Descent

  ‘I don’t know! Ew!’ she replied shrilly. ‘But we have to do something.’ The blood rose up to her chest. They were holding their arms up high so as not to get their hands wet, but Jane slipped and fell into the ocean of blood. Fern wrenched her straight again, as she coughed and spluttered and tried to spit it out of her mouth.

  ‘Oh my god!’ she shouted, frantically wiping her face. ‘Yuck, yuck, yuck! This is the most disgusting thing ever!’ Jane realised she was too short to keep walking, and that she had to start swimming through the blood. Fern waded forward, pulling her along with him. ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she moaned. ‘I can taste it!’

  It was up to his neck now. And then it was higher than that, and they were both treading, trying to keep their faces aloft. She assumed since they couldn’t see the roof they had time to keep swimming, but suddenly, without warning, Jane’s legs felt heavy, leaden down with weight, and she was no longer able to move her arms. She sank into the ocean of blood, no time to even take a breath.

  She couldn’t open her eyes—it was too thick to see through and would have burned. But she knew Fern was with her, because their grip on each other’s hands was like iron.

  And it occurred to her what this was. Whose blood this was. It belonged to all the people of Paragor that she had failed to save, all the men and women who had died, first in the war against Leostrial, and then, for the last two years, at the hands of the evil creatures. And so too did all the blood belong to the future victims of the Scourge. All the lives that lay in Jane and Fern’s hands.

  If she could have screamed she would have, because finally she realised that this was it—this was her worst fear, and it was how she was going to die. After everything that had happened, she was going to drown in a pool of blood that wasn’t even real.

  The thought was like a shot of adrenalin, snapping her awake— it’s not real!

  Jane clenched her jaw, and then she opened her eyes. She looked at Fern, because she simply assumed she would be able to. And then she opened her mouth, and even though it should have killed, it didn’t, because Jane knew that if she willed it to be so, she could breathe. She could decide.

  ‘Fern!’ she said. He heard her, his body stiffening. ‘Just breathe, Fern,’ she said calmly. ‘There’s no blood. You can open your eyes, and take a breath. Trust me.’

  And so he opened his eyes.

  ‘What?’ he gasped, treading calmly, breathing in and out. And then suddenly they were standing on the floor again in a completely dry room, no trace of blood anywhere on their bodies.

  ‘It was all an illusion,’ she said. He gave her a quick hug, but already they were in the next place, the next part of their nightmare.

  They were standing in a smaller room, its walls made of canvas. The light was dim, for the sun was setting outside. Looking out through the open flap they could see an intense jungle, reaching high into the sky and covering them in a mist of humidity. Jane gasped, realising they were high up in the trees.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, looking at a huge red bird perched on a nearby branch. Massive yellow flowers were scattered around and in the distance, through a gap in the trees, they could faintly see a mighty waterfall.

  ‘Where are we?’ she whispered.

  ‘I think we’re in Frescana,’ Fern replied. ‘The Amazonian women live in the trees.’

  Just then two people entered the room. Fern and Jane tensed, but neither person paid them any attention, and carried on as though they weren’t there.

  The lady was very tall, with bright, blonde hair—clearly an Amazonian, and perhaps a royal one by her attire and jewellery. The man looked plainer, but had an air of regality that both Jane and Fern recognised. He was tall and dark-haired, with blue eyes and an easy confidence about him. There was something strangely familiar to Jane about his face. Like she might have seen it before but couldn’t figure out when.

  Jane looked at Fern and he shrugged. ‘I don’t think they can see us,’ he said softly, and sure enough, neither person gave any hint that he had been heard.

  The woman was busy pouring wine, and it wasn’t hard to see that she was increasingly anxious. The man only stared at her, marking every one of her movements, and Jane could see clear devotion in his eyes.

  ‘I am breaking many laws by allowing you here,’ the woman said smoothly, hiding her discomfort well.

  ‘You aren’t allowed men in your rooms?’ he asked, taking a sip.

