Shadowrise

  The rest of them rushed toward him then. Barrick did his best to remember the lessons Shaso had taught him so long ago—back when the world had still made sense—but the old Tuani master had never taught them much about knife fighting. Barrick could only do the best he could, struggling to retain his weapon at all costs. He fought as in a dream, with strands of sticky white clinging to his arms and legs and face and obscuring his vision. He grappled with the silkins, holding them with their own threaded, leaf-tangled coverings as he tore at them with his blade. Each time he threw one down another came forward to take its place; after a while he could see nothing except what was just before him, as if all the rest of the world had gone dark. He slashed and slashed and slashed until every bit of his strength was gone, then he fell down at last into utter senselessness, not certain whether he was alive or dead and not caring.

  “Nry nnrd nroo noof?” the voice kept asking him—a question for which he did not have an immediate answer.

  Barrick opened his eyes to find himself face to face with a nightmare—a thing like a rotting apple-doll. He shrieked, but the sound barely hissed out of his parched throat. The raven flew up and away with much flapping of wings, then settled down a short distance away, dropping the ghastly thing that had dangled from his beak onto the soft ground.

  “Why did you move?” Skurn asked Barrick again. “Told you to stay waiting, us did. Said us were coming back.”

  Barrick rolled over and sat up, staring around in sudden panic, but there was no sign of his attackers anywhere. “Where are they, those silky things? Where did they go?”

  The raven shook his head as though dealing with a sadly stupid fledgling. “Exactly, just as us said. This be silkin land, and no place for you to go wandering.”

  “I fought them, you idiot bird!” Barrick staggered to his feet. He ached in every muscle but his crippled arm felt a hundred times worse than that. “I must have killed them all.” But even the silkin corpses were gone. Did things just evaporate after they were dead, like dew?

  Barrick saw something and bent to pick it up on the end of his broken spear. “Aha!” He jabbed it triumphantly in the direction of the raven, even his good arm trembling with weariness. “What’s that then?”

  The raven eyed the glob of black goo tangled in broken strands of dirty white. “The dung of somewhat that were sick.” Skurn examined the mess with interest. “That be our guess.”

  “It’s from one of those silk-things! I stabbed it—I ripped them open and they bled out this foul stuff.”

  “Ah. Then we should get on,” Skurn said, nodding. “Eat this quick-like. Silkins’ll come back with more of their kind soon.”

  “Ha! Do you see! I did kill some!” Barrick paused in sudden confusion. “Hold,” he said. “Eat what?”

  Skurn nudged at the thing he had dropped on the ground. “Follower, it is. Young one, but cursed heavy to carry.”

  The dead Follower was about the size of a squirrel, its round little head dominated by a jagged, wide mouth so that it looked like a melon broken under someone’s heel. The knobs of bone protruding through its greasy fur, hardened into gray lumps on the adult specimens Barrick had seen the day they found Gyir, were still pink and soft on this young one. It did not add to the thing’s beauty. “You want me to . . .” Barrick stared. “You want me to eat that . . . ?”

  “You’ll get no nicer treat today,” the raven said crossly. “Trying to do you a favor, us was.”

  It was all Barrick could do not to be immediately and violently ill.

  After he had gathered his strength, he got back onto his feet. In one thing, anyway, the raven was undoubtedly right—it would not be wise to remain too long in this place where he had killed silkins.

  “If you’re going to eat that horrid thing, eat it,” Barrick said. “Don’t make me look at it.”

  “Bring it along, us will, in case you change your mind . . .”

  “I’m not going to eat it!” Barrick raised his hand to smack at the black bird but did not have the strength. “Just hurry up and finish it so we can go.”

  “Too big,” said the raven contentedly. “Us has to eat it slow, savory-like. But it’s too big for us to carry far, either. Can you . . . ?”

  Barrick took a deep, slow breath. Much as it shamed him, he needed this bird. He couldn’t forget the loneliness that had surrounded him only an hour before when he thought the raven was gone. “Very well! I’ll carry it, if you can find some leaves or something to wrap it in.” He shuddered. “But if it starts to stink . . .”

