’t want to step to the void and find out, but I think there are more than nature sprits, lurking beyond the glass.”
Arthur scoffed, resting a hand on his cutlass and marching down a steep mountain trail, towards The Place Where We Hear The Sea. The approach was wooded and bathed in deep shadows, allowing us plenty of time to look at the sinister village, though my brother made no effort to be stealthy.
“Sea Wolf confidence works best at the Severed Hand,” said Jaxon. “In the rest of the world it may appear as arrogance.” He looked at me with a sheepish grin. “Ragnar Ice said that.”
“What a pity he’s dead,” I replied. “Such a wise man of an Ice is a loss to the world. Come on, let’s stop him blundering into a fight he can’t win.”
We hurried after my brother, trotting down the mountain trail. Though it was still afternoon, there was heavy cloud cover, and the vales leading to the village soaked up little light. The trees gave way to knotted thorns, and the grass turned to mud and rock.
We reached Arthur, and made sure the three of us approached together and quietly. My brother nursed a slight limp, and it had made him grumpier than usual. Using wyrd to heal wounds was difficult, and Jaxon, though powerful, was no expert healer. The Wisp had patched us both up as best he could, but we were not at our best. The remnant of the spear wound in my side was simply tightness with occasional pain, that would endure until we returned to the hold. But it was a small complaint, and both of us were still able to fight at near-peak efficiency. Arthur just wanted an excuse to be grumpy, as if the sinister village and being so far from home was not enough reason.
We reached a broken wooden fence, encircling a churned patch of mud. Nearby was an old stable, with no beasts or partitions. It was as if these Pure Ones had started farming crops and keeping livestock, but long since lost the inclination. Or perhaps the need. The same was true of the first proper building we reached. It was made of irregular stone bricks, but the mortar was rotten and dusty in places, and the holes were filled with moss and weeds. There were no signs that it was a house, or fulfilled any practical function.
“Tread carefully,” I whispered, as we entered the village. “There’ll be people here somewhere, let’s make sure we see them before they see us.”
“This place stinks,” said Arthur, edging along an angular stone wall. “Rotten fish or something.”
We skulked between two equally dilapidated buildings, approaching a larger building with a pointed roof of muddy-brown thatch. At the intersection, we paused, Arthur looking one way and me looking the other. The street was equal parts stone and mud, forming a strange cobbled pattern that would require hopping, rather than walking, to stay clear of mud. With the streets clear, we advanced into the shadows of larger buildings, where hearths still burned, sending thin slivers of smoke through rickety chimneys, and rusty golden glows through shuttered windows.
We paused again. Jaxon and Arthur held position behind me as I moved to one of the glowing windows. There was no sound but the crackle of a fire. Nothing to cover my movements, so I crept as slowly as I could to the shuttered windowsill. It was waist-high and the light came from a low angle. I crouched into a small shaft of light and looked within.
The light came from a single steel brazier on the floor of a dusty room. The walls and surfaces were low and rotten, as if neglected for years, and no recognizable furniture or comforts lay within, though there were four figures, hunched around the fire. They ate hungrily from a basket of raw fish, filling the air with a frightful smell and making it hard to see their faces, though all of their eyes bulged and their bellies swelled. Their deformities were not as extreme as the creature we’d captured at the Severed Hand, but they were cut from the same abominable cloth. Their full lips smacked together around fish bones, and greasy oils seeped from their mouths.
I took a moment to think, wondering how out-of-our-depth we were, before leaving the shaft of light and returning to the others. “Frog-men within,” I whispered. “Not as fucked-up, but fucked-up enough.”
“Do we give them steel?” asked Arthur.
“No,” I replied. “We need to see more. A few hybrids are no threat. And don’t forget that it took three of us to incapacitate one of them.”
“When not expecting the fight,” countered Arthur. “A prepared duellist is a different opponent to a surprised one. If I was aware, I’d beat any fucking frog-man.”
Jaxon was distracted, looking towards the sea. I prodded him in the ribs. “Wake up,” I snapped. “Unless you sense something worth mentioning, you listen to me.”
