Mist & Whispers (20 page)

‘I thought it was Annafora?’ Steph interrupted.

‘No, it was Fora to begin with, remember? Marcellus renamed it to Annafora when the King gave him the throne.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Steph said, and just like that, she was back in her usual self-conscious idiosyncrasy.

‘Anyway, the Queen of Fora tells the maids they are too late to collect the crowns for cleaning, ready for the big ball... here,’ he said, landing on the page and letting out a little cough to clear his throat. ‘In chapter six
–
“And if you’ve come for the crowns; too late! Constance collected them an hour ago.”
’

‘Chapter six, word number five;
“Six gives five before too late”
, Tim, you’re a genius!’ Anya was so excited she jumped up and gave all three of them a kiss.

‘So, if this is right then,’ Michael said, his cheek red right on the spot where her kiss had landed, ‘we have
“Resting
– something
–
the sleeping crowns”.
Well, we can guess the missing word, surely? I mean, how many words could that
something
be, really?’

‘On.’

‘Under.’

‘Behind.’

‘Opposite.’

‘Inside.’

‘Ok, ok, so maybe there are a few,’ Michael frowned.

Harrion’s voice suddenly rang out in Anya’s head, and by the reactions of her friends and the way the conversation halted, they’d all heard it too. ‘Everybody, back to the horses, NOW!’

UTTER CHAOS REIGNED
. The Four ran straight from the comforting hold of the little book-filled room, right into a battle of man versus skeletal-manticore. In the throng of it all, Anya couldn’t see how many beasts there were, it only computed in her brain as
a truck load
.

Some were attacking the horses, Wolfond wielding his axe at them, Agro and Cael swinging their swords too.

Basra was being tossed about on the back of one of the beasts, his hands gripped around its neck bone whilst Bear and Briar were trying to get its attention from below.

There was no time to watch anything else that was happening, as one crashed into the ground just ahead of them. The others had already scattered, drawing their swords and running out of sight when it turned its beyond-gaunt face to Anya and rose to its solid bone feet. The giant beast then lunged at its new target: her.

Without thinking, she stood her ground and thrust her left arm out at the precise moment its skull came into reach. In the split second before her vambrace connected with the monster, she caught its hollow eye sockets. They scared her in a way that real eyes never could.

The strength of the vambrace sent the monster flying but its trajectory couldn’t have been worse. It smashed into the side of the porch, bringing the front of the building down around her. She crouched, protecting her head with both her arms. She could feel her skin opening up as rubble hit her from all angles, but there was no time for pain. The beast was back up, gathering balance enough to strike again. She climbed over the newly-formed mound of mortar aside her just as the manticore attacked again.

She saw Gavriel flying over her from the corner of her eye, and he thrust his sword clean through its neck. The creaking-crunch of bone breaking tore through the din of the battle and penetrated Anya’s stomach and she wretched, a mix of Agro’s broth and acid-bile rising to the back of her throat. Gavriel grabbed her hand and pulled her back to her feet, but the fight was not over.

Briar was laid out on the ground, blood seeping from his stomach and drenching Harrion’s hands as he tried to mend the wound, while Steph and Strand were dodging the manticore’s lashing tail strikes, trying to keep the beast’s attention anywhere but the Prince. The light he was emitting through healing seemed to only attract the monsters more, like moths in the night. Even the beast Basra had a hold of was headed straight for Harrion. Anya sprinted toward it, hurling herself over the bones of another that Wolfond’s axe had not long brought down. She screamed at Basra to jump before leaping into the air herself and bringing her vambrace down hard into its skull. The skull burst apart like a bomb, fragments hurtling in every direction.

Basra shouted incoherently behind her, but she sensed his meaning nevertheless. She ducked and rolled away in just enough time to miss being crushed by the fall of another beast the size of an elephant.

She surveyed the field, working out where to go next. The ground was littered with bones but two manticores were still at large. To her relief, she spotted Harrion helping Briar up, wound healed, life saved.

Then she spotted something in the distance, something that made every hair on her body pull away, as if wanting to escape and hide for eternity.

More beasts were coming, in all sorts of discernible shapes and sizes, some even bigger than the manticores.

‘GAVRIEL,’ she cried out, and when he looked round he saw them too.