  “Then you mought get hungry, us knows. Never fear, us’n’ll find a place to stop before then.”

  When they had covered enough ground that Barrick felt a little safer they settled into a hollow where he would be sheltered from the worst of the wind and mist by a large rock jutting from the side of the dell. Barrick would have given almost anything for a fire, but he had lost his flint and steel in Greatdeeps and he did not know how to make flame any other way.

  Kendrick would have been able to do it, he thought bitterly. Father would, too.

  “At least we seem to be leaving the silkins’ territory,” he said out loud. “We walked for hours without seeing any.”

  “Silky Wood goes a long way,” the raven said at last. “Us doesn’t think we’re even halfway to the middle.”

  “Blood of the gods, you’re joking!” Barrick felt despair slide over him like a thundercloud blotting the sun. “Do we have to walk straight through it? Can’t we go around it? Is this the only way to go to . . .” he wrestled with the throaty, alien words, “to Qul-na-Qar?”

  “We could go round the wood, us guesses,” Skurn informed him, “but it would take a long time. We could go sunward of it and then pass through Blind Beggar lands instead. Or withershins, and then we’d be traveling Wormsward. Either way, though, us’ll still find trouble on the far side.

  “Trouble?”

  “Aye. Sunward, in the Beggar lands, us’ll have to look out sharp for Old Burning Eye and the Orchard of Metal Bats.”

  Barrick gulped. He didn’t want to know anymore. “Then let’s go the other way around.”

  Skurn nodded gravely. “ ’Cepting that if we go withershins, us’re in a swampy place us heard is called Melt-Your-Bones, and even if we miss the woodsworms we’ll have to look smart so we don’t get caught by the Suck-down Toothies.”

  Barrick closed his eyes. He was finding his way back to prayer, he had discovered, although having met the demigod Jikuyin he still had difficulty believing the gods always had his best interests in mind. But with a choice between the murderous silkins, something called Metal Bats, and Suck-down Toothies, it couldn’t hurt to pray.

  O Gods . . . O Great Ones in Heaven. He tried to think of something to say. Only a few short days ago I discovered I would have to travel across all this fearful, unknown land of demons and monsters with only two companions, a fairy warrior and the captain of my royal guard. Now I still must make that same journey with only one companion—a dung-eating, insolent bird. If you meant to ease my burdens, great ones, you could have done better.

  It wasn’t much of a prayer, Barrick knew, but at least he and the gods were talking again.

  “Wake me up if something’s going to kill me.” As he stretched out on the uneven ground he could hear the wet sounds of Skurn starting on the dead Follower. Barrick’s ribs ached; his arm felt like it was full of sharp pieces of broken pottery. “No, on second thought, don’t bother waking me. Maybe I’ll be lucky and die in my sleep.”

  4

  Without a Heart

  “The eminent philosopher Phayallos also maintained that the fairy words meaning ‘god’ and ‘goddess’ were very close to their words for ‘uncle’ and ‘aunt’ . . .”

  —from “A Treatise on the Fairy Peoples of Eion and Xand”

  THE CHILD TOOK HER HAND and placed it against his narrow chest, a gesture Qinnitan knew meant, “I’m frightened.” She pulled him closer, held him as the movement of
the Xixian ship rocked them both. “Don’t worry, Pigeon. He won’t hurt you. He only brought you to make sure I don’t dive over the side and try to swim back to Hierosol.”

  He gave her a reproachful look: it wasn’t just for himself that he was frightened.

  “Truly, we’ll be well,” she said, but they both knew she was lying. Qinnitan lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’ll see—we’ll find a chance to get away before we catch up with the autarch.”

  Their cabin door abruptly swung open. The man who had snatched them from the streets of Hierosol stared at them, his eyes and face devoid of expression, as if he were thinking of something else entirely. While disguised as an old woman he had mimed feelings quite convincingly, but now he had thrown that aside as if human nature were only a mask he had been wearing.

  “What do you want?” she asked. “Are you afraid we’re going to sneak out the locked door? Climb the mast and step off onto a cloud, perhaps?”

