Curse of Kings (The Trials of Oland Born, Book 1) (14 page)

T TOOK A DAY AND A HALF FOR
O
LAND AND
D
ELPHI TO
reach the southwest border between Galenore and Gort – a dividing line between a barren grey landscape and one of barren bronze. It had scarcely rained in Gort in one hundred years and, as they walked, its dry hills seemed endless. The journey passed quietly. Malben had not returned since fleeing in fright at the fountain. Oland and Delphi appreciated even more the distraction he had brought to their journey.

No one could visit the scryer without bringing her water. Oland and Delphi had filled a flask from the fountain in Galenore. It was said that some merchants would bring the scryer gallons, as though the greater the volume, the brighter their future.

“What will happen here, do you think?” said Delphi. “Apart from the water, is there something we have to do when we meet her? Bow or avert our eyes or—”

Oland stopped dead. “Gold!” he said. “I forgot about the gold.”

“What gold?” said Delphi.

“Have you heard of the Bastions?” said Oland. “They guard the scryer. In Bastion culture, it's considered a great honour. They have little to say; their only concern is the fee: gold coins that they make into rings and chains, ornaments and charms.” He let out a breath. “But I've got no gold to give them, so they won't let us in.”

Delphi laughed. “But I'm a daughter of Gold.” She rattled coins in her pocket. “Because of my father's name and reputation, no one paid him any less than in gold coins for his guide work. You can't give silver to a man called Chancey the Gold.”

“I can't expect you to pay,” said Oland.

“I'm the one who wanted to come here,” said Delphi. “I'm sure my father would understand why.” She walked on, “How do we know where to go?” she said.

Oland pointed to the hill in front of them. “We scale that and we see.”

They stood and watched Gort spread out before them. There was a huge valley ahead and, spanning it, a narrow rope bridge. Dark figures were gathered at either side.

“And there we have the Bastions,” said Oland.

“You never said anything about a bridge,” said Delphi.

“Because I didn't know there would be one,” said Oland.

Four Bastions guarded the entrance to the bridge. They were ragged and rough, heavy-browed and heavy-limbed. Their leathery skin, their wild curly hair, the very air around them was dark, yet the Bastions were blinding. They did more than just make rings and chains from their gold. It appeared that their entire bodies were covered with belts, cuffs, chokers, earrings, nose rings, toe rings and anklets. Even the buckles of their sandals were made of gold. Yet not one piece was well-crafted – the shapes had no symmetry; the surfaces were pocked or uneven. Their inspiration had clearly come from the mottled landscape around them.

Oland and Delphi stood before them.

“We would like to cross to see the Scryer of Gort,” said Oland.

The Bastions turned to each other and laughed, low and spiteful. One of them, dressed in a tunic studded with gold nuggets, opened his fat palm.

“Make shine,” he growled, pointing into the sky. “Like sun.” The other Bastions laughed.

Delphi reached into her pocket and pulled out two gold coins. A wide, crooked smile spread slowly across the Bastion's face as he closed his palm around them and shoved them into his pocket.

“What a shame – too young to see scryer,” he said.

“That is ridiculous,” said Delphi.

“Too many years ahead of you,” said the Bastion. “Too many years.”

“I have no fears for my future,” said Delphi.

“Don't care,” said the Bastion. “No entry. Rules.”

“Rules that say you can chain up an old woman and take money for her gifts?” said Delphi.

“We've come all the way from…” said Oland.

The Bastion shook his head. “Spare you the sight. Ugly lady. One eye. Only one. Go. Go home.”

“We're going nowhere until we speak with her,” said Oland, stepping forward.

“No more sleep for you,” said the Bastion. “Ugly lady.” He gestured towards the other side.

“I don't know what sleep is,” said Oland.

“Ah – Decresian.” said the Bastion. “Souls screaming all night.”

“Yes,” said Oland.

“Long way,” said the Bastion.

“That's what I said,” said Oland. “So please allow us to pass.”

“Your king… dead king. Good man,” said the Bastion.

The other Bastions nodded. “Yes. Hate good men. All of us.”

