The Fathomless Fire (16 page)

Will frowned. He wrapped the shard in the loose folds of his shirt, gripped it in his fingers, and pressed hard with both thumbs. It broke with a muffled snap.

“What have you done?” Rowen gasped.

Will stared at the two pieces of the shard that lay in his hands. His own shocked face stared back at him. It had actually broken. He hadn’t really expected it to. With an uneasy feeling, as though he had just committed a crime, he held out the half of the shard that was still attached to the chain.

“Now there’s some for both of us,” he said.

Rowen looked pained, and even afraid, but she took the shard.

“Be careful, Will,” she said, her voice trembling, then she threw her arms around him one more time. “Come back to me.”

“I will come back. No matter what.”

They held on to one another for a long time. Will could feel Rowen’s heart beating close to his and for a moment he couldn’t tell them apart. Then she pulled away from him, and ran to her grandfather. They waved one last time, then turned and walked towards the gates of Appleyard. Will watched them until they were out of sight, and even then he stood a long time on the path, unwilling to turn away.

“His name’s Cutter,” said Arden as she patted the small, dappled horse affectionately on the flank.

“Cutter?” Will asked nervously, not sure he liked the sound of that.

“Because he’s sharp and quick like a knife,” the groom explained. “When you’re not riding him, keep him tied. He likes to run.”

Will eyed the horse uneasily.

“You’re sure I can’t take Briar?” he asked.

Arden laughed.

“If you want to be in the saddle a few extra days, sure,” she said.

Under Arden’s watchful eye, Will saddled the horse, grateful that Cutter put up with his fumbling without any outward signs of annoyance other than an impatient snort.

At last he was ready, with his bedroll and pack slung behind the saddle. Nervously he led Cutter out of the stable, into the cold grey light of early morning, to where Finn and Balor stood waiting with their own horses. There was someone else with them, a dark-skinned man with close-cropped hair and spectacles. Will remembered that Finn had said he knew a healer who might be able to help Shade.

“Alazar,” the man said, clasping Will’s hand in a tight grip.

“Doctor Alazar here,” Balor boomed, “in addition to being a Knight Hospitaller of the Errantry and former Royal Physician to Shakya, Lord of the Sunlands, is a scholar. Do you know what a scholar is, Master Lightfoot?”

Will shrugged. “It means he studies things—”

“Right,” Balor interrupted. “He studies
things.
He collects rare plants, and looks at the stars, and draws pictures of birds and mushrooms in his journal. All of which makes me wonder what he’s doing here with us
real
knights.”

Balor said this so scornfully that Will expected an angry response from the doctor, but he only smiled.

“Remind me, now, Balor,” he said quietly, “which expedition was it where you ate those berries I warned you not to eat? The berries that made you break out in itchy blue spots?”

Balor looked sheepish for a moment, then he laughed and clapped Alazar on the shoulder. Will was surprised the smaller man wasn’t sent hurtling across the yard.

“’Zar is one of our best healers and bonesetters,” the wildman said to Will. “He specializes in Storyfolk ailments. You know, princes turned into frogs, dancing shoes that won’t come off, the unpleasant results of poorly thought-out wishes, that sort of thing.”

“Have you treated animals?” Will asked, then regretted the question, which made it sound as if he doubted the doctor’s skill.

“A few,” Alazar said, tilting his head meaningfully at Balor.

“That’s rich,” the wildman muttered.

Finn had stood by, wrapped in his usual calm silence while this banter went on, then he presented Will with a short sword and scabbard from the armoury. Will buckled the weapon to his belt, and glanced expectantly at Finn. When he was here the first time, Finn had given him a knife that had been forged to protect against creatures no ordinary blade could harm. Finn saw Will’s look and shook his head.

“Just an ordinary sword this time,” he said. “The Marshal has tightened the restrictions around weaponry. Anything with special powers is to remain in Fable in case of need.”

Will nodded, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Magic weapons,” Balor snorted. “They only make a knight lazy. If you can’t defend yourself with a good blade or your bare hands, you ought not to get into the fight in the first place.”

“It’s not like you always have a choice,” Finn said.

When everything was ready, the four rode out of the gates of Appleyard, out of Fable, down the road to the crossroads, and from there turned north. Will took one long look back at the towers of Fable. He wondered how long it would be until he saw them again, or Rowen. Or if he ever would.

R
OWEN SLEPT VERY LITTLE
that night. She kept waking from uneasy dreams. Then she would think of Will, wondering if he was still awake, too.

Long before the sun rose she gave up on sleep and got dressed. Before going downstairs she took a long look around her room. Everything seemed so strange and so familiar to her at the same time. On the wall above her bed hung the tapestry her grandmother had woven, an image of Rowen’s mother and father. It had been there ever since she could remember. Like the toy castle her grandfather had made for her when she was little, which stood in its corner, faithfully dusted by Edweth every day even though Rowen hadn’t played with it in years. All of the painted little wooden figurines stood in a row on the castle ramparts: the king and queen, the jester, the handsome prince, the friendly dragon, and the red-haired princess, with her tiny tiara and glass slippers. Her grandfather used to act out stories for her with the figurines, until she was old enough to do it herself. Then she would spend hours alone, dreaming up long, involved adventures for the toys to have. Adventures that always ended happily for the little red-haired princess.

