Isle of Winds (The Changeling Series Book 1) (19 page)

“But … but I don’t have any horns,” Robin said.

“Eh? What’s that?” the old man squinted. “Don’t have horns? Hah! Clear as day, lad! There’s no hiding what you are. You got the same look about you. Could have been your father I suppose … if it weren’t so long ago, but then, I don’t know how long your kind live, as a rule.”

“My dad had blonde hair,” Robin stammered.

The old man shrugged. “Ah well. One of my best memories, that’s all. And a pleasure to see another one of you, even after all this time. Don’t get many of you about no more.”

“There aren’t many of us left…” Robin explained, a little awkwardly.

A loud harsh caw suddenly startled him. On a snow-dusted rock near to the closest windmill, a fat black crow had settled, like a sooty smear against the white powder.

Robin and the others stared at it. It stared back, head tilted to one side, then let out another caw. It took off into the air, shedding feathers messily.

“That’s not good,” Karya said, watching it go.

“Just a crow,” Robin said, dragging his eyes back to the translucent old man who was ushering his ghostly friends closer. A real life ghost was more interesting, in his opinion, than a noisy bird.

“That’s not a crow,” Karya insisted. “That’s a grimgull trying very hard to look like a crow. We’re being tracked.”

Woad clambered atop a small clump of rocks, scattering a couple of nervous ghosts. He pointed into the sky, back the way they had come. “It is a grimgull, and it’s not alone, boss.”

Robin peered up into the sky. There were several more crows fluttering around in the darkness. They were slowly getting closer as they circled in the air high above.

“They’re Mr Moros’ spies,” Karya said under her breath. “They must know we’re nearby. The skrikers won’t be far behind them, you can bet on that.”

Robin found himself wishing desperately that it wasn’t so snowy. They would have blended in easily against the dark ground, but here against the white backdrop, they stood out like three sore thumbs.

“We’ll never make it up the hill,” Woad said. “Too exposed. Bad birds will spot us.”

Karya hissed in frustration, biting her bottom lip. “There is no other plan,” she growled, “I can’t tear us through, not so soon. The only way out of here is through the Janus Station, and the only way to get to it is up this hill.”

“What we need is a distraction,” Robin said. “Maybe I could cast a few Galestrikes if they get too close? Blow them off course perhaps?”

“That won’t work, Pinky,” Woad said, jumping down from his pile of rocks. “It’ll just draw attention to us. Plus you’re rubbish at Galestrikes.”

The ghost of Hob cleared his throat politely. All three companions looked at his happy, slightly transparent face.

“Sorry to eavesdrop, it ain’t usually my way, but I couldn’t help overhearing … Looks like you and your funny little friends are in some kind of trouble here, eh?”

“Funny little friends?” Karya growled dangerously through her teeth.

“Um, yes, a bit,” Robin said quickly, ignoring Karya’s irritation. “Long story really.”

“Secret faerie business no doubt,” the old man cackled happily, tapping the side of his insubstantial nose in a conspiratorial manner. “Just like that other one all those years ago. You lot and your capers. Well, it’s none of our business, I’m sure, but Master Faerie, it would be an honour if old Hob and his friends can help in any way.”

“I don’t see what you can do,” Karya said flatly. “No offence, but you’re dead.”

Robin winced, wishing she had a little more tact. He pointed at the whirling birds, circling ever closer. “We need those birds distracting. We have to get to the top of Knowl Hill, without being seen by them. Can you help us?”

The old man turned away, falling into a ghostly huddle with his fellow spirits.

Karya, Woad and Robin exchanged speculative glances. The distant croaky voices of the flock of grimgulls echoed toward them through the night. Somewhere, distantly, there came a long, mournful and all too familiar howl.

The ghost of the old man turned back to Robin.

“We will cover you, don’t go worrin’ about a thing. Don’t know how long we’ll be able to hold them, though. Some of us are getting a bit long in the tooth, so to speak, so you better go now, young sir.”

