Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) (11 page)

Aelwen and Taine took in this horror in the space of a single heartbeat. They whirled back to back; his sword came whistling out with fearsome speed while she drew hers more clumsily. Though she
had learned the basics long ago, she had little interest in swordplay, and had not drawn a blade in years. It made no difference. The terror struck them first, a blood-chilling miasma that surged
in front of the phantoms like a wave. A breath behind it came the ghosts themselves.

Aelwen swung her sword to spit the first leaping shape: the blade clove through thin air and the
thing
plunged on as before, inexorable and unchanged. Yet the claws and fangs were all
too sharp and solid, and buried themselves deep in Aelwen’s shoulder. She screamed as the pain tore through her, and dropped the useless weapon as other beings from the uncanny throng
attached themselves to her legs and leapt to sink their claws into her arms.

Suddenly there was a dazzling blaze. Taine, the Wizard half-blood, had conjured magelight, and for a heartbeat the attackers halted, shocked and frozen in the glare. In the actinic light they
were haloed with a translucent, bluish glimmer, and the trees and ground behind them could be seen, blurred and distorted, through their bodies. No human apparitions, these. Those that poured out
of the forest to leap on their prey, going for arms, throats and faces, were small, about the size of a fox, but long, lithe and sinuous, and deathly quick. Those that emerged from the ground to
attack legs and feet were different: a sleek, domed shape with horny carapaces, scaly faces and limbs, and great, strong, sturdy forelimbs armed with formidable claws.

The frozen instant passed in an eyeblink, and the ghosts attacked again.

Taine had managed to hold on to his blade, but it did him no good. By now both he and Aelwen were bleeding in a number of places, their clothing shredded to tatters, their lifeblood running down
in rivulets to mingle on the ground. Overwhelmed, they sank beneath the onslaught. Aelwen felt talons scrabbling at her upraised arms, trying to reach her throat, and knew the end had come . .
.

‘Hai renya! Zintavaral istolan!’ The voice rang out like a thunderclap, and though Aelwen could not understand the language, the authority in the words smote her like a fist.
Abruptly, instantly, the phantoms fell back a little way, surrounding Taine and Aelwen in a snarling, gibbering circle, their palpable fury blasting across the intervening space.

‘Come,’ said the voice. ‘I will take you to safety. Hurry, for not even I can hold back the wrath of the ghosts for ever.’ A hand came down, knotted with age, yet when
Aelwen took it, its grasp was surprisingly firm and strong. She looked up and saw that its owner had the look of a Phaerie half-blood, like herself and Taine, but old – old! His sleek cap of
hair was pewter grey, his face a mass of lines and wrinkles and he leant upon a heavy staff, though his stance was upright for one so aged. His eyes were hooded, piercing, dark and wise, as
befitted one of his venerable years, yet his engaging smile belonged to the youth he once had been.

‘Come,’ he said again, more urgently this time. ‘Trust me. Your lives depend upon it. There is a shelter of sorts nearby that we can reach if you are stout of heart.’ He
smiled wryly. ‘And I have no doubt that you are. You need not fear the ghosts. As long as you are with me, you will be protected.’

He lifted his hand and a glimmer of light appeared around him, illuminating their immediate surroundings with a faint golden radiance. They scrambled to their feet and limped after him as
quickly as they could, though Aelwen noticed that Taine still had his sword drawn. Moving faster than they had expected, the ancient one led them away from the river and into the trees. The phantom
horde fell back before them, but one glance over her shoulder told Aelwen that they were following, crowding behind the travellers and dogging their footsteps. She did not dare look again, and
despite the pain of her many wounds she quickened her steps.

The forest here was dense and dark, dwarfing them beneath the massive trees. All the undergrowth had been choked off for want of light, and they moved as if traversing the gigantic, pillared
hall of some ancient king. Behind them and close on either side flowed the ghosts, their gibbering hushed now; stalking, waiting. Suddenly there was a glimmer of white through the trees, and a few
more steps brought Aelwen into a small, cramped clearing, in the centre of which sat a most peculiar structure. It was a simple dome, a perfect hemisphere hewn from white marble, carved with a
multitude of runes, some recognisably Phaerie, others incomprehensible and strange, all of them shimmering with power. It stood no taller than Aelwen at its apex and had no doors or windows that
she could see.

