02 Unicorn Rider (23 page)

He stepped through the movements in his head.

Lunge.

Duck and dodge.

Grab the soldier’s arm.

Pull down and turn.

The sword hits the ground, and the odds are evened up a bit.

Easy.

He could do this. He knew he could. All he had to do was wait until the soldier lunged.

But the soldier didn’t lunge. Instead, four gigantic, spidery legs unfurled from beneath his cloak, and suddenly there were too many limbs for Nimbus to even contemplate grabbing one.

As the spider–like monster scuttled towards him, Nimbus’s mind was frozen with horror; so he did not duck, he did not perform the neat little twisting motion that Obsidian had tried to teach him, and he did not disarm his enemy.

‘I am in so much trouble,’ he said.

***

Carnelian dropped onto all fours and started running. The wyverns, suspecting they were in danger, rose into the air with a monstrous flapping and screaming that echoed around the snow–capped reaches of the mountains.

Without slowing down, Carnelian jumped up on one of the rocks near the edge of the clearing, and then propelled himself into the nearest wyvern, wrapping his long arms around its neck. The wyvern screeched, and flapped its wings more frantically; but the weight of the cyclops was too great and they fell together, bouncing and tumbling among jagged rocks. All the way down Carnelian managed to keep his grip around the wyvern’s neck, and when they finally came to a bone–jolting stop, he was lucky enough to land on top of the madly wriggling, snapping monster.

As they continued to struggle – Carnelian attempting to squeeze hard enough to choke the wyvern or break its neck, and the wyvern hissing and kicking and scratching – Carnelian gradually became aware he was being watched.

Despite the dangerous situation he was in, he risked glancing up. A young man, still barely more than a boy, was standing nearby, staring at the cyclops and the wyvern with wide, terrified eyes. The boy had a bow slung over one shoulder, but Carnelian could immediately see the bow would be of absolutely no use because the boy was far too scared to think about using it. Right now the boy was probably far too scared to even think of his own name.

Carnelian’s eye twinkled, and a name came into his head. ‘Hawk,’ he said. ‘Help me.’

The wyvern snarled and bucked violently, its wings slapping around uselessly and its vicious claws scrabbling in the dust. ‘Get off me,’ it hissed. ‘Get off me, you ape.’

Hawk continued to stare at the two legends as they wrestled in the dirt. ‘How...? You...’

‘Help me, Hawk.’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Long story,’ Carnelian panted, using every ounce of strength he had to stop the wyvern from tearing him in half.

‘But, how...?’

‘Maybe less questions, and more helping?’

‘I... Can’t.’ Hawk was backing away, keeping as much distance between him and the wyvern as humanly possible. A shadow passed overhead, and a screech let them know the second wyvern was circling, looking for a suitable place to land.

Carnelian’s eye twinkled again, and a series of images filtered into his mind. In the time it took him to blink, he had learned everything about Hawk’s life that there was to learn. ‘I know all about you, Hawk,’ he said. ‘I know what you’re running from. I know you’re past. But you can’t escape it. Don’t you see? This is why you’re here.’

Hawk backed farther away, shaking his head defiantly. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through.’

‘Don’t you see? You ran from the dragon, but the wyverns still attacked you at the village. Then you ran from the village. You tried to find the most remote place in the mountains it was possible to find, a place where you could hide from your fears, yet look! The wyverns have found you again.’

‘It’s just coincidence.’

‘There’s no such thing, Hawk. Everything that has happened to you, every event in your life, has been leading you towards this one moment. Now you have to decide. Are you going to continue running, or are you going to help me kill this thing?’

Hawk pressed his back against the cold rock. His legs were shaking. Tears glistened in his eyes.

‘Hawk?’ Carnelian panted. ‘I don’t mean to put you under pressure, but I can’t hold this wyvern forever.’

Hawk hesitated for a moment longer, and it really looked like he was going to help; but then he turned away. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, disappearing into a crowded mass of nearby stones. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Humans,’ the wyvern croaked. ‘So weak and pathetic. Why do you help them?’

Carnelian sighed and twisted the wyvern’s neck violently. There was a stomach–churning crack and the wyvern stopped struggling. ‘I’m not helping them,’ Carnelian said, letting go of the dead thing. ‘I’m helping myself.’

