The Hidden Queen, page 46
What Da did was dramatic. Paintings of it all over Thesa. But it didn’t kill anything close to all the demons. There’re thousands out here in the mountains. I can sense them all around us.
Corelings tend to come in two types. Wanderers and Regulars. Wanderers don’t like to sit still. They’ll haunt an area with good huntin’, but unless there’s prey right in front of them, any ruckus will draw their attention, and they’ll wander off to have a look.
Regulars find a spot they like and just keep rising there, lyin’ in wait, until something to eat comes along. There’s lots of old ruins in the mountains, the remains of towns and villages the corelings likely destroyed hundreds of years ago after the Return. The Regulars must’ve kept on hidin’ in the same spots all that time, waiting for dinner to come back.
And now it has.
Corelings seem just as caught in the strange flows of magic as us. They patrol the currents like guards on a walltop. Our music nudges them out of our path, but we can’t risk sending them running. If I’m right, these currents flow right to Alagai Ka himself, and I expect he’s readin’ them like a book. Can’t risk anything that draws too much notice.
The drift takes us deep into the mountains where even the low points are high enough for air and vegetation to thin. Snow still tops some trees, and the peaks are covered in it. All four of us sleep in a huddle under the blankets now, any awkwardness lost in the need for warmth.
The road we’re on is nearly invisible, but now that I know where to look, I see hints of it jutting from the dirt and scrub, bits of crete and masonry that likely spanned all the way to Angiers, once upon a time.
But then the road, and the flows, take us to a sheer cliff face, formed where two mountains smashed together in some violent event long ago. Doubt the others could climb it without ropes, and it would mean leaving the horses. Don’t think that would end well for them with so many demons around, warded barding or no.
“We’ll have to go around,” Selen says.
I can’t talk while playing my pipes, which is just as well, ’cause I don’t have an answer. Selen’s right, but I don’t understand why. The magic doesn’t go around. I can see it just flowing into the stone, even though that’s impossible. And what’s that noise, like distant thunder?
I pull up, adding power and rising volume to my pipes. Arick and Rojvah follow without question, and as my eyes flick to Rojvah, she knows what I need without havin’ to say anything. She touches her choker, lifting her voice until it echoes from the peaks.
I realize I’m staring. Even here, when we ent had a good-night kiss in weeks, just lookin’ at her too long puts my head in a spin.
I close my eyes and turn my attention back up front, listening carefully for the echo of her voice against the cliff.
I ease my playing, and Rojvah dials her choker back down. I lead us in the other direction, lower and lower until our song barely shields us from notice. In the relative quiet I can filter it out, searching for that distant thunder. It’s beneath us, something I feel as much as hear.
Fault lines, books of the old world call ’em. Great plates of stone that separate the surface world from the molten Core, still grinding against one another, thousands of years after spawning these mountains.
Yet even that sound and vibration does not echo as it should. I can see the cliff at the end of the road with my own eyes, but the rest of my senses are telling me part of it ent there. I give Dusk Runner a kick, heading right for the gap.
“Darin!” Selen’s voice is a harsh whisper. “What are you…” Her voice trails off as I ride right into the wall and keep on going, enveloped by the illusion. Everything goes black for a bit, and then it’s a web of magic too complex for me to understand.
Fear grips me. This is Alagai Ka’s web I’ve just stumbled into like a wood-brained fool. For a moment I think the wardnet will kill me, or react to my presence in some way. A shock, or a barrier, like the circles we use to keep the corelings out.
But I keep playing my pipes, and the magic seems to flow around me like I’m slippery. A moment later things go black again before I come out the other side, finding a narrow pass, about as wide as the old road. I turn around, once more seeing sheer rock.
I turn back, reaching out with my senses along the path ahead, but things have changed, this side of the net. The breeze blowing over me is warm and fresh and doesn’t smell like coreling at all.
“Darin Bales!” Selen shouts.