‘ANYA, GO BACK INSIDE AND PUT THAT FIRE OUT! NOW, GO!’

It was hard to leave. Michael, Tim and Steph were all out there, facing danger at the sides of the Stragglers, but she did as she was told. Gavriel wouldn’t have asked her to do it if it wasn’t important. She raced inside, back through the halls toward the room where they’d not long been sat, blissfully unaware of the creatures that were headed straight for them.

As she rounded the hall, something pounced on her. More bones, more sharp claws and more sharp teeth, but this one was smaller, like the skeleton of a wolf or a large dog. Its teeth sank into her shoulder and this time she couldn’t hold in the pain. Her scream shook the night as its second bite hit her own bone, blood now turning the creatures face a shocking shade of red.

She knew there was only one way to get it off her, to kill it. She had to break its neck.

She tried to deflect its attacks with her hands and elbows, which were quickly turning to bloody ribbons with every thrash of the canine’s claws. It lifted its head back a little and opened its mouth wide, ready to strike again and she saw her moment. She forced her left arm up into its mouth and as it bit down on the mageium, the wolf’s upper fangs crumbled. Its lower teeth kept chomping manically, breaking through the skin between the straps of her vambrace as she tried to force its head back on itself.

Blood gushed from her wounds and into her face; she could barely see a thing, drowning in the pool of red, but she kept pushing, further and further until – SNAP – and the creature finally collapsed atop of her.

Taking only a moment to catch her breath, she threw the bundle of bones to the side and clambered back to her feet, awash with her own blood and clutching her throbbing, mauled arm with the other. Her heart had never pounded so fast, and with the way it was burning, she was scared it might actually explode.

Inside the room, the fire still crackled away gently in the fireplace. She looked around for something to put it out with but there was nothing. In a blind panic she started grabbing the coals with her hands, pulling them onto the stone floor so she could stamp them out. The pain from all the gashes must have already dulled her pain receptors because, despite their blazing heat, she didn’t feel a thing from the fire at all.

Once all the coals were on the floor, she stomped on them frantically until every glint of light, every ember was out completely. Then, the blood loss finally besting her, she collapsed.

L
IGHTNING STRUCK, AND
the bestial roar of thunder was right upon them. She knew she was in the air; the dizzying feeling of flight unmistakable, even with the loss of blood.

There was no time to dwell. The terrified snorts of the horses and the Stragglers’ battle-cries meant they were all, still, at danger’s mercy.

Another burst of lightning tore through the mist, illuminating the sky once more, and it was then that Anya realised the lightning was not actually lightning at all. Black scales, iridescent as oil, swept past her, sending the horse beneath her into a frenzy. The Prince, pallid and weak from healing Briar, tried to calm his steed as he held on to Anya, but it was a climb too steep. The horse cantered on through the skies with no concern for Harrion or the Marked One.

‘GET THEM OUT OF HERE! GO!’ she heard a voice cry out, though whose, she couldn’t discern. The pain of her wounds was still crushing her senses and she could feel herself teetering on the edge of consciousness once again.

Then, something solid and cold crashed into them, and Anya felt their horse go limp and fall from beneath them, leaving her and the Prince hurtling back down to Earth.

TIME PASSED AND
there was nothing. Not a sound, not a sight, not a thought. Then, involuntarily, she took a huge, gasping breath and opened her eyes wide, hit with both the pain of her wounds and the healing sensation that was swiftly becoming a habit, though she was far from saved. Submerged in a blur of colour and an echo of sobs, she struggled against the pull of the Great Beyond, her pain an anchor, holding her under. She knew she must fight in order to surface.

Everything burned; her chest, her shoulder, her hands, her arms, her face. Inside, her body was coming back together. Slashed muscle marrying slashed muscle, torn flesh knitting with torn flesh. She became aware of a hand entwined with hers, and another stroking her hair, though it was a few more moments before he came into focus.

Michael, whose face was stricken with gut-wrenching despair, was crying over her whilst Harrion worked as fast as he could to stop the bleeding.

‘Michael?’ she whimpered.

‘Anya!’ he cried, joyful tears replacing those of anguish. ‘Don’t try to move, alright, not yet, he’s not finished.’ He kissed her forehead softly, and she felt his hand tighten around hers.

‘Where are we?’

