The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 106
“Does Notch seem in a dark mood lately?”
“Somewhat.”
“We should keep an eye on him; I’m worried.”
Emilio nodded and they spoke no more until reaching the windswept plateau. Notch and Emilio examined the camp, deducing that a large group had indeed climbed on toward the peak. Sofia glanced at the other two exits – west and east. The east path led down, presumably to Padin’s poison.
“Do we camp here?” Emilio asked.
Sofia shook her head, wrestling with her robe a moment. “No. We need to try to make up for the head start Marinus has. We’ll find another place.” She started forward and had barely taken half a dozen steps up the path leading to the peak when her limbs grew heavy. She blinked. The stones and small, steely shrubs, the trail, the very sky, it was all darkening. Her heartbeat slowed and she wavered, falling to one knee.
“Sofia!” Emilio caught her shoulder and she fell back.
“I can...barely move,” she gasped.
He lifted her back to the plateau where she sat, leaning against her pack and breathing hard. Sofia blinked again as her vision brightened. Her heartbeat returned to normal and she was able to lift her hand to accept the flask of water Notch handed her, his own face full of concern.
“What happened, My Lady?” Emilio asked.
She drank. “I don’t know. I just started to feel...weak. My heart slowed and I couldn’t see anymore. It was nearly impossible to move.”
Notch swore. “It’s Padin. I bet if you take the eastern trail, you’ll be well but if you try to climb again, your strength will start to fade.”
“Let’s find out,” Sofia said.
She removed her pack and started toward the path leading up and barely two steps now and her vision dimmed. She fell back.
A debt to pay.
Chapter 42.
Silaj met Ain at a lookout’s post just before dawn. The steel-grey of the sky cast shadows over the camp below, where the Cloud and Western Clans were sheltering in the canyon, protected by the tall ridges of red and brown stone that thrust up from the Wasteland. Huddled within were tents and supplies, picket lines for the mounts, everything rushed to safety by those who survived the Wards. Regular patrols circled the camps and sentries were posted along every ridge, including a makeshift post for Majid and Dekka at the entrance to the canyon – from where darklings had already tried to enter.
All had been repelled; Majid’s skill grew with each day.
Ain had not been idle. Beyond the wards, before locating their current camp, Ain had destroyed a few paths and sent shockwaves following back down to shatter the darklings. Raila assured him he was a hero all over again, and people were coming to look at him with something odd in their eyes – gratitude and adulation. Even awe.
But he hadn’t been able to save them from the Wards.
Too many he would not see again. Kafik amongst them and even little Wim, the poor boy; no more would Ain see his beaming face, hear his giggle. The Sands had shown their cruelty again. Schan would have told him it was the way of the world. That he had to be strong for those who remained. The man’s parting words, before he left for his own lands, had been similar.
“What if the darklings attack?” Ain had asked. “Even with the men Raila is sending with you, it’s too dangerous.”
He had only smiled. “It is dangerous, Ain but I have to know. My people are in danger too, I can feel it. I must be there for them.”
“You mean to die with them,” Ain said softly.
Schan gripped his shoulder. “That might be the way of it but I doubt the Sands will reveal that to me ahead of time.”
“I don’t...you have to survive, Schan.”
“And you have to be strong for Silaj, no matter what you face,” he’d said.
A hand fell onto Ain’s shoulder, breaking his reminiscing as it turned him away from the camp. “I know what you’ve proposed, Ain,” Silaj said. Her hair was tied away from her face, held back by a bone clasp. “Send Majid instead.”
He looked away. “I cannot.”
She moved her hand to his face, meeting his gaze again. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone now, I don’t need ‘Ain Hero of the Cloud.’ I’m happy with ‘Ain, Husband and Father.’ Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Then you’ll stay?”
Ain opened his mouth but closed it again. Sands, how could he choose? “If I don’t try and we all die – me, you, Jali, your mother, Jedda – if we all die and I could have saved the Clans...Someone must do this.”
“Then send Majid.”
Ain took her hand and with one arm around her back, led her closer to the edge of the ridge, pointing far below, where darklings milled about on the sand. Occasionally some leaped at the wall of stone, others scrambling as if to climb.
None managed the task.
“I do not want Jali to come into a world where those things are a part of it.”
“Nor do I,” she said. She bit her lip and looked away.
“I have to try and stop them.” He placed a hand on her swelling stomach. Something, somehow, life waited within. He swallowed. Jali. “And I don’t want to leave either of you.”
She squeezed him as she rested her head against his chest. “I would go with you, if it weren’t for our child.”
“And I would welcome that.”
She looked up at him and tears stood in her eyes. “Jali will be here within weeks, Ain. Promise me.”
“I promise I will return. I did before, I will do so again.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Sands, I will.”
***
When the Elders came to tell him his plan had been approved, and that he, Wayrn, Jedda and Narinu from the Western Clan would be leaving for Anaskar at noon, Ain swallowed and excused himself from the tent.
The winter sun fell upon his face, warm but gentle.
If only he could stay.
How selfish he was!