“It’s a magic trick!” I call as loud as I dare. “Keep playing and just ride right through!”
“Corespawn it, Darin,” I hear Selen mutter, but Rojvah’s voice and Arick’s kamanj draw closer, and then the three of them slip out of the stone like ghosts.
Arick looks back at the rock face. “Do you suppose that’s what it’s like for the demons, when we charm them into thinking we’re not there?”
It isn’t quite the same, but it’s not all that different, and that scares me. Wonder what we’re riding into as we press through the narrowest part of the pass, headin’ down, down, into a little sliver of a valley, like a wound between mountains that hasn’t had time to heal.
A mimic demon hungers beneath a city in an eastern mountain valley, Aunt Leesha’s dice told us, almost a year ago.
This is the problem with dice. Can’t rippin’ understand them even when they’re right, and there’s no way to know when they are and when they ent.
But this has got to be the place. Reckon that pass is hard to spot even in the day, and we still can’t see what lies below. Magic rises from the Core in gaps and natural paths on its way upward. Here, where the plates grind against one another not far below, there must be vast amounts of magic venting to the surface.
But where is that power? All the magic in the area is being sucked back down instead.
The demon hive was a massive three-dimensional greatward made of tunnels, not unlike what we saw Alagai Ka build beneath Desert Spear. A mind demon tried to build one right under Tibbet’s Brook, until my aunt Selia put a stop to it.
Mam told me Alagai Ka called the Free Cities breeding grounds. Her imitation of the demon’s laugh used to scare the piss out of me.
Reckon if I was a demon that din’t want to be found, I’d build one of those greatwards up in the mountains where there’s a big magic vent, and hide my breeding ground where no one would think to look.
No watchtowers, guards, or signs anyone’s been here recently at all, but the dice, and my gut, say there’s people down below. A larder for the demon king and his expecting queen. But what will the folk in the larder be like? Will they be like the alamen fae, kept so long as livestock they forgot how to be human?
The path widens, but still it goes steadily down. I signal the others, and we move off the road to a spot sheltered a bit by jutting stone. It’s warmer still down here, and there’s a crop of spring grass for the horses to chew as we wait for sunrise.
“Should we set up the circles?” Selen asks.
I stop playing and let my pipes hang from my belt. “Can’t hurt, but if there’s any demons this side of that net, I can’t sense them.”
Arick and Rojvah tentatively cease playing and help set up the circles. “Perhaps that wardnet was not demon-made,” Rojvah ventures. “Perhaps there are people here.”
“Ay, maybe,” I say. “Reckon we should wait for sunrise to go have a look.”
Rojvah nods, but she takes out her casting cloth, Micha’s earring, and the dice. This time, when she casts the bones, she gives a gasp, turning to look down the path ahead.
“What is it?” Selen asks.
“The earring’s mate,” Rojvah points, “is down there. I’m sure of it.”
“Could be the wardnet we just passed was blocking the signal,” I say. “Can you…” I shrug, “ring it, or whatever?”
Rojvah shakes her head. “Not without boosting its power more than I dare, if we wish to remain unseen. Even at its normal power, there is risk, if it is not in Kendall’s possession.”
“The jewel could be riding in a demon’s belly,” Arick notes.
“Or in a pile of treasure Alagai Ka sleeps on at night,” Selen says.
“Someone could have taken it from her,” I say. “Even if there’s people down there, we’ve no reason to expect they’re friendly.”
“Ay,” Selen agrees. “That’s why we should wait here a bit while you…” She waggles her fingers.
“While I what?” I ask.
“While you go be Darin,” Selen says. “Skulk. Turn the color of paint. Listen in and learn secrets.”
I scowl. “I don’t do that.”
Everyone laughs. “Of course you do, cousin,” Arick says.
I blow out a breath, knowing they’re right, but scared to go on alone. But that’s my problem, ent it?
“Give me the day,” I say. “I’ll come back at nightfall.”
Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I set off at a run.
Got to admit Selen was right. Been so used to keepin’ with the group, I’ve forgotten how much they hold me back. Might be like other folk when the sun is on me, but here in the dark I’m as fast as I want to be, and can jump and climb like a squirrel.
Got my warded cloak and pipes, but I don’t need them to move unseen, even if someone’s lookin’ with night eyes. Plenty of rocks and crags and crevices to hide me, though I ent sure what from. There’s animals about, but just the regular kind. Ent seen a demon track or smelled their stink anywhere.
Smell of people’s getting stronger, along with signs of habitation. The air grows warmer and warmer as I breeze past grazing fields with low fences to keep animals from wandering. Herds of sheep, goats, and cattle left to spend the night with little fear of thieves or predators.
Steps begin to appear, cut into the rock where the slope must have been too steep. Long use has worn the grooves of cart wheels into the stone. There are no walls, gates, or wardposts. No wards of any kind. Either these people have never seen a demon, or they ent afraid of them.
The steps get wider and more frequent, until they become a complete road, zigzagging down a steep cliff to a verdant valley floor. Ent surprised when I come to an outcropping with a panoramic view and get my first look at Safehold, but the sight stuns me nevertheless.
It’s beautiful. If I’m to tell honest word, it may be the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.
The city is cut right into the cliff face, soaring façades carved into the stone that imply great depth within, running along the long, wide steps beside aqueducts that carry snowmelt from above down to feed a wide pool on the fertile valley floor.
I smell flowers and orchards and fruiting fields below, seeing their auras as a soft green glow. Crops’re further along than they ought to be this time of year. Safehold is unnaturally warm, with no sign winter ever truly comes.
As with most places, it looks like the rich folk live up at the top of the caldera, where the view is breathtaking. Bigger façades grace the top steps, ornately carved and luxurious. Things get more crowded on the way down, with smaller homes mixed in with warehouses, shops, and gathering halls.
Everyone’s asleep, at least for a little while longer, but this is no small hamlet. My senses tell me there are thousands and thousands living here in the caldera walls, even if you’d never see them from above.
The valley floor is wider in the center, narrowing on either end. I’m on one side of the fissure, and as I run my eyes over the crevasse, I see it, nestled at the far end of the valley.
The rock face is carved into the likeness of a demon’s head, with a great gate at the center of its open maw.
* * *
—
After Mam’s tales of the alamen fae, I expected any folk in the demon’s Safehold to be primitive, but this place looks…regular. Maybe not sophisticated like Hollow or Everam’s Bounty, but the level of craft and artistry in this beautiful tiered city speaks of a people that are more than simply cattle for a mind demon.
I find the prints of sandaled feet, and they ent much bigger’n mine. Give me hope we might be able to blend in and have a look around without drawing too much attention.
The sky lightens, but the sun takes its time creeping into the little valley. Folk are beginning to stir now. I can hear them stretching and groaning, filling chamber pots and pulling on clothes. Mumbled words, but I can’t make out what’s being said.
I flit down the steps as fast as I can, sometimes forgoing the path entirely and simply jumping or climbing straight down to the next tier. Folk start coming out of their homes, opening shops, putting out wares, starting their day. Their clothes are a little different, but not so much they would seem too out of place at any busy marketplace in Thesa.
Their talk’s gibberish at first, but after a minute I realize they’re speaking Ruskan, or a dialect of it. Ruskan’s a dead language—or so we thought—but I learned a little from Hary Roller. He had me practice the accent for hours to play supporting roles as my master acted out scenes from classic Ruskan theater, or sang Ruskan songs. I can ask about the weather, recite King Waldomir’s soliloquy, and cuss to make Mam threaten to wash my mouth with soap. That’s a fair sight from understandin’ these folk, but it tells me somethin’ about ’em.