‘Castor’s Glen,’ said another voice close by. She peered up from where she lay on a hardwood floor, and found Gavriel kneeling next to Michael. He looked relieved to see her alive. ‘My home. It’s a village just outside Thule. You’ve been out a while. After the second wave of manticores came, we knew there were not enough of us to fend them all off.’

‘I’m so sorry, Anya. I should never have lit that fire, you nearly died! Thank you Harrion! Thank you for saving her...’ She had never seen Michael sob like this before. He was shaking as he spoke.

‘It’s done now, Michael. We should have explained the fires in the camp, the lanterns and the ones Harrion creates for cooking are enchanted. The beasts can’t sense them. It’s our folly as much as yours, if not more.’

Michael nodded at Gavriel, but it was obvious he still felt entirely to blame.

‘We had no choice but to fly the horses. Harrion tried his best to produce magical protection, but enchantments don’t hold well on the move, and he was already drained from healing Briar and you
–
’

‘The dragon,’ she gasped. ‘I didn’t dream that, did I?’ The relieved expressions on her friends’ faces took a sombre turn, and suddenly, she felt an absence in their clan. She searched Gavriel’s eyes and found an answer she didn’t want. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Who?’

‘Macken. He gave himself to the dragon to give the rest of us a chance.’

Faust was right; this is all my fault.
She closed her eyes, stopping her tears from falling.

The heat died down everywhere but her chest, and she knew Harrion’s job was done. The Prince got to his feet, pale and heavy-eyed. He looked sick, as if death was waiting to take him at any moment. Still, he gave Michael a smile and patted him on the back. ‘She’ll need to rest for a while before we go any further. So does Briar.’

‘Further? Macken is dead! Briar almost died, and so did everyone else for that matter. And what? We’re supposed to just carry on like nothing has happened?’ Anya remembered the moment by the lake back home. She was angry that no one had stopped to mark Iain’s death, and losing Macken brought all those feelings back to the surface. Iain had meant so much to her, and yet, to everyone else he was invisible. She couldn’t let Macken
–
who had given his life in exchange for everyone else’s
–
be forgotten like that too.

‘
Dæ
gum ále ealdormann,’
Gavriel said with a sigh. ‘That’s what we Stragglers live by, and that’s what Macken lived by too.’

‘What does it mean?’ Michael asked, still clutching Anya’s hand and giving no sign of letting go.

‘It’s an ancient proverb.
“Time keeps every man.”
From the highest, most powerful rulers to the lowest of the slaves; only Time decides the end.’

‘I don’t understand. Macken
chose
to stay behind, he
chose
to die so that we could live, how is that Time deciding?’ Anya said, sounding only less angry than she felt due to exhaustion and not lack of cause.

‘He didn’t choose to
die
. He chose to
fight
. All of us have been fighting since the day the Darkness came, and before. It’s only right that we honour him by fighting just as bravely as he did, every sleep until our last.’

Nobody spoke after that. Nobody moved. Lying there, in the eye of grief, all those minutes she’d once spent sat in silence at school on various Remembrance Days, they finally meant something real. The magnitude of what the soldiers gave in the World Wars had never quite impacted her before now. Actions of men she never knew in a time she was never a part of – how could anyone truly understand until it happened to them? Now she understood their sacrifice.

‘We’ll camp here tonight,’ Gavriel finally said after some time. ‘I know this place better than camp. We’ll be safer here than anywhere else right now.’ He moved beside her and helped her up into a seated position. ‘You want to thank this guy,’ he said to her, patting Michael on the shoulder. ‘He carried you out and sheared the heads off an entire wolf pack whilst getting you back to the horses. Did us proud. I’ll go tell Steph and Tim you’re awake.’

She looked up at Michael as if seeing him clearly for the first time. ‘Did you?’

‘Don’t sound too surprised,’ he smiled.

She didn’t know what to say. Thank you didn’t sound enough. She squeezed his hand and leant forward, ignoring the aching she felt to place a kiss on his cheek.

SHE MANAGED TO
get herself into a bed just as Steph came rushing into the room. She had a few small cuts on her face and her eyes were bloodshot from crying, but none of it seemed to bother her as she threw her arms around Anya.

‘I’m so glad you’re ok! I was so worried; you have to stop scaring me like this!’