A pair of children ran by the tents, laughing as one of the guards called for them to slow down. He knelt in the sand, running a hand through the grains. So clean, beautiful even. The Sands were his home. They were everyone’s home – they would be Jali’s home too, one day.
Majid was strong enough to leave, but Majid didn’t know the city. Ain did – but would it be enough, even with Wayrn, to make a difference? Surviving the journey back to the City of Secrets, which might still be under attack, locating someone to help, discovering if the Anaskari could stop the darklings, if they even knew what the creatures were, and all before the darklings overran the camp.
All of it no more than desperate hope.
“Lad?”
Jedda stood beside him.
“How can I leave them?” Ain asked.
“Because you want to protect them. And not only them.”
Ain stood. “I only hope she understands, as she says.”
“Return to her and it won’t matter,” Jedda said.
“Then I am ready.” He gestured to the pack he had brought and left outside, anticipating the Elder’s decision, and lifted it to his shoulder. “Will you gather the others at the entry?”
Ain watched his old friend leave, directing the rest of the search party toward Majid’s position. Yet he had no task to complete, he only wanted a moment to send a curse after the darklings, with words he did not wish for Jedda to overhear.
When he joined the party it was with little ceremony that he set off, striding up the climbing path. “We go to save our people.”
Majid chased him from the fortified watch post, blue cloak stirring as he came to a halt. “Ain.”
“Majid, will you protect Silaj?” Ain continued on.
Majid caught his arm. “Of course, my friend. But let me warn you, since you are so preoccupied – darklings approach on the paths. And they feel different.”
“How?” Ain paused. There was a new pattern to the path. Subtle, a flickering. How had he missed it? Doubtless the black mood was responsible. “I feel it now.”
“Then you know, some distance away, yet. Be careful.”
“I will. I’m sorry, Majid.” Ain squeezed Majid’s forearm. “I cannot linger.”
Majid raised a hand in farewell and Ain did the same before hurrying after Jedda. He did not turn back, could not make himself, did not want to see Majid’s expression of pain and worry, or worse, see if Silaj had broken her promise not to see him off.
They had confined their goodbyes to last night.
If he saw her now, standing in the sand by the tents, he would turn back. If he saw her, he would run back.
Chapter 43.
Ain jogged up the baked stone of the path, canyon walls rearing up around him, casting welcome shade. Creeping rock-daisy, their yellow yearning for the sun, clung to cracks between the stone. Of a night, they would close and a new tendril would shoot forth. He passed a boulder that was half yellow.
Jedda only smiled when he arrived. Ain let out a breath. His old friend knew when to stay quiet. Knew when Ain needed time.
He kept the paths within his awareness – an almost welcome distraction from his frustration. The regular paths were present, boot and hoof, but the newer, rapid thunder of the strange path lingered. The darklings Majid warned about? As yet, they were still too distant to be of immediate concern.
Narinu called from where he led the party. Wayrn, his shoulders straighter and his step firmer now, stopped. Jedda lengthened his stride and Ain followed. The Western man stood by a dark opening in the canyon wall. “Perhaps you should lead now, Hero? I don’t fancy myself being useful if a darkling surprises us.”
Ain lit a lamp and switched with the man, then took them along the dim passage, bypassing tangents. When he exited, blinking against the sunlight, he started down the winding path to the Wasteland’s floor of grey sand, stone and earth.
They trekked on, pausing to take water before noon and seeking shade near a slagheap of melted stone and twisted steel. It was as if a wave had swelled and crested, then froze before it broke. Armoured men and their weapons were mixed into the stone, the shape of an elbow here and a pommel there. A face was visible too, the man’s expression frozen in a snarl – even his teeth were faithfully rendered in the rock. How many were buried deeper within?
How terrible the ancient magic. How final that war seemed.
Yet war never truly ended, he knew that.
They did not tarry. Ain walked with an eye on the horizon, the path steady beneath him. Yet there was no stirring of dust, no glimpse of darklings bearing down on them. Instead, just more of the wreckage of the more recent Glass War.
While no stone attacked this time, there were black, mirror-like pieces beneath the dust. His reflection was always distorted – broken, animal-like when he glanced within – so he looked into them no more. A strong breeze whipped up dust as they neared the first stretches of grass, thin and wispy. Grey and yellowed, even such weeds were a welcome sight as they signalled the end of the Wasteland and its dark past.
Beyond stretched greener plains, stands of trees dotted across the dips and the vague lines of possible roads in the distance. Freedom from the Wasteland.
Yet it brought danger too.
The nearer they came to Anaskar...no. He’d done it before, he’d simply have to do it again. If King Oseto survived, he’d welcome Ain back. But if the Renovar invaders had won the city, what would they care about the desert?
“Wayrn?”
The man walked forward. “Yes?”
“I’d like to know what you think about my theory on the darklings.”
He hesitated. “There is merit, Pathfinder.”
“But you are not sure?”
“The Greatmaks and the Sea Beasts are...enigmatic. I doubt any living soul in the whole of the city truly understands them. If the Lord Protector were there, he might be the person to ask. But he was lost in the south when we left.”
“Is there no-one else we might consult?”
“Assuming the invasion was repelled?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “There are other senior Mascare and there are the Storm Singers, Abrensi or Lavinia.”