They laughed and took a step closer to Oland and Delphi. Delphi put her hand in her pocket and threw three gold coins on to the ground behind him.

“Sorry,” she said. “I'm so tired, I dropped them.”

The Bastion bent down, struggling to pick them up.

When he stood again, Delphi took a step towards him so she was six inches from his face. She reached out her arm.

Oland felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he watched Delphi's delicate hand moving towards the face of this huge glinting monster.

Delphi didn't take her eyes off the Bastion. He stared at her, motionless. She ran her fingertips gently across his heavily jutting brow, and the row of tiny gold rings that hung over his right eye.

“Beautiful,” she said. “Beautiful.” She did it again. “Musical.”

Oland was amazed at how she could get so close to such a man. The Bastion slowly pulled his eyes away from her. He glanced at his friends, a fleeting, troubled glance. Then his stare again met Delphi's.

“Let us through,” she said. It was as if she knew that her words would work, that there would be no question he would let them in.

It seemed that she was right.

“Warning,” said the Bastion, holding up a finger covered from top to bottom with gold bands. “You see scryer after – when eyes close at night. You see her, eyes open, morning.” He nodded. “Haunt you.”

He stepped back and let them walk across the swaying bridge to where a row of Bastions sat, like rotten teeth, at the entrance to the scryer's cave.

HE SCRYER'S CAVE WAS DOMED AND CLOSE TO FIFTEEN
feet at its highest point. The surface was the same inside as out: amber-coloured and pitted. It was, in fact, a dried-out bermid's nest.

Delphi gasped when she saw the scryer, lying on the floor like a cowering dog, scarcely lit by the weak flame of her candle. Oland stood, silent and still. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, her form became clearer to him. The scryer's head spun towards them, and they both recoiled.

As the Bastion had told them, the scryer had just one eye. In the empty socket was a puckered white stellate scar. Her eyebrows were wild and wispy. She was deathly grey and as thin as the winter branches of a silver birch tree. Every bone pushed against the skin that covered it. Her long, matted grey hair pooled out on to the floor around her. Her dress was a loose grey sheath over her skeletal frame. Frayed ropes shackled her at the neck, waist and ankles, stretching taut to dull metal rings in the wall.

Delphi took a step towards her. The scryer reached out her wizened arms.

“Let me see you,” she said. Her voice had a dark lilt. Her breath seared the frigid air, turning it white.

Delphi's heart pounded. She walked forward and crouched down in front of her. Without opening her eye, the scryer pressed her palms against Delphi's face, then traced her bony thumbs over it.

She shook her head from side to side. “Beautiful girl,” she said. “Beautiful and hiding.”

Without warning, one of the Bastions charged into the cave, grabbing Oland by the arm and pulling him towards the entrance.

“One each time, witch!” said the Bastion to the scryer, using his free hand to lash his whip at her. Delphi swiftly raised her arm to protect the old woman, and the whip slapped against her oilskins. The Bastion tried again, and again Delphi blocked it.

The Bastion growled, then threw Oland from the cave, where he landed at the feet of the other men. They glanced down at him, then reverted to flaunting their gold. Oland sat back against the wall and kept his eyes on the ground, unwilling to indulge their vanity.

Before long, Delphi reappeared, blinking, into the light. Oland had no time to talk to her as the Bastions beckoned him to the entrance. Delphi's face was impossible to read as she passed him their flask of water.

Inside the cave, Oland handed the scryer the flask. He noticed that her hand was shaking. She poured some water into a stone bowl on the floor. She took the candle in her hand, and held it over it. She inhaled deeply and seemed to go into a trance. Eventually, she opened her eye and stared into the bowl. She screamed.

The anguished, tormented wail was like nothing Oland had ever heard, and it tore through him. As he staggered backward, the scryer's cries got louder. He ran from the cave out to Delphi.

A Bastion leaned back into the cave, pulled a whip from his belt and struck out. The scryer screamed again as the leather finally struck her.

Delphi stepped forward. “She's an old woman,” she shouted. “How can you treat her this way? You are nothing but users. The only way you know how to make a living is by exploiting someone else's talents. And she gets nothing in return. Nothing!”