‘What can I say, trouble always knows where to find me,’ Anya jested.

Tim came and sat next to Michael, calm as a swan on still waters. ‘I’m starting to wish I’d taken the sat-nav’s advice and boarded that make-believe ferry.’

The Four began laughing, and soon they couldn’t contain it. They were roaring uncontrollably, tears pouring from their eyes whilst they found everything in those breaths funny. Then they began laughing at each other’s laughter, and that had them laughing to the point where the laughs became silent, husky breathes escaping their puffy, red faces. Anya held her sides as she cackled, whilst the Stragglers started to gather in the doorway.

‘They’re all moonstruck,’ Basra whispered to Cael.

‘I bet you a bottle of moonshine Theone will be building them a padded cell when we get back...’ Bear said. ‘No, no
–
two bottles!’

LATER, ANYA COULDN’T
sleep. Everyone else had managed to fall without problem, except Gavriel, who’d stationed himself outside as watchman. She’d learnt that they weren’t just staying in his village, but the home he’d lived in before the Darkness had claimed his family. Cael had filled the Four in earlier as to what became of both Gavriel’s parents and his sister. Driven mad by the invisible whispers, Gavriel’s mother had turned on her husband and her daughter, and when her son returned home to bring them to the safety of Theone’s camp, he found her standing over their bodies, knife in hand, their blood dangling in liquid ropes from its point. Before he could react, she turned the knife on herself.

Cael had been there, waiting outside, watching out for fleshless beasts. He helped his friend bury his family, one by one in the garden.

From what Cael had revealed, and from the amount of time Gavriel spent on the porch, she got the impression that being inside the cosy little octagonal house was just too much for him to bear.

Lying awake in a room of white brick walls covered with old paintings of horses and simple wooden furniture, Anya had two things on her mind. The first was how Michael had rescued her. Heroics were not usually his style; fear tended to best him in most of life’s confrontations. She wondered whether he’d have reacted differently had it been anyone else lying there, as close to death as she was. Maybe
–
despite all the hostility, and the fact that he’d said otherwise
–
just maybe, he was actually still in love with her. It made her wonder how she felt about him, and that led her to the second thing she couldn’t displace from her thoughts.

Lorcan.

She’d lost count how many times the Dragon-Boy had entered her head. Entering seemed to come easy; it was leaving it that had become impossible.

She wondered what he was doing, and if he’d known how close to death she had come. Images of him going crazy in his cell kept playing over and over before her, and she found the burning in her chest getting more intense as those images gathered detail.

At some point, exhaustion got the better of her, but she wasn’t aware of being asleep until she was being woken.

THE MOOD WAS
dour during their trek from Castor’s Glen to the Big City. Being in his old home had really affected Gavriel, not to mention the loss of one of their own. Hardly anyone spoke. Even Basra and Bear had nothing to say.

The road led the team on through another graveyard of trees, the mist thicker and more haunting than the forest near camp, and the heavier it became, the more overwhelmed Anya felt. It was like the mist contained the spirits of every organism that had once lived in the Kingdom, and was holding them against their will. She was sure she heard whispers sparking from places all around her, the words as hazy as their source.

Something caught her eyes through the trees, and on second look, she feared the Darkness was turning her mad, for there was no sense – not even in Virtfirth’s terms – to what she was witnessing.

A grand ship, usually the sort seen in movies about pirates, was sailing through the trees, not on water but on a cloud. She was about to say something but stopped herself. She couldn’t risk the journey being cut short before they’d had chance to find any information on the Weaver in Thule’s records, and by all accounts, going mad only one sleep into the journey was not a good sign.

HOURS PASSED, BUT
eventually they were rewarded with the sight of Thule’s towering city walls. Looking up, Anya had never felt smaller. The peak of the walls couldn’t be seen for the heavy clouds that suppressed the land.

The vast wooden drawbridge that gave entry to the city had seen better days. Lowered, but severely damaged, each horse needed to spread their wings in order to cross it. As she soared over, Anya looked down to see a dark canyon, filled with more mist and jagged rock. The bottom couldn’t be seen, but it gave the impression of certain death should someone fall over the edge.

Once across, the team decided to split into two factions. Gavriel took the Four, plus Wolfond, on to the library whilst Cael was in charge of the others in their mission to locate more supplies for the camp.