Robin grinned with relief. “Thanks for this,” he said. “I’m only sorry I don’t have a gold coin to give you.”

The old man cackled happily. “It’s a pleasure to serve the faerie folk. In life or in death.”

He doffed his flat-cap at the children, and then the ghostly group turned as one and floated away, their forms disintegrating as they rolled down the hillside, becoming nothing more than vaporous trails of ectoplasmic smoke. Individual ghosts began merging into groups, flowing in swift streams across the dark snow, forming a mass of roiling ground-mist which grew as it collected more and more ghosts.

Robin stared as the ghosts combined into a sea of shimmering fog, spread out across the hills like a cold blanket. A skriker howled again, far off in the darkness. As they watched, the fog quested upwards, coiling around the windmills, threading up through the vast turning blades until the seething mist was gathered up from the hillside and dispersed into the air above them. In a matter of minutes, the sky was blotted out with a wispy cloud of swirling, sentient ghost-smoke.

Robin heard the startled and disoriented cries of the now invisible grimgulls. Somewhere in the rolling shape above, ghostly hands and arms formed at random, pushing and shoving at the wildly flapping creatures, slapping them off their courses.

Karya tugged Robin’s jumper at the elbow, dragging his attention from the spectacle above. “Impressive to look at and all,” she said. “But we have to go, Scion. Now.”

Woad had already forged ahead, dashing between the colossal windmills. Karya and Robin blundered after the faun, ploughing through the snowdrifts, panting as they fought their way upwards as fast as they could. Skriker howls and growls came again, closer.

“Hurry, hurry!” Woad cried. He had already reached the summit of the hill and was literally jumping on the spot with impatience as he waited for Karya and Robin to catch up.

They crested the vast hill eventually, exhausted and sweating, despite the cold night air. Snow clung heavily to the legs of Robin’s jeans and caked the tattered hem of Karya’s coat.

Gasping for breath, he glanced around. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting a Janus station to look like, but there seemed to be nothing on top of the wide flattened hilltop apart from snow and a broken, unimpressive circle of stones.

“What … what’s this?” he panted, nursing a stitch.

“Janus … station,” Karya gasped, staggering. “No time … to explain.”

She and Woad rushed around the circle, touching the squat blackened standing stones seemingly at random, like a ridiculous game of tag. Robin peered at them, at their hands slapping stone after stone in some odd sequence which made no sense to him.

He glancing nervously back the way they had come. The ghostly cloud was beginning to thin now that Robin’s seraphinite stone was no longer in the midst of it. The ghosts were running out of energy. It couldn’t hold much longer.

“Setting coordinates,” Karya explained, hitting a small stone twice with a sharp slap of her palm before moving on to another diagonally across from it. Robin noticed now that each stone carried a crude carved glyph, a symbol of some kind. “There are hundreds of stations to choose from and you have to make sure you pick the right one or you could end up … well … anywhere.”

“Anywhere’s better than here,” Robin offered, stamping his feet in the snow.

“Wrong again, Pinky,” Woad said. “There’s a Janus station in Eris’ court. You fancy being spat out into right her throne room?”

“Nearly there,” Karya said, darting a warning glance at Woad. “This should take us through to the equivalent of ‘here’ in the Netherworlde. A straight and simple flip.”

A sudden raspy caw drew their attention skyward. One of the horrible fat crows had broken through the cloud and was wheeling erratically around in the sky, trying to get a fix on them.

“Hurry!” Robin urged.

“We’re done!” Karya replied with triumph. “Get over here, in the middle with me and Woad.”

When they were all gathered together, Karya made a hand signal in the air. “Here we go,” she said.

Robin braced himself for the same rushing, tumbling sensation of flying head over heels through darkness. It didn’t come. Instead, the inside of the circle filled suddenly with a soft golden glow. Then the snow stopped falling, the ugly cries of the grimgulls ceased, and the cold wind dropped utterly, leaving them in silence.