  ‘Not in royal rooms. We can meet with whomever we want anywhere else, but our personal rooms are sacred to our femininity,’ she replied.

  ‘Then why am I here?’ he asked, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Because you followed me.’

  ‘Surely all that skill you have just displayed could be put to proper use? Why not force me to leave?’

  ‘Because you are a guest at the fortress, and have given me lessons for the past few weeks. It would not be fitting to be rude,’ she said, turning away. He sighed and put his glass down.

  ‘Liessen,’ he said softly. ‘Why lie?’

  Fern gasped and Jane tried to think where she had heard that name before. ‘Satine’s mother,’ he whispered and Jane’s eyes widened.

  ‘I didn’t know she was an Amazonian!’

  ‘Nor did I,’ Fern replied and went back to watching the pair.

  ‘How dare you accuse me of such things, Altor?’ Liessen replied.

  ‘Satine’s father,’ Fern said, understanding now. Jane nodded, realising why the man was so familiar—he looked just like his grandson, a boy who had been named after him.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Altor ordered suddenly and Liessen’s eyes snapped back to him. ‘I leave on the morrow and it will be a long time before I return. Is that what you want?’

  ‘What else am I supposed to want?’ she asked and Jane wondered why she would say such things when it was clear that this was the last thing she desired.

  They watched as the pair threw barbs back and forth. Their attachment was obvious—neither wanted to part, but neither was willing to say how they felt.

  But eventually Liessen and Altor admitted their love and fell into each other’s arms. Then the scene dissolved and they were standing in the huge cavern again.

  ‘What was that?’ Jane asked.

  ‘I have no idea. Do you think it really happened?’

  ‘I suppose so, but why did we see it?’

  They both frowned as they thought about the scene they had just witnessed. It didn’t seem to have much weight now that Altor was dead. Except that it was very sad. Jane couldn’t stop thinking about how badly Liessen must have suffered when he died.

  ‘She must have left with him,’ Fern mused. ‘And she never told anyone who she was.’

  An instant later and they were standing in a different room again—this time they were in the tower of a stone castle, and it was neither beautiful nor calm. Screams could be heard from all around them. In the middle of the room were three people. Jane felt tears spring to her eyes as she realised what they were watching. King Altor lay on the ground with several thick spears protruding from his chest. His wife was next to him, holding his hand, and his head lay in the lap of a young boy. Accolon. Jane felt her tears fall as she watched Altor die, and she couldn’t help but think of his grandson, who had been born into a family wracked with such loss.

  Soon they were back in the mighty hall, silence around them once more.

  Jane wiped her eyes, unable to rid herself of the weight of sadness. ‘He was so young—what a waste.’

  Fern nodded wearily. ‘Lapis Matyr was a good place when he was king.’

  They started to walk again. But they had only taken a few steps before the cavern disappeared and they were standing somewhere else entirely.

  This time their surroundings were not evident. Two women stood in front of them. One was Fern’s mother, Liensenne, the tall and beautiful Elvish Queen. The other was a woman Jane had never seen. Short and curvaceous, with a plain face and l
ong brown hair.

  The women stared at each other.

  ‘Don’t do this,’ the short woman said. ‘Nothing is worth such deaths.’

  ‘Exactly,’ the queen said icily. ‘So you will save them, thus making my plan ring true.’

  The short woman looked at Liensenne, heartbreaking sadness in her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I will save them, because I love them more than I could love anything. But I feel pity for you, because you have obviously never known such love.’

  The tall woman did not reply, but her face twisted into ugly fury. Then the two women were gone, and Jane and Fern were looking at two other people. King Cornelius, and Princess Elixia when she was about eight years old.

  They were talking and laughing softly, but suddenly, and for no apparent reason, they both slumped into their chairs, and Jane and Fern knew that they were dead, killed by some twist of Elvish magic.

  Fern gasped and he went forward as if to touch them, but Jane held onto his arm and pulled him back.