A shadow fell across him, and with a horrific scream, the second wyvern swooped down, reaching out with its talons.

Having had more than enough of dragons for one day, Carnelian quickly snatched one of the wyvern’s stretching ankles and used it to swing the noisy, flapping creature into the ground. There was a wet thud when the wyvern impacted in the dirt, and there was an even wetter thud when Carnelian dropped a rock on its head.

‘That,’ he said, dusting off his hands, ‘is the end of that.’

***

As Carnelian was settling his disagreement with the wyverns, Nimbus was having a slightly more difficult time of it. The spider–soldier was advancing on him with blood–chilling speed, and Nimbus found himself backing off towards the less–than–welcoming mouth of the cave. He tried to duck and weave, to get away from the horrible legs and the shimmering sword; but no matter which way he turned, he could not find a way to escape his monstrous attacker.

As he continued to retreat, he became increasingly aware of the mist drifting around his ankles, and suddenly he was able to hear wailing voices coming from the cave.

‘Wait,’ he shouted. ‘Wait a minute, let’s talk about this.’

The soldier attacked again, and as Nimbus jumped away he lost his footing. For a moment he teetered in the entrance of the cave, his arms flailing frantically in an attempt to keep his balance. The wailing became almost deafening, and he could feel ghostly fingers pawing at his hair. Then, with a wail of his own, he fell into the dark, misty interior of the cave, landing with a crash among the splintered bones and skulls.

For a few seconds he lay on his back, gasping for breath among the horrific remains of those who had been to the cave before him; then suddenly he realised where he was and jolted upright. His stomach turned to ice and his heart thundered.

The spider–soldier was standing in the mouth of the tunnel, watching interestedly. ‘Are you like us?’ it gurgled.

Nimbus could see vaguely human shapes moving through the mist that enveloped him, and ghostly hands clawed at him eagerly. The miserable wailing of lost spirits echoed louder than the storm–winds that raged over the Everlasting Ocean.

Slowly, careful not to disturb the bones any more than he already had, Nimbus stood. The wailing died away to nothing more than a murmur.

‘Captain?’ Nimbus whispered, gripping his necklace with trembling hands.

‘Over here,’ Captain Spectre said, stepping out of the shadows.

‘You look different,’ Nimbus said.

‘I do?’

‘You’re not so transparent. You look almost alive.’

‘That makes sense. We are in the realms of the dead now. My spirit will be stronger here. It will take less effort for me to project a memory of my physical form.’

There was scuttling from the cave mouth, and they both turned to look at the soldier who was still standing there. His extra legs had curled up underneath his cloak.

‘Why doesn’t he attack?’ Nimbus asked.

‘He’s waiting.’

‘What for?’

‘For you to die.’

Nimbus glanced at the bones and old weapons that littered the floor. ‘I don’t feel like I’m dying.’

‘I don’t think you are.’

‘But why not? We’ve just crossed over to the other side. Everybody else who’s done that has died. Why haven’t I died too?’

‘There is only one possible explanation.’

‘And that is?’

Nimbus had already guessed what the captain’s answer would be, but even that did not prepare him for the reality of hearing the words spoken out loud; because until then he could not bring himself to believe it was true. But the words made it true. Spectre’s soft, sad voice made it real; and there was no denying the evidence and what it all meant.

‘I’m sorry,’ the captain sighed. ‘You’re already dead.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

‘This is ridiculous,’ Nimbus muttered, as he trudged along the tunnel beneath Blood Mountain. The bones crackled under his feet, and human shapes swam through the constantly moving mist. ‘I’m not dead. Look at me. I’ve got a body!’

‘Not dead like me,’ Captain Spectre said, walking beside him. ‘Not all–the–way dead. You’re a bit dead.’

‘A bit dead?’ Nimbus stopped. Without the crunch of the bones it was possible to hear a low murmur of sorrow rising up from the spirits in the mist. Strong, invisible hands grabbed at his ankles. A baby was crying.

‘That’s right,’ Spectre said. ‘A bit dead. It is possible to have certain levels of dead, you know?’

Nimbus rubbed the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. He was getting a headache. ‘I’m sorry, you’re going to have to spell this one out for me. You’re saying I’m a bit dead? How much dead, exactly? Twenty percent? Fifty percent?’

