Sam Bowring - Prophecy's Ruin

‘What is it, Grimra?’ asked Lalenda.

The skull faded. ‘Grimra be living here before Tyrellan be catching him,’ the ghost said. ‘Long hunts along the funnels between them rises, Grimra had.’ He seemed to be having trouble remembering. ‘In them ruins, that was where Grimra’s pendant be, buried or hidden …or Grimra forgetting. Not good eating round here …plenty of dead things, scarce of the living. Travellers sometimes, but they learn where Grimra can reach the road and leave it to circle wide!’

This particular memory seemed to enrage Grimra and he flew straight up into the air, howling. Losara decided they had best not tarry.

North they flew, following the coast, to where the Nyul’ya River met the sea under the harbour city of Afei Edres. The Cloud above seemed thinner, and the light that shone through it showed off the colour and style of the city. A high stone wall ran around it, enclosing it against the sea, while the river ran through the centre under a gaping arch with raised portcullis. Inside the walls were blue stone buildings of many floors, with curly-topped turrets painted yellow. These seemed to be home to many people, putting Losara in mind of ants’ nests. The streets were a network of wharves, bridges and platforms elevated above the tide line and the river, and often there was the sound of water underfoot. There was a sense of cleanness and wealth to the place – the air was fresh and crisp, there wasn’t filth lying about, and the people were well dressed and industrious. The Arabodedas capital did its people proud.

‘I wouldn’t mind staying here for a day or two,’ said Losara as they strolled along.

‘Me either, lord,’ Lalenda said. ‘Let’s.’

They ate and rested and walked about. No one paid them much mind, as the city bustled with all kinds of folk. They visited markets, where Lalenda was fascinated by so many things that Losara offered to buy her a gift. She took enthusiastically to the task of choosing one, but, after frowning at this and frowning at that, she simply took his hand and kissed it.

‘Thank you, my lord, for your kindness,’ she said, ‘but I simply cannot decide.’

Such an odd girl she could be.

They walked along the docks and watched fishing boats coming and going. Further on they saw some of the city’s famous water magicians who could manipulate the sea, conjuring up waterspouts and carving them like clay on a potter’s wheel. Soon they came to a place where the coast jutted out from underneath the walkway. Below, on an outcrop of rock that overlooked the ocean, a small crowd had gathered around a water mage dressed in a green robe, with a red streak in his ponytail. The mage reached out and pulled a jet of water from the sea. With a twirl of his fingers he set it spinning on its axis, then plucked away at it, sending off sprays of water to reveal the shape beneath. A fish flew out and plopped back in the water, and the people laughed. The mage’s hands conjured frantically as blobs shifted position, a furious look of concentration on his face. Finally the crowd gasped – rotating before them was a watery carving of Lampet. The serpent god’s curves shimmered in the light and Losara almost expected to see his eyes flash different colours. The mage wasn’t done, however – his arms shot out and the serpent came to life, his body unfurling as he ‘swam’ over their heads, dripping salt water as he circled upwards. High in the sky, he exploded into a fine mist. The mage bowed, the crowd clapped and tossed coins into a wooden box at his feet.

‘Come,’ said Losara. ‘I wish a word with him.’

They made their way through the dispersing crowd, towards the outcrop, where the mage still stood. As the mage saw them approach, a strange look came over his face.

‘That was a beautiful display,’ said Losara. ‘Lampet himself would have chuckled to see it.’

The mage inclined his head. ‘Thank you, my lord. I am sure by now you know that for a fact.’

Losara was pleased that he did not detect any jealousy in the remark.

‘Performing these tricks is the main source of my income,’ the mage continued, ‘now that my old mistress Memtas has cast me out for my failure. So it is gratifying to learn that my new master approves.’

Lalenda looked from the mage to Losara, confused by the exchange.

Losara smiled. ‘I would not worry overly, Roma,’ he said. ‘I told you I would build you a grand house …and I will. The time to serve me is coming.’

Roma bowed low.

The next day, before they left, they called Grimra back from the sea. He’d been spending all his time there, as he had never seen the ocean before. Enthusiastically he told them that ‘floating meat be everywhere’.

East they flew, past Fort Logale, to the southern edge of the Stone Fields and the ringlet of the five goblin cities. There was Trelter, smoky grey and awash with industry. Smalt was orderly and metallic, and they saw open areas where war engines were being assembled and furnaces glowed red in the night. Barramoor was the city of the Greys, clean and poor, but somewhat colourful. Froxen was the capital, densely populated and teeming with trade, livestock, markets, gambling dens, taverns and at least three of everything else ever seen in a city. Finally came Childris, the city of teachers, with academies and schools and an enormous barracks.

From there they went north, out over the Stone Fields. Although rocky, it was not a barren region. Moss grew, streams ran full of fish, spindly trees pushed their way up from beneath, and insects lived in stone mansions.

At the border they landed to look out over Kainordas. It was daytime and a bright wall of sun fell right at their feet.

‘Can I put my hand out?’ asked Lalenda.

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Losara.

Carefully, curiously, she reached out into the sun and held her hand there for a few moments. Then she withdrew, shivering. ‘Prickles,’ she said.

‘Grimra does not like it here,’ whispered the ghost. He flashed white along the border. ‘Too much warmth …but hello? What is this?’ Fangs flashed over nothing.

It took Losara a moment, but suddenly he was aware of the shadowy souls that floated listlessly all around them. He remembered hearing about the Trapped – undead without bodies, who wanted to return to the light but could not. Undead whose souls were now of shadow, whom the gods wanted sent onwards to the Well. He watched as Grimra shredded one to pieces and it faded away in relief.

‘Bah,’ said Grimra. ‘No good for eating. All show and no taste.’

Losara felt sorry for the poor creatures. They needed to be put out of their misery, and indeed the gods had ordered it so. Why had Battu left them to drift?

‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he said.

He dissolved into the shadows and stretched out until he was weblike. Then he rushed along the border, catching the Trapped in a net of himself. At the edge of the Stone Fields they petered out, so he changed direction and rushed the other way. Bundled against him, the souls were barely able to struggle, but he could feel their terror. Best to end it for them quickly. At the western end of the Stone Fields, he came to a stop, a swag of the undead souls wriggling in his grasp. As he gathered his power, finally they seemed to understand what he offered them. They became still, eagerly awaiting, and he let his power ripple through them. There was a collective sigh as they disintegrated.

‘ Safe journey to the Well, ’ Losara whispered, and sped back to join the others. Lalenda gave a little start when he solidified out of the rocks.

They wandered along the border, though there wasn’t much to see – the land was barren on each side. One creature interested Losara – the shadowmanders that darted out over the border to kill anything born on the other side. They seemed to possess such instinctive hatred of the light, and reminded him of Tyrellan. Losara knew he must learn to be like the shadowmanders if he was to succeed, but how? He didn’t want to kill something just because of what it was.