The others joined them at the edge of the plain. Jedda folded his arms as he stared across the waving grasses. “There is a bigger question, lad.”
“I can guess. How proving the link will actually help us?”
“Right. Any ideas there?”
Ain looked to Wayrn. The man rolled his shoulders. “If they are related to the bones of the Sea Beast then the use of more bones may stop them. If the darklings are a result of the death of the great beast than I fear there is little we can do. How can you appease whatever force is responsible, after such a death?”
“Assuming there is a force to be appeased,” Narinu added.
“True,” Jedda said.
“You don’t think there is? Even after Ibranu’s warning?” Ain asked.
“I don’t think we’ve seen proof yet. Doesn’t mean I’d rule it out though,” he said. “I just won’t jump to any conclusions. If these darklings are a natural response to what has been happening in Sekkati then we may yet find an answer there.”
“Agreed.” Ain knelt and placed a hand in the dust. Still the darklings kept their distance. Even with the faster pulse it was clear – the creatures were not closing in. Were they afraid of him? Unlikely. And yet, the things kept pace. He set his jaw and made a fist, imagining a rope hissing with every pulse, and snapped his wrist, flicking the pulse back along the path.
The creatures receded a little more. Good. There was still hope. “We don’t turn back until we know one way or another.”
Jedda and Narinu nodded.
“I will help you as long as my king wills it,” Wayrn said.
“Thank you.” Ain rose. “Let’s move on. There are still days of walking before we reach the city.”
Yet by the time they reached the edge of the marsh, it became clear that the darklings had other ideas.
“They’re driving us toward the water,” Ain said, rising from where he’d crouched. “The closer we move to the path Schan and I took before, the more darklings seem to mass. I’ve been angling us away from them, taking an alternative and keeping mostly true to east, but they’re planning something.”
“Planning? Are they so intelligent?” Jedda asked. “They seem like beasts to me, cunning but not ones to plan.”
“I hope I am wrong,” Ain said.
They travelled deeper across spongy ground, the damp of the marsh rising around them in a green haze. Black pools of water stood stagnant and insects chirped endlessly. Greying trees grew in little pods, reeds climbing around firm ground. Keeping the path beneath him was easy enough, yet the nearer it passed by water the more fragmented it became – nothing like respite that the ocean had offered.
A long patch of firm land appeared ahead, not dissimilar to that which had revealed the bolthole he’d used on his last visit, but the shapes that appeared from the gloom appeared to be stone. Ruins? He and Schan had not seen such a thing on their last visit, had the darklings pushed him so far off course?
A small building of stone, roof still mostly intact, if half-buried in weeds and vine, overlooked dotted stone peaks in the earth.
“They’re headstones. Graves.” Wayrn bent by one of the cut pieces of stone. “Anaskari names here.” He moved to another. “And here.”
The nearest headstone was chipped and stained with muck. Another had sunk lopsided, the ground around it too soft for Ain to approach any closer. Paths crisscrossed the place but only one was strong enough to suggest a clear way beyond. Oddly enough, the darklings had eased their incessant pulsing. He moved deeper into the strange graveyard. It was not large – perhaps only two dozen headstones in all, some few fallen or sunken.
“Who would build this here?” he asked.
Wayrn looked up from one of the graves. “Some of these names have honorific’s. One is a Priest. Sea Priests, maybe?”
“Here?” Ain asked.
“Perhaps they left to start their own place,” Wayrn said with a shrug.
“It may be so.”
Ain started for the building to join Jedda and Narinu. Halfway there, he stopped. The paths were swirling beneath the earth. He spun. “Wayrn, something is –”
Wet earth burst into the air. It splattered Ain and the headstones too; a cloud of mud covering Wayrn where he crouched. Skeletal figures rose from dozens of holes, twisted mud and weeds squishing beneath their steps. Each skeleton was man-shaped but a darkness clung to their bones as they straightened. Red points grew within eye-sockets and the wisps of green light were sucked from the swamp as they converged on him.
Ain fell back. More darklings?
Wayrn charged through the headstones, wiping at his face, barely missing one of the stone blocks. “Inside,” Jedda roared.
One of the skeletons reached for Ain but he dodged and bent for the ground.
Nothing.
No pulses he could collect and send back, no way to stop them.
Hands wrenched him back. “Now,” Jedda said, pulling him along. Ain stumbled through the graves and into the ruin. Jedda slammed the door shut. “Help me.” Narinu shot to his side and the two dragged a stone bench against the door. Ain grabbed a second, Wayrn on the other end, and together they set it against the door like a crossbar.
The new darklings thumped into the wood but it held.
“There’s one more,” Jedda said as he and Narinu dumped another against the door.
“What about the other rooms?” Wayrn asked. “A rear entry?”
“I’ll check.” Narinu slipped into the back of the building.
Ain fell against the wall. “Trapped.”
“Alive, lad,” Jedda said, raising his voice to compete with the slamming of bone on wood.
“But what now? There is no path to them, no pulse – I cannot stop them. The wood seems to have been treated but see its age? It cannot take that pounding forever.”
“We’ll think of something.”
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