Spectre grinned; his eyes, as always, remained hidden behind the silver visor of his helmet. ‘It doesn’t quite work like that, I’m afraid. Have you ever heard of zombies?’

‘Great!’ Nimbus threw his arms up. ‘Fantastic. Now you’re telling me I’m a zombie. Shouldn’t I be staggering around trying to eat human brains, or something?’

‘Only if you believe those stupid campfire stories you were told as a child. A zombie isn’t a mindless, shambling wreck of a human. It’s just someone who’s a little bit dead. You’ve probably met some in your life and never even known it.’

Nimbus kicked a discarded helmet sulkily. It made a satisfying ding as it hit the side of the tunnel. ‘So, I’m a zombie. That’s just magic. How did that happen?’

‘You must have died at some point.’

‘Well of course I haven’t...’ Nimbus began, but then realisation dawned on him. ‘Cumulo brought me back,’ he said. ‘The black dragon killed me, and then Cumulo breathed life back into my body. It must have happened then.’

‘That would make sense. The way I see it, when you were killed, your body died, and your spirit passed over. When Cumulo later revived your body, your spirit was pulled back into the world of the living, but it was... changed. It wasn’t a living spirit any more, it was a dead one.’

Nimbus slumped to the ground with his back to the tunnel wall. The mist rushed up to meet him, almost completely concealing him from view. ‘What does this all mean?’

‘I’ll try to put it another way. I’m a ghost. My body is dead, but my spirit is still alive, unable to move on. You, on the other hand, are a zombie. You’re body is alive, and it is your spirit that’s dead.’

Nimbus’s eyes welled up with tears as the bodiless ghosts in the mist swarmed around him. They were groaning pitifully, begging him for the help he was unable to give. Had he once been the same as them? Lost and alone?

‘I’m afraid,’ he whispered.

Spectre drew closer, wishing it was possible for him to put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘I know this is hard for you to hear, but you cannot let it stand in the way of what we came here to do.’

‘What am I?’ Nimbus sobbed. ‘What kind of monster have I become?’

‘You are still Nimbus. You are still the Wing Warrior.’

‘How can that be possible? The Wing Warrior died. Sorrow killed him. How can I be that same person?’ He drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees. ‘I’m not me any more. I’m a dead thing that looks like me.’

‘You’re only a bit dead,’ Spectre corrected, helpfully.

‘And what about being all the way dead? Can that still happen to me?’

‘You mean, are you immortal? Of course you aren’t, you’re just undead. You can still be hurt, you can still die. If anything, your spirit will be even more determined to leave your body than it was before. After all, it doesn’t really belong in there any more. But in most respects you won’t even notice any difference. You can lead a perfectly normal life, except you will be slightly more attuned to the dead. You will be able to pass backwards and forwards between our realm and theirs without harm, and you will be able to hear the scream of banshees. I’m also quite confident the vampyr will have no desire to drink your blood, so that’s a bonus.’

‘And what’s the downside to being a zombie?’

‘The shambling, and the insatiable hunger for human brains.’

Nimbus smiled wearily. Despite Spectre’s best efforts to cheer him up, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was a stranger in his own body. How could he be sure that he was in control of the dead spirit that had once been Nimbus?

How could he be sure he wasn’t just a puppet? Just a...

Puppet?

He jumped to his feet. ‘Crow’s a necromancer, he can control the dead. He did it to me at Mother’s temple. He made me lower my sword when I could have killed him. He made me walk into the waiting fangs of a hydra.’

Spectre rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Hmmm,’ he said.

‘Hmmm?’

‘Yes, hmmm.’

‘What does “hmmm” mean?’

‘It means that could be a bit of a problem.’

‘Too right it could be a bit of a problem. How can I fight someone who can control my actions?’

Spectre thought for a moment. ‘Hmmm,’ he said.

***

The tunnel under Blood Mountain was approximately five miles long, and by the time Nimbus and Spectre had reached the far side, night had descended like a mysterious cloak over the landscape. Nimbus only had to think about his confrontation with the spider–soldier to know what such a cloak might be hiding, and he trembled as his mind was crowded with images of grasping limbs.