  He ignored her as he walked past. He yanked hard at the bars on the window, testing them, then turned to survey the tiny cabin.

  “What is your name?” Qinnitan demanded.

  His lips twitched. “What does it matter?”

  “We will be together on this ship until we reach the autarch and you can be paid your blood money. You certainly know my name, and much more—you must have spent weeks following me, watching everything I did. By the Sacred Hive, you even dressed up like an old woman so you could spy on me! The least you could do is tell me who you are.”

  He didn’t respond, and his face remained as expressionless as a dead man’s as he turned and left the cabin, every movement as precise and fluid as those of a temple dancer. She might have almost admired it, but she knew it would be like a mouse admiring the murderous grace of a cat.

  She felt something damp on her arm. Pigeon was crying.

  “Here, here,” she said. “Shh, lamb. Don’t be afraid. I’ll tell you a story. Do you want to hear a story?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Have you heard the true story of Habbili the Crooked? I know you’ve heard of him—he was the son of the great god Nushash, but when his father was driven into exile, Habbili was treated very badly by Argal and the rest of the demon-gods. For a while it seemed there was no chance he would survive, but in the end he destroyed his enemies and saved his father and even Heaven itself. Do you want to hear about that?”

  Pigeon was still sniffling, but she thought she felt him nod.

  “Some of it is a little frightening so you have to be brave. Yes? Then I’ll tell you.” And she told him the tale just as her father had taught it to her.

  Long, long ago, when horses could still fly and the great red desert of Xand was covered with grass and flowers and trees, the great god Nushash was riding and met Suya the Dawnflower. Her beauty stole his heart. He went to her father Argal the Thunderer, who was his half brother, and asked to marry her. Argal gave permission, but he had a cruel, dishonorable trick in mind, because he and his brothers were jealous of Nushash.

  When Nushash had taken Suya away to meet his family, Argal called his brothers Xergal and Efiyal and told them Nushash had stolen his daughter. The brothers then assembled all their servants and warriors and rode to Moontusk, the house of Xosh, brother of Nushash and Lord of the Moon, where Nushash and his new bride were staying.

  The war was long and terrible, and during the years it lasted a son was born to Nushash and Suya. His name was Habbili, and he was a brave, beautiful child, the treasure of his parents, wise and kind beyond his years.

  Bright Nushash and his kin were defeated at last by the treachery of his half brothers. Suya Dawnflower escaped the destruction of Moontusk, but was lost in the wilderness for many years until Xergal the Lord of the Deep, Argal’s brother, found her and made her his wife.

  Xosh the Moonlord was killed in the fighting. Great Nushash was captured, but he was too powerful to destroy, so Argal and the others cut him into many pieces and scattered those pieces over all the lands. But young Habbili, son of Nushash, was tortured by Argal, his own grandfather, and all the rest of that demon clan. They tormented him and lamed him, then at last they cut out his heart and burned it on the fire and left him dead in the ruins of Moontusk.

  But a mother serpent came into the ruins looking for a place to lay her egg, and so when she birthed it she hid it in the hole in Habbili’s chest. With the poisoned egg in his chest he came to life once more, consumed with anger and vowing revenge.

  “How can you do this to me?” the mother snake said. “I have brought you back to life, but my child is in your breast and cannot hatch. If you go away now to attack your enemies you will have returned evil for good.”

  Habbili thought about this and saw that what she said was true. “Very well,” he said. “I will trust you, although my own family has betrayed me more times than I can count. Take back your egg, but go and draw a coal from the fires burning in the rubble and put that in my chest instead.” And Habbili reached into his chest, pulled out the serpent’s egg, and then fell down dead once more.

  The mother snake was honorable. She could have left him then, but instead she went and drew a coal from the fire burning in the ruins of the tower and brought it back, although it burned her mouth badly, which is why ever since all snakes have hissed instead of spoken. She placed it in his chest and he came back to life. He thanked her and went on his way, limping so badly from his many injuries that the mortals who met him named him “Crooked.”