Chapter Eighteen –
The Oracle

For a moment, Robin was blind in the golden light, conscious only that Karya gripped his wrist and that Woad’s small hand was on his other shoulder.

“Hello again, Netherworlde,” came Woad’s voice happily.

“We’re here?” Robin asked incredulously. “I mean … that’s it? That was a hell of a lot smoother than…”

“Well, you try tearing through without using a Janus station and see if you can do it any easier,” snapped Karya. “You certainly weren’t complaining when I pulled you out of the Barrow Wood just before a skriker had your arm off!”

“I didn’t mean…” Robin spluttered. “No, you were great, I just…”

“Janus is slightly smoother,” Karya said loftily. “Easiest way to get around the Netherworlde. It’s a big place after all.” She stamped the remaining snow off her feet. “Anyway, we made it through … that’s the point. Skrikers and grimgulls are smarter than I’d like, but last time I checked they can’t operate a Janus station, so that’s bought us some time.”

“No opposable thumbs, see?” Woad said happily, waggling his own. “Can’t plot a course with paws.”

“Welcome to the Temple of the Oracle, Scion,” Karya announced.

Robin followed Karya’s nod and turned on the spot. Behind the circle, where in the human world there had been nothing but snow and moss, there now stood an imposing temple. It loomed over them, warm yellow lamplight pouring from the windows. The tall brass doors were flanked by man-high braziers filled with flickering blue flames.

“Wow,” Robin breathed, taking in the sight.

“The Temple of the Oracle, secret keeper of the kept secrets,” Woad said reverently. “… Or something like that.”

“Secret keeper of the hidden knowledge,” Karya corrected him patiently. “Come on, you two.”

They reached the large doors of the temple. There were long crimson swathes of cloth decorating the doorway, emblazoned with a golden eye in a triangle sat between two clasped hands, as though shielding a candle from the wind. A star glimmered in the pupil of the stylised eye.

Above the door, carved into the stone itself:

Temet
Nosce

“Do you really think this oracle of yours is going to be able to help us?” Robin asked, as Karya raised a fist and banged rather unceremoniously on the large brass doors. “We thought the redcaps would be helpful too, remember.”

“The redcaps were helpful,” Karya replied matter-of-factly. “They led us here.”

Before Robin could reply, the great doors swung open, enveloping the three in a large cloud of escaping incense. The smell of poppies, sandalwood and something darker washed over them, a sharp coppery smell like old pennies or blood.

There was a small woman standing in the doorway. She was very old and very round, wearing a long dusty-looking robe of a scarlet so dark it was like black dreaming of red. She had a mane of wild white hair on which rested a crown of golden laurel leaves. Her eyes, sharp and dark, seemed to peer through them right to their bones.

The overall effect was somewhat ruined by the flowery pinny she was wearing over her robe. She was carrying a tray of freshly baked cookies with novelty green oven mitts designed to look like happy frogs.

“Yes?” she snapped irritably, after a moment of silence.

“Um, we are here seeking wisdom from the Oracle,” Karya said uncertainly. At her shoulder, Woad was sniffing the tray of cookies discreetly, his tail swishing back and forth. “Are you the Pythian?” Karya asked.

The old woman gave a one shoulder shrug. “Some of her, yes,” she croaked. Her eyes flicked over each of them briefly. “I suppose you’re on some sort of quest, then? Or fleeing terrible danger? It’s always one of the two. In the middle of the bloody night, honestly.”

“It’s both actually,” Karya said, a little awkwardly. “We’re searching for a couple of friends who have been kidnapped, and yes, we are also fleeing danger.”

“Terrible danger?” the old woman clarified, pointing an enquiring oven mitt.

“Is there any other kind?” the small girl replied levelly.

“Hmm.” The woman frowned, her ancient face a mass of deep wrinkles. “You’d better come in and meet the rest of me then. But I warn you, some of me is in a bit of a mood this night.”