The phantoms had fallen back now, unable or unwilling to enter the clearing, but Aelwen could still feel their hatred and hostility gnawing at her like iron teeth. The ancient guide turned back
to his companions. ‘This is my dwelling,’ he said simply. ‘In a manner of speaking, and such as it is. Now, before I permit you to enter, I wish to know why and how you came
here.’

Taine looked at him suspiciously. ‘And I wish to know more about
you
. Is this truly a shelter? Or a trap? Who are you, and what do you want with us?’

Aelwen turned to her lover in astonishment. Somehow, it had never occurred to her to doubt their benefactor. Something in his demeanour, in his eyes, had made her trust him at once.
‘Taine,’ she protested. ‘He wants to help us. He saved us from the ghosts.’

‘How do we know he’s not in league with them? It would be easy enough to have them attack us so that he could pretend to rescue us and lure us here.’

‘It is no trap,’ the old one replied, ‘though I understand your suspicion, for there is nothing in this haunted place that breeds trust, or indeed any good feelings. Though
your instincts for survival have no doubt stood you in good stead through the years, in this case your lady’s intuition will serve you better.’

Seeing the scowl on Taine’s face, Aelwen took the initiative before he could speak again. ‘We are cautious because we are fugitives,’ she explained, ‘fleeing from the
Phaerie. We are under a sentence of death in Eliorand, so every stranger must seem a threat – even one who has just saved our lives.’

A keen light kindled in those wise old eyes. ‘You are fleeing Hellorin? Then all is well, my friends. If you are foes of the Forest Lord you will have nothing to fear from me, for he is my
enemy also.’

Aelwen could see the struggle taking place in Taine’s eyes.
What happened to you, my love, in all our years apart, to make you so wary?
she thought. For the first time, it
occurred to her that they were no longer the Taine and Aelwen of their youth, full of innocence and high ideals. Time and absence had made changes in them both.

A frisson of unease went through her. Then, to her relief, Taine exhaled with a sigh and his tense posture relaxed a little. ‘Forgive my suspicion, sir,’ he said. ‘For many
years my life has depended on wariness and vigilance. Such is the price for enmity with Hellorin.’

The ancient one nodded. ‘I understand all too well the bitter price you have paid, my friend, for I too have paid, and still am paying now. But let us go inside. The ghosts cannot enter
this place. Though it is not exactly comfortable, at least you can rest and, if you will, we can relate why and how we all came to be here.’ He stepped forward and laid his hand on the curved
stone of the strange structure and spoke a word in a language Aelwen did not understand. Beneath his hand a doorway appeared, a narrow archway with utter darkness beyond. ‘Come,’ he
said, gesturing them to follow. ‘I will lead the way so that you may have light.’

Aelwen ducked inside, leaving Taine no option but to follow. Whatever was inside, could it be worse than what awaited them out here in this haunted forest? She could only take the chance that it
would not.

~

A
elwen followed the old man quickly, ducking under the low arch, eager to be out of the clearing. Taine followed, sword still in his hand. Once
they were safely inside, the door closed behind them, vanishing as if it had never been.

She felt the change as soon as she had crossed the threshold. The waves of fury and menace fell away as though they had been cut off with a knife. The pain from Aelwen’s many wounds
vanished abruptly, and when she looked down at herself in the light that surrounded the old one, she realised with a shock that the injuries had gone too. The bleeding had stopped. Her skin was
smooth, whole and unblemished, and even the rents in her tattered clothing had somehow disappeared, the cloth and supple leather just as they had been before the attack. Wonderingly, she looked at
Taine, and found him as uninjured as herself, though the expression of utter bafflement on his face must, she thought, be a mirror image of her own.

It was as though the attack had never happened.

It was as though the ghosts had never been.

Aelwen turned wondering eyes towards the ancient one, but before she could do more than draw in a breath to frame her question, he had answered her. ‘You see these runes? This place is
protected by very powerful spells. The ghosts may not enter here, and nor can any evil that they have done.’