  For years he wandered and had many adventures and learned many things, but always he thought of the evil done to him by his grandfather and uncles. At last he felt he was ready to resume the sacred feud and to bring his father, Nushash, back to life. But his father’s body had been cut in pieces and scattered up and down the lands of the north and the lands of the south so Habbili had to search long and hard to find them. At last he had recovered all but his father’s head, which was kept in a crystal casket in the house of Xergal, the god of deep places and the dead, whom northerners call Kernios. Habbili went to Xergal’s stronghold and, with the use of charms and spells he had learned, made his way past the guards and into the heart of the house. And as he stole through that dark place, the wife of Xergal came upon him. Crooked did not at first recognize her, but she recognized him—for she was, after all, his mother Suya Dawnflower, whom Xergal had captured and forced into marriage.

  “You must run away, my son,” she told him. “The Earthlord will be back soon, and when he returns he will be angry and destroy you.”

  “No,” Habbili said. “I have come to steal my father’s head, so that I can bring him back to life.”

  Suya was frightened, but she could not change his mind. “Dark Xergal keeps your father’s head in the deepest cellar of his house,” she said at last, “in a crystal casket that cannot be broken without the hammer of Argal the Thunderer, his brother. But you cannot steal the hammer without the net of Efiyal, Lord of the Waters, who is brother to both. All three brothers are together on a hunting trip and their treasures are unguarded, so you must go now to steal them, for soon they will return to their houses and then you will never succeed.”

  So Habbili the Crooked fled from Xergal’s house and followed his mother’s instructions, diving into the great river and swimming down into its depths to the house of Efiyal. There by his skill he overcame the crocodiles that guarded the river god’s throne and stole the net. Next he climbed high to the top of Xandos, the great mountain, to Argal’s house on its peak. He threw Efiyal’s net over the one hundred deadly warriors there so that they slept at his command, then took the great hammer down from the place where it hung by the door. Then Habbili reclaimed the magic net and climbed down Mount Xandos. He went down into the ground, back to the house where Xergal his uncle, lord of the deep places, kept his throne and all his treasure.

  “Please be careful, son,” his mother Suya told him. “If Xergal finds you here he will destroy you. He is the god of the dead lands. He will drag you into the sh
adows and you will stay there forever.” But Habbili went down the stairs into the deepest part of the Deathlord’s castle and found his father’s head in a box of gold and crystal, floating in a pool of quicksilver. When Habbili picked it up his father’s eyes opened. But since he had eyes and a mouth but no heart, he did not recognize his own son, and so Nushash’s head began to cry, “Help! Xergal, great lord! Someone is trying to steal me!”

  At that moment Xergal was returning from his hunting trip. He heard the cry of Nushash’s head and hurried down the tunnel toward the deep vault, his footsteps booming like thunder. Habbili was frightened despite the coal burning hot in his breast—he knew that with his crippled legs he could not outrun the Deathlord—so he set the head of his father down on the floor, took up the Hammer of Argal and the Net of Efiyal, and waited. When Xergal burst into the room, his beard and robes black as a starless, moonless night, his eyes flashing red like rubies, Habbili threw the net over him. For a moment Xergal was slowed by his own brother’s sea magic and stopped, amazed. In that moment, Habbili threw the hammer at him and it knocked Xergal the Earthlord to the ground. Habbili picked up the hammer, took the head of his father in its crystal casket, and ran up the stairs with Xergal right behind him, getting closer all the time.

  Suya, Habbili’s mother, grabbed at the cloak of Xergal as he ran past. “Husband,” she cried, “you must come and eat your supper before it is cold.”

  The Earthlord tried to pull away from her, but she held on. “Woman, let go of me. Someone has stolen what is mine.”

  Suya clung to him. “But I have turned back the bed. Come and lie with me before the bed is cold.”

  Still Xergal fought to get away. “Let go of me! Someone has stolen what is mine!”

  Suya would not let go. “Come and stay with me. I feel ill, and soon I may die.”

  Xergal shouted, “You will die now!” and struck her down, but by that time Habbili the Crooked had escaped from of the underground palace and had fled south into the forests around Xandos. There he used the Hammer of Argal to free his father’s head from the casket, and then all the pieces of Nushash Whitefire were joined and the Lord of the Sun was alive again.