It’s not hard to keep from being noticed when I can hear, smell, and see folk long before they can me. The only road is these long, irregular steps, but there are plenty of places to hide as I make my way to my destination.
I can smell lye soap a mile away. Nose leads me right to a laundry shop and I slip inside. It’s steamy, with a line of water from the aqueduct to fill the vats, and piles of clothes, clean and dirty.
I got a good look at what folk on the street were wearing. Most just had on a loose robe and pants with simple sandals, all of it woven by hand. The colors and cuts vary, but I think more for style than a sign of station. Likewise, some men had beards, and others were clean shaven.
Doesn’t take long to find a set that fits. I hear the launderer comin’ and change quickly. By the time he enters the shop, I’ve slipped back out the door, looking much more like the other folk on the steps. I keep my head down and move quick, and no one seems to take especial note of me.
The sun’s full on the western caldera now, and people have come out in droves to greet the day. The eastern side remains in shadow, but I see movement there, as well.
If I’m to tell honest word, Safehold seems like a nice place. Everyone seems to be in good health, with plenty of shops, markets, and friendly faces. There’s laughter, and an ease about them, even as they go about their chores. Kids play, adults watching them with one eye as they cook and gossip and play at table games in the sun. There are men and women with staves who make rounds, but no one shies away when they pass. Reckon they don’t have a lot of call to keep the peace.
No beggars. No homeless or hungry. No one truly old, sickly, or infirm.
It’s what towns ought to be, but I ent ever seen one that really was. I want to relax, but something still feels off.
Downright hot down near the bottom, where the rich soil of the valley floor feels warmed from below. Ent a spot wasted, the lands around the central pool are full of crops, all flourishing despite the weak light. Ent an expert, but I grew up on a farm, and that don’t seem right.
This place…this perfect idyll, safe from coreling claws without ward or wall, didn’t happen by accident. Time may have weathered it into something almost natural, but I can see Alagai Ka’s hand in it.
Ducking into the cornrows, I make for the gate at the far end of the valley. It’s set into the cliff face, surrounded by a wide plaza of white stone. At its center…
“Night,” I breathe aloud in disbelief. There, plain as day, is a statue of rippin’ Alagai Ka, standing benignly over the statue of a kneeling woman.
Friendly folk, but they worship a demon. Folk are here prayin’ already, laying flowers by the statue, and bowing in the direction of the demon mouth gate. The main doors are thirty feet high, but there’s a smaller, human-sized door at the center.
Don’t see hinges, a bar, or a lock on either gate. Reckon they only open from the inside, and I don’t think it’s going to go well for this town when the big one opens.
I’ve seen paintings of the Mouth of the Abyss, and heard Mam’s stories. Always assumed it was the ancient Krasians who carved that gate to look like a demon, but maybe it wasn’t? Maybe the demons themselves had a hand in it.
We can hunt all we want, but I reckon one way or another, the trail’s going to lead us here. If Mam and Aunt Leesha are alive, that’s where they’ll be.
I get closer, examining the seam around the door. Come nightfall I could turn slippery, maybe squeeze inside, but I ent fool enough to do it alone. Maybe I can get in and then open it from inside to admit the others?
Or maybe it’s a trap. Demon ent stupid. Might not know when we’ll show up, but he knows we’re comin’.
I’m so focused on the door, it takes me a moment to catch the scents behind me. There’re big stone plinths on either side of the gate to hold ceremonial braziers, smelling of lamp oil and old flame. I duck behind one quick, before I’m seen.
“Get me an axe and I’ll just chop the corespawned thing down,” Wonda grouses.
“You really think it’ll be that simple, Won?” Kendall is sketching the gate and its surroundings in a notebook with a charcoal stick. She even takes a few moments to draw the plinth I’m hiding behind. They’re dressed in robes and loose pants like the rest of the Safeholders.
“Ay, maybe not,” Wonda agrees, “but less a risk than tryin’ to get through that crowd without bein’ spotted and torn apart.”