‘But – but what about when we leave? Will all those hurts come back?’

‘No, my dear. Your injuries have been healed by the spells set about this place, and after I have told you the tragic history of those phantoms, it may be that your fear will be diminished
also. And if you truly do not fear them, they will never be able to harm you again.’

Much as she liked this old one, Aelwen felt that she’d be reluctant to put his statement to the test. Curiously, she looked around this chamber that held such power, finally taking in all
the details. Another shock ran through her like a cold, bright bolt of lightning. ‘It’s a tomb!’

The curving walls were the same grey stone as the exterior, carved all over with more of the glimmering runes – but in the centre stood a raised tomb of pure white marble. Incised into the
lid was a complex symbol bordered by more of the incomprehensible runes, and carved beneath in Phaerie letters were two words:

‘KALDATH. TRAITOR.’

Taine and Aelwen moved closer together, and the stranger sighed. ‘I suppose I cannot fault your unease, after what you have experienced tonight, but you can rest easy, my children. There
are no dead here. This tomb is empty, and nothing more than Hellorin’s idea of a cruel jest. You see, long ages ago, he consigned me to a living death here on this island, as a warder of the
ghosts you have seen and felt tonight. I am Kaldath, and this is my tomb, set here to remind me daily of my fate.’

Now it was Taine’s turn to gasp. ‘I’ve just realised where we are – or I think I have. And we both would have realised sooner, when we saw those spectres, if they had
left us any chance to think. Is this the Haunted Isle?’

Kaldath gave a deprecating shrug. ‘Could it be anywhere else? There are precious few other islands on this river.’

‘So the legends are true.’ Without thinking, Aelwen sat down on the edge of the tomb. This news, coming on top of all the shocks and alarms of the past hour, left her feeling a
little shaky – and it was hardly surprising. All the Phaerie, Hemifae and Pureblood alike, had grown up with the horrific tales of this place, a long, narrow island in the middle of the
border river. It was said to have been formed from thousands of corpses, the mound of flesh and blood and bone turned into stone and soil, by Hellorin’s magic. Thus the Forest Lord had dealt
with his enemies – though who they had been or what they had done had been hidden, forgotten or lost. It was said, however, that no Phaerie could survive a night on the island, for after dark
all the ghosts of the slaughtered ones would come forth, thirsting for vengeance. Aelwen had always thought the whole legend nothing more than a tale to frighten gullible children. Tonight, she had
learned the truth.

‘But where do you fit into the story, sir?’ Taine asked. ‘If you are not a ghost, why are you imprisoned here?’

‘First of all we should tell Kaldath who we are,’ Aelwen interrupted, ignoring Taine’s almost imperceptible shake of the head. ‘My name is Aelwen and my companion is
Taine, and as you already know, we have become enemies of the Forest Lord. How that happened, and the reason we apported so abruptly onto your island – well, that is a long and complicated
tale.’

‘Then you must make yourselves as comfortable as you can, Aelwen and Taine,’ Kaldath said, ‘for I can see that you are weary. For all these centuries I have needed neither
sustenance nor sleep, though I have missed them greatly, but unless I miss my guess, you need both food and rest. Do you have any provisions?’

‘Enough to get by,’ Taine answered. ‘And as for comforts, this place will serve us just as it is. We are only too glad to be safe.’ Aelwen noticed the change in his
attitude. He was beginning to warm to Kaldath, and she was glad.

The two travellers did their best to settle themselves. Fortunately, the air within the tomb was not cold, for the structure had no ventilation, so they were unable to make a fire. They sat with
their backs to the tomb, stretching their legs out gratefully, and began to unwrap their provisions. Aelwen took a long drink from her water flask. While the ghosts had been attacking, fear had
dried her mouth and throat, and now she was safe, she was suddenly conscious of a raging thirst.

Kaldath sat opposite them, with his back against the curving wall of the mausoleum. For a moment he said nothing. His head was bowed, as though he was concentrating on the hands that were folded
in his lap, but his gaze was inward, seeing people and places that had vanished long ago. Then, seemingly with a great effort, he came back to the present, raised his eyes and looked at Taine and
Aelwen.