She led them through corridors of polished marble, flickering firelight dancing on statues and columns. Their footsteps echoed in the grand silence.

The old shuffling Oracle brought them to an enclosed circular courtyard filled with delicate trees and tinkling fountains. The moon shone down through an oculus in the domed ceiling. There was a sunken pool directly below, around which two other figures lounged. One was a young girl. She looked about five years old and had a shock of wild golden curls. She was wearing a shortened version of the old woman’s robe, an almost pink shade of red. The girl was sitting at the pool’s edge, swinging her legs and looking bored. The other was a tall willowy woman, who smiled at them as they approached, showing not the slightest sign of surprise at their arrival. Like her two companions she wore a red robe, although hers was the brightest scarlet. Her hair was a mass of perfect golden ringlets, crowned with a golden laurel. She was, in Robin’s opinion at least, stunningly beautiful.

“Found these three at the door,” the old woman muttered unceremoniously, sounding none too happy as she crossed the room.

The young girl jumped up, scooping cookies from the tray greedily. She glared at Woad, who was eyeing her suspiciously, stuck her tongue out and ran off without a word.

“Yes,” the beautiful woman said. “You three arrive here, now. This is how it happens.” She cocked her head to one side, like an enquiring bird. She seemed oddly distant, as though daydreaming.

“Sorry,” Karya said, looking around. “I’m a little confused. We came to see the Oracle. Which one of you is that?”

“We are the Oracle,” the women replied in unison. The dreamy looking one took a cookie from the proffered tray. “Cookies … I really wanted some earlier.”

“So I see,” the old woman replied, glancing off into the distant edges of the room, where the young girl was sitting, half hidden by the foliage and guzzling down cookie after cookie. The old woman burped and made a face. “I’ll regret it later, though; they give me terrible indigestion.”

Robin glanced confused at Karya, his eyebrows raised. “There are three Oracles?” he asked.

“No, young fae,” the old woman replied. “There’s only one of me.”

“It’s a lot of work for just one person, believe me,” the other woman nodded, daintily nibbling on a biscuit. “I find it much easier this way. Dividing my labours so to speak.”

“I haven’t introduced myself, have I?” the old one said, setting the tray aside on a small pedestal and fussing with her apron strings. “I am the Oracle, and so is the me over here, and the me over there.”

“You can call me Praesto,” the pretty woman said, holding out a hand which Robin shook, faintly bemused. “This is Posterus.” She nodded at her elderly companion. “And the greedy bad-tempered one eating all the cookies is Preteritus.”

“You’re one person … in three bodies,” Karya exclaimed wonderingly. “Past, present and future?”

“I’ve never been a person, what a stupid thing to say,” came a high piping voice around a mouthful of cookies.

“You’ll have to excuse my manners,” the old woman said grumpily. “It’s way past part of my bedtime.”

Robin just stared. Things in the Netherworlde just seemed to get stranger and stranger.

“I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to surrender your weapons while you are here,” Praesto said. “This is a place of sanctuary. Precious few such places remain in the Netherworlde. The dark empress has seen to that. You may leave them on the tray, don’t mind the cookie crumbs.”

“Weapons?” Robin said confused. Then he remembered. He had completely forgotten he was carrying Phorbas’ silver dagger.

He pulled it out of his belt, feeling the odd tingle in his fingers from the satyr’s mana stone.

The Oracle watched with interest as he placed it on the tray.

“How very interesting,” the younger one said, in a lilting, dreamy voice. “If steel could talk … this would have a tale to tell.”

“It belongs to my friend, the one we’re looking for,” Robin explained. “Well, one of them. I don’t think it would have many stories to tell. He told me it’s never seen any more action than opening letters.”

“A secret lies buried in silver and steel,” Preteritus sang out from the undergrowth. She giggled to herself.

“Hush my mouth,” the old woman said. “Sorry, sometimes I see things in the past clearest. It’s always easier to look backwards than forwards, isn’t it. I find if you do it too often though, you tend to trip over your own feet. Look to the future, that’s what I say.”