She turned away suddenly and went down to the kitchen. Edweth was already there, making her favourite breakfast, porridge with apple slices, as if she had known that Rowen would be getting up early this morning. But then Edweth almost always seemed to know what Rowen was going to do before she did it. Rowen sat and ate without talking, which was unusual for her. She was keenly aware that Edweth kept glancing at her as she bustled about the kitchen.

When she had finished her breakfast, Rowen sat for a while, still in silence. She barely noticed when Edweth began to braid her tangled hair.

“The girl doesn’t know what a brush is,” muttered the housekeeper, and Rowen couldn’t help smiling. Edweth always braided her hair when she was worried about her.

“Edweth, you knew my grandmother,” she finally said.

“I
know
her, if that’s what you mean.”

Rowen turned and looked at the housekeeper.

“Then you think she’s not…?”

“If there is any way in the world for her to get back to her beloved grandchild, she will find it,” Edweth said, then she cleared her throat. “That’s what I know about the matter.”

Riddle slunk into the kitchen with a guilty look and nudged at the food Edweth had set out for him in a bowl. It looked as though he was either still afraid that Rowen was going to tell her grandfather what he had done the evening before, or he had already committed some other breach of his promise. Rowen suspected it was the latter, but she wasn’t in the mood to question him about it. Instead she asked something that had been at the back of her mind for a long time.

“Did you always live in the forest, Riddle?”

“In the forest,” the cat echoed. “Riddle lived in the forest. In our house in the forest, playing the riddle game.”

“Yes, but before that…”

“Before that?”

“You know, I mean did you come from somewhere else before you lived in the forest?”

“Yes, we … I did that. Came from somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yes, I know, but where was this somewhere else?”

“Not here. Not there.”

Rowen sighed and was searching for another way to approach the question when her grandfather appeared in the doorway. He had his staff, and was wearing his cloak for outdoors. It was stained with mud at the bottom and Rowen knew he had been out already today, probably long before the sun had come up. The grim look on his face made Rowen’s stomach churn.

“I found the rift that trapped Balor,” he said. “Or what was left of it. The tear in the weave was nearly gone. I don’t know how that could have happened. Usually once a rift forms it only grows larger, unless…” He stroked his beard.

“Unless what?” Rowen asked.

“Unless someone else was there before me and mended the rift.”

“Who else could have done that?”

“No one that I know. There must be another explanation. But anyway, the rift is no longer a danger to anyone.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Rowen said eagerly, frightened by the grim weariness in her grandfather’s voice.

“When I came back to the city, there was a message waiting from Lord Caliburn,” he said. “Another knight-errant has gone missing. Gared Bamble.”

“I’ve met him,” Rowen said. “Could he be lost like Balor was, in another of those rifts?”

“Gared was last seen on sentry duty, on the city wall. He was in Fable, not on patrol outside the city like Balor.”

“He disappeared
in Fable
?” Edweth said incredulously. Pendrake nodded.

“What could have happened?” Rowen asked.

“I don’t really know,” Pendrake said. “I doubt that it could be a rift. Not in Fable. It hasn’t come to that yet, and let us hope it never will. But … there may be enemies in the city.”

“Servants of Malabron?”

“Quite possibly. Which means it’s all the more urgent we carry on with what we have to do today.”

Rowen swallowed hard.

“Aren’t you going to eat something, Grandfather?” she asked, then she was angry with herself for such an obvious attempt at stalling.

“Later,” he said.

She glanced at Edweth, who gave her what was clearly meant as an encouraging smile, though it only made her heart sink lower. She rose from the table and followed her grandfather out of the kitchen. He handed Rowen her cloak and she put it on, but to her surprise he didn’t go to the door of the shop. Instead he led her to the stairs, and she followed. They climbed slowly to the top floor of the house and stopped in front of a narrow door that was made of rough, unvarnished wood. An insignificant-looking door you would probably not look at twice.

Of course
, Rowen thought.
The raincabinet.
I should have guessed.

She gazed at the rough-hewn door, deeply set into the stone wall. She had grown up in this house and had always wondered about the faint, occasional noises of rain and thunder that came from behind this door. She’d opened the door herself when she was very young and had found what you’d expect on the other side of such a door: an ordinary broom cupboard containing only a broom, a mop and a wooden pail, with a puddle of water on the stone floor. But she had known even then that there was something more here than met the eye. Then Will Lightfoot had come to the toyshop and opened the door, and there was no broom cupboard here then – only rain and darkness. Rowen had always meant to ask her grandfather about that, but at the time there had been too many other matters to worry about.

“So the Weaving is in here?” she asked.

“The Weaving is everywhere, but this is a doorway into it,” Pendrake said. “The only one that I know of. Loremasters have kept it hidden for generations.”

“From Malabron.”

Pendrake nodded.

“Then why don’t you keep it locked?”

“If you put a lock on a door,” Pendrake said, “the curious will assume there’s something inside you don’t want them to find. Better to have them believe there’s nothing worth finding. No one gets excited about mops and brooms. Well, no one other than Edweth.”

Rowen smiled in spite of her fears.

“Our little land is more important than anyone imagines,” the loremaster went on. “More important than I’ve ever let anyone know, even you. Fable has always been considered a crossroads, a place where Storyfolk from everywhere in the Realm come to share their tales. But it is a crossroads in a far deeper sense. When you heard a story did you ever wonder what comes after ‘the end’, or before ‘once upon a time’? That’s where Fable is. It lies just on the edge of every tale, the place one passes through to get to where the story happens. And yet at the same time Fable is the heart of all Story, because of what lies behind this door.”