  The scene changed again.

  Before them was a pit of blackness so deep and penetrating that its reaches were impossible to fathom. And all that came from its depths was a feeling of overwhelming loss.

  Two bodies floated past them and into the frightening depth. It was Elixia and her father, and they sank down quickly, looking vague and confused. Fern cried out, but he was completely unheard.

  From above another body came, but this one was making its way purposefully down, as though swimming with utter desperation. It was the small woman they had seen before, and she moved through the emptiness with a certainty that spoke of experience.

  When she reached the two bodies she grabbed both by the arms and began to rise with them. The load was terribly heavy, and she didn’t look strong enough. Her face crinkled, all colour draining from it.

  ‘Come on,’ Jane whispered without meaning to. The woman began to sink down under the weight and Fern groaned. But her face took on new determination and she surged up through the blackness, seeking the light that came from above with a desperation born of love.

  Finally she made it, and Jane could have wept with admiration. But the relief died quickly in her heart, for as soon as the two saved bodies disappeared into the light, the woman began to plummet back down into the depths of loss and blackness. Jane tried to reach out for her, but she sank right through her non-existent grasp.

  They watched in despair as she fell, even though there was great relief and peace in the woman’s face. Then she disappeared, and so did the scene, and they were standing back in the cavern.

  Jane looked at Fern. His face was white. ‘Hira. My stepmother. Elixia’s mother,’ he said shakily.

  ‘Oh god,’ Jane muttered. Now she understood.

  ‘I never knew she died that way,’ he went on. ‘ And my mother!’ His voice was enraged. ‘How could she have done that?’

  Jane didn’t know what to say. She’d always thought there was something cold about the Queen of the Elves, but had never imagined she might be capable of something like that.

  Before they could compose themselves, the two of them were thrust into another scene, different again.

  Now they stood in the ice castle in the queen’s chamber. She was there, and so was another Elvish man. He had his back to them so they couldn’t see who it was, but a clear sense of urgency surrounded them.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ the man asked, his voice strained. Jane and Fern moved so that they could see his face and both gasped at the same time. It was Blaise. He looked different. Younger than when they had last seen him, and a lot more like an Elf than either of them remembered. But he’d been trying to stay disguised when they knew him, so it made sense.

  ‘The sending-stone shone! They are in trouble! Send help!’

  Liensenne shook her head firmly. ‘If they are within human lands then they are not ours to help.’

  Jane felt a tremor of fear as she looked at Blaise’s face. She’d never seen such horror.

  ‘ What?’ he whispered, his voice the sound of someone dying slowly. ‘It’s my wife and daughter, and you want to leave them to be killed by sabre-tooths because they aren’t in Elvish land? Have you gone insane?’

  ‘Watch your tongue,’ she ordered flatly, turning away from him.

  ‘How can you do this? How can you let them die just because we don’t have an alliance with the humans?’

  Liensenne didn’t even bother replying. Jane struggled to stop her hands from shaking. It had always been there for them to see—the loss in the eyes of the Elf. She’d never understood until now what had caused the First Prince of the Elves to flee his people and have them name him ‘the Lost Prince’ forever more. But now she knew, and she’d give anything not to be watching this.

  ‘If you do this,’ Blaise whispered into the silence of the room, ‘If you refuse to send aid and make me go there alone, I will forsake you as my queen and I will leave this city and my people forever.’

  Slowly Liensenne turned back to face her nephew. Her eyes were full of tears. ‘So be it,’ she said.

  A shadow passed through Blaise, never to leave again. Before he swept from the room, he said, his voice stronger than anything Jane had heard, ‘I curse you until the day you die. May your soul rot in hell for all eternity.’

  Jane felt it like a blow, and when she looked at Fern, she knew he was experiencing the fall of his cousin a thousand times more painfully than she ever would.

  The sound of the Queen of the Elves crying softly in her room made of ice echoed around them, even after the scene had disappeared and they were somewhere different.