“Live for the moment is a good motto,” her dreamy-eyed companion said helpfully.

Posterus snorted in derision, crinkling her withered old face in a scowl. “I won’t think that in the future,” she scoffed. “Any other weapons? Other than the faun, I mean? He wouldn’t fit on the tray anyway I think.”

She looked to Karya. “How about you, love?”

“I’m unarmed,” Karya replied simply.

“Liar,” the crone replied with a sly smirk. “Knowledge is power they say, eh? Your kind is never unarmed and not all weapons are carried in the hand.” She tapped her head a few times, looking quite demented.

“She’s practically one of me anyway,” the other, distant-looking woman said. “One of seven, always one of seven. But the whole is not always greater than the sum of its parts, it would seem. Eris should not have meddled in the order of such things.”

“You’re talking in riddles,” Robin said, getting rather annoyed.

“‘Course they are,” Woad said. “What did you expect? She’s the Oracle. If you wanted the shipping forecast you’re in the wrong place, Pinky.”

“Look, we need help,” Robin said. “We were told you might know where my friends have been taken. We did a finding spell but they’re nowhere.”

“Everything’s somewhere,” Preteritus trilled, skipping over to the pool.

“I used a cantrip to locate them,” Karya explained. “It failed. We think Strife is taking them to Lady Eris, but there are no tracks.”

“They are not headed to Dis. They are nowhere your feet will take you,” Praesto said, looking into middle distance.

“Can you help us?” Karya asked.

“We will and do,” Posterus cackled. “I remember it all.”

They positioned themselves around the placid pool, each version of the Oracle kneeling and peering into the water. As one, they reached out their hands and began tracing strange patterns in the liquid, making it eddy and swirl. The flames in the braziers seemed to dim and gutter.

“What are they doing?” Robin whispered after watching the three figures sway for a few minutes. The light was growing dimmer until the only illumination came from the moon high above.

Karya shushed him. “Looking,” she said quietly.

The Oracles’ eyes rolled back in her heads, until only slivers of white showed. There was an odd feeling of growing pressure in the air.

“What are they doing now?” Robin persisted in a hushed whisper

“Seeing,” Woad replied. “They are seers after all. Now hush!”

They watched in silence as the misty waters rolled back and forth hypnotically until, just as the motion was making Robin feel drowsy, there was an almighty crash. The water in the pool jumped as though a giant hand had slapped its surface, and for a second Robin thought he glimpsed shapes in the mist.

The images were gone as soon as they had appeared and the pool clearing, settling back into its innocent state. The feeling of pressure lifted and the braziers flared back to life, filling the temple once again with bright, cosy light. Wisps of steam coiled from the pool’s surface.

The Oracle stood up, all three of her opening their eyes. “Well,” said Praesto. “I have looked and I have seen. I can tell you three things.”

“Your friends have indeed been attacked by Eris’ men, Moros and Strife,” little Preteritus said in her piping voice. “Both Phorbas the satyr and Henry the human boy have been used for the sole purpose of bringing you here to the Netherworlde.”

“No place for a human,” Praesto said, her pretty face a perfect composition of elegant concern. “Your Henry does not belong here. He is in terrible danger. He is being held nowhere on Netherworlde soil. But he is indeed in the Netherworlde.”

“What? That doesn’t make sense!” Robin cried, frustrated. “Are they here or not? They can’t be both.”

Posterus raised her arms to the sky. “Hidden in the clouds he is … on the isle in the sky.” She looked back at them, dropping her arms and regarding them shrewdly. “Far beyond the reach of any down below.”

Robin was about to exclaim that he didn’t understand, but the Oracle held all six of her arms up to silence him.

“Three things I can tell you,” she said with three voices, speaking in unison. “And three things I have. To ask more than is offered is to ask a boon … which requires sacrifice.”

Their faces had darkened as though the shadows were gathering around them. The smell of incense seemed to fade until only blood remained.