James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

Black smoke billowed across the ship. He could just make out some of his mages trying to cast, but the shamen were too close and the dark fire was all-consuming. Stein focused, strengthened the spell and climbed once more, orbs still chasing him into the heavens but unable to reach him before they fell back to the ocean.

Below him the wreckage of his ship was sinking fast while the three enemy vessels circled like sharks contemplating their kill. Stein banked and flew south. They had been six days’ sail from Calaius — an enormous distance for a fit mage, and Stein was far from fit. His head and arms were burned and raw and his left leg was a throbbing agony. The spells he had cast had depleted his stamina and he felt a gnawing shock at the ease with which the enemy had caught and destroyed them.

Stein focused on managing his stamina, trying hard not to think about the futility of his escape attempt. He tried even harder to stop making bets with himself about how long it would be before his wings flickered out and he plunged into the southern ocean. Instead he concentrated on the feeling of the air across his face and the chill in his hands, using it to remind himself he was still alive.

Stein lost track of time fairly quickly once he’d been through one night. The endless ocean below him had started to look like the most comfortable of blankets beneath which to sleep.

Stein welcomed the pain of his injuries because it kept him awake. His left leg was a particular torment, constantly prey to the buffeting of the wind. The cloth of his trousers was burned into his flesh, and his boot had contracted around his foot to create a hideous throbbing that sent pain all the way up to his hip.

His face and arms were raw and blistered. The rain that whipped into him periodically made him cry out, begging for it to stop. But at least it meant he was still alive, still flying, even though he knew it could not last. It was a shock when he noticed how close he was to the waves. His speed was barely above a trotting run and the shape of his spell had become so ragged that his wings were holed and torn in sympathy with his concentration.

Stein had absolutely no idea how far Calaius was and he found no satisfaction in the knowledge that he had tried to deliver his message. He had failed and he would drown; the elves would never know of their peril in time. The thought made Stein angry, and he shouted with both voice and mind even though none would hear him barring the gulls following him.

‘Congratulations, Ephemere. Note that following my teaching produces wonder, excitement and progress simultaneously.’

Stein gasped and almost dropped into the ocean. He was sure it was his mind playing tricks but it sounded so real. . so close.

‘We’ve got him. I don’t believe it, we’ve got him.’

‘There was never any doubt in my mind that this would work.’

(Laughter)

‘It’s amazing. Is he still conscious?’

‘Barely, but it doesn’t matter. We can sustain the casting for two reasons: it is a very basic construct, and we can feed the necessary strength through the energy lines I always told you were there.’

‘I wonder why he’s coming here?’

‘I don’t care. This is purely an experiment in energy transfer. And it is one that will succeed. It really doesn’t matter whether he lives or dies.’

‘You have no heart.’

‘There is no room for heart. You’ve felt the sickness in the north. We have to be ready, and that means we have to understand our craft more keenly than they do theirs.’

‘Then we need him to live, don’t we? He might have critical information about why our voices in the north can no longer be heard.’

‘I already know why.’

‘You know the answer to absolutely everything, don’t you?’

‘Almost.’

The voices stopped after that, and Stein’s consciousness slipped away.

Stein had an itch. Actually his whole body itched but his face was the worst. He put his hands to his cheeks then pulled them away with a start. Strange. Stein opened his eyes, blinking against the light and waiting while they dragged themselves into focus. He was bandaged from fingertips to elbows. This was not death as he had imagined it.

Stein closed his eyes. He was lying down. He’d got the impression of a small room filled with a drumming noise and possibly with two or three people staring down at him. It felt hot and humid too. He opened his eyes again and found he was right on all counts.

He was in a small room with wooden walls. Curtains billowed before an open window beyond which he could see rain falling in sheets. The odd drip was coming through the thatched roof above him. He was lying in a bed and there were three people gathered about him. One of them had a wild and unkempt aspect and his eyes would not stay still. Nor would his mouth, as if he was in constant conversation though there were no words.

There was another man there — no not a man, an elf, a male elf. Male elves were called ulas , weren’t they? Whatever, he was a stern-looking individual, and whenever he looked at the unkempt one, which he seemed to do a lot, he scowled. The third was a female, an iad . She was young and bright and excited, and when she spoke to the stern one and he answered, he realised he’d heard their voices before.

‘Where am I?’ asked Stein, using the elvish that he and thirty-five generations of his family had been tasked to learn.

‘You are on Herendeneth, largest island of the Ornouth Archipelago, north of Calaius,’ said the stern one.

Stein relaxed back into his pillow.

‘I made it,’ he breathed. ‘It’s a miracle.’

‘I’m so glad you’re alive,’ said the iad . ‘I’m Ephemere; pleased to meet you.’

‘The credit should be given to those of us who found you and brought you here, not to some ethereal notion.’

Stein turned to the unkempt one, and knowledge clicked in his head, knowledge that had been passed down over seven hundred years of family secrets.

‘You are Takaar,’ he said. ‘Your name and face are noted in the historical records of my family.’

Takaar, for it was Takaar, paused and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

‘And your name is. .?’

‘Stein.’

There was a silence and Takaar hissed a breath in and out.

‘Then your arrival is welcome but the message you bring is not,’ he snapped.

‘Didn’t you mention that Stein’s survival was irrelevant to the experiment that brought him here?’ asked the stern one, a smirk on his face.

‘Your tongue will bring you to harm one day, Drech,’ said Takaar.

‘What is it you came all this way to say?’ asked Ephemere, her smile bright and fragile amid the sudden tension.

Stein looked at Drech and Takaar, waiting until they were both paying him their full attention and the atmosphere had softened a little.

‘War has engulfed my country and it is a war we’re losing. You must help us, or when they are done with Balaia, they will visit their fury and revenge on Calaius next.’

‘Who are “they”?’ asked Takaar.

‘The Wytch Lords,’ said Stein.

‘You speak that name as if it should chill our souls,’ said Takaar.

‘Ystormun is a Wytch Lord,’ said Stein, and he saw Takaar’s expression change from confidence to anxiety in a kind of weary slow motion.

Drech and Takaar exchanged a glance.

‘We must speak to Auum,’ said Drech.

Takaar spun on his heel and left the room.