  Now they were in a stone room at night, the moons through the window the only light. The walls were circular, and against one there was a small straw palette with a sleeping man upon it.

  Jane moved closer. It was Harry. Vague, dreamy Harry, who’d turned into a man somewhere along the way. He was tossing in his sleep, low moans escaping his mouth.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ Jane breathed. ‘Has he been touched by a Valkyrie?’

  Fern didn’t have a chance to reply, because just then there was a rush of movement, like everything in the room was moving at high speed. Jane blinked and opened her eyes to realise that they were standing inside Harry’s dream. It was dark, but Harry stood in a pool of light, staring at something unseen.

  ‘Hello,’ he said gently.

  Jane blinked. ‘Who is he talking to?’ she whispered. Fern shook his head, clearly as confused as she was.

  ‘Who are you?’ Harry murmured into the empty air. Jane walked around so that she could see her friend’s face. He looked wistful and nervous. And his eyes seemed to be focused on something in the immediate vicinity. She looked around but there was no one, only darkness.

  They watched as Harry had an entire one-sided conversation, and then they heard him say, ‘ I don’t understand...’

  Suddenly all the colour drained from Harry’s face. A look came into his eyes, and the touch of terror was like a cold finger reaching inside Jane, because she’d seen that look before. She’d seen it in the eyes of Luca after he’d been tortured.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she whispered. Harry sank to his knees. It seemed like a great weight had come down on top of him.

  ‘When did this—is this happening now?’ Jane asked, her voice shaky. Urgency struck her—she had to do something this time. She’d let Luca walk down that path of darkness alone, but she was not going to allow Harry to do the same if something had touched his mind.

  A moment later they found themselves under the earth in a dank cavern. Watching as Luca was tortured by Vezzet, his bones broken, his skin burnt, his screams piercing the air.

  Jane felt a tremor in her heart but there were no tears in her eyes now. She was frozen, sick with horror. Fern’s eyes were locked on the writhing figure. They were forced to witness the agony, the breaking of a mind, the torture of a boy they loved. Jane thought she might vomit. She would never forget it.
r />   Again they moved to another scene, and now they were standing in the middle of the desert, watching a mighty city sink into the sand, the cries of torment and sorrow audible even from such a distance. They watched until the tips of the palace had disappeared, until the sand was bare in every direction.

  Once again they moved, and this time it was to witness something that neither of them understood at first.

  Jane and Fern were standing on a boat, the sun on their backs, the sounds of waves lapping underneath them a respite from all the screams they had just heard. There were young men and women chained to the oars, being made to row even though every one of them looked about ready to die from weakness and heat.

  All of them except one person. And that was Jack.

  He looked so different, his sun-tanned back and shoulders working hard, muscled with the exertion of rowing. A man who was clearly in charge walked straight through them to stand in front of Jack. He began to whip the boy, over and over, and Jane gasped as she saw the lacerations appear on Jack’s back. Jack didn’t make a noise though—he didn’t even stop rowing. He just gritted his teeth and put more effort into his task. The picture was so at odds with how Jane thought of Jack—spoilt and petulant. Not strong like this. She covered her eyes and shook her head, willing it all to stop.

  The next room they arrived in was one that Jane recognised. She searched backwards, a long way back, for the memory that would prepare her.

  A royal bedchamber. One she knew well. It was late at night, and the furnishings were very old fashioned. Over a thousand years old. There was a couple sleeping in the wide bed. But they weren’t who held her attention. A man was entering through the door, his hood drawn to hide his face. He held a very long, straight sword with a black gem in the hilt, and Jane recognised it immediately.

  ‘Oh no,’ she whispered, casting a horrified look at Fern’s confused face. She would have given anything just then for him not to be watching this. Anything.

  The couple in the bed stirred, both waking at the same time and looking around in the dim light, searching for the source of the soft noise. They spotted him. A tall, cloaked, armed man, standing in their bedchamber in the middle of the night.