The Bastion laughed loud and low. “She gone soon. Next one come soon.”

“Next what?” said Delphi.

“Next one. Two eyes. Maybe. See more.” The Bastions all laughed.

“The next what?” said Delphi. “The next scryer? What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Delphi,” said Oland. “We should leave.” He hadn't realised how desperate he had been to hear something positive until the scryer had screamed at him. What had he done? He believed that he had been polite and respectful. Yet the scryer had howled as if he had drenched her in burning oil. He had never wanted to come here. He had thought, at worst, he would hear some nonsense. But the worst turned out to be the deep, unsettling feeling that was clawing at him.

He and Delphi crossed the bridge to the other side.

One of the Bastions stationed there pointed at them and laughed. “White face. Haunted now. Told you.”

“Look at you all,” said Delphi. “You have no gifts of your own. You rely on the scryer's. You are nothing—”

The Bastion stopped laughing. “Bad girl.” He pushed his face into Delphi's, but she pushed too, and she seemed to push harder. She struck his forehead and he staggered backward. He howled, and, when he raised his head up again, blood was streaming down his eye, and three of the rings had been ripped from his brow.

Oland and Delphi ran.

Weighed down by their gold, the Bastions struggled to keep pace. They quickly fell away, returning to the bridge and the only job for which they were equipped. Oland and Delphi stopped once they were out of sight.

“What did you do to him?” said Oland.

“I… I don't really know,” said Delphi. “He was coming too close to me, so I struck first and, before I realised it, he was bleeding.”

“But how did you rip off the rings?” said Oland. “And what did you do to him when we arrived? He just let us cross.”

“I did nothing,” said Delphi. “I just stared at him. The rest was the gold.”

“He looked stricken,” said Oland.

Delphi laughed. “Good. What did you do to the scryer?”

“Nothing either,” said Oland.

“You must have asked her something she didn't like,” said Delphi.

“I didn't ask her anything,” said Oland. “She may have sensed that I was doubtful…”

“You could have pretended you believed in her,” said Delphi.

“Wouldn't she have known?” said Oland.

“Lucky I went first,” said Delphi. “Otherwise we'd know nothing.”

“And what do you know?” said Oland.

“What does it matter, if you won't believe in it?” said Delphi.

Oland smiled.

“She said she did meet my mother when she was pregnant with me,” said Delphi. “She didn't say what she said to her, but then suddenly she said she could smell fresh water. She started to rock back and forth. Then she said she could see me in the ocean, but her face went dark and she said that I was never, ever to enter water, that I would draw something terrible upon myself.”

“What did she mean ‘something terrible'?” said Oland.

“That's all she said,” said Delphi. “I asked her was my mother still alive and she didn't quite answer. It was all so strange…”

“Did you ask her where Sabian is?” said Oland. “Did she say anything that might help us? Did she say anything about the archivist?”

“She didn't mention the archivist,” said Delphi. “She told me about King Micah and Queen Cossima. She said that they were very much in love and that, on the day they were married, King Micah brought her in a white carriage to Garnish and presented her with her very own private woods, filled with exotic trees and flowers and plants.”

“And?” said Oland.

“The next thing she said was that we would find someone ‘by willow, by lamplights'.”

“What does that mean?” said Oland. “Who?”

“I don't know,” said Delphi. “I'm simply telling you what she said.”

“None of it makes sense,” said Oland. “She could say anything.”

“How about this, then: she told me very clearly that, despite what everyone thinks, she did
not
tell Villius Ren that he would be defeated by Chancey the Gold.”

“What?” said Oland.

“She said that she told him no such thing. She called it ‘rumours and fathoming and guessing and lying'.”

“But—”

“She told him that his downfall would be at the hands of ‘a champion'.”

“Chancey
was
a champion,” said Oland.

“Villius no longer has to fear Chancey the Gold.”

“I'm sorry,” said Oland. “I… I wasn't thinking.”

 

With Chancey the Gold dead, Oland thought of the only other man he knew to have been a champion of The Games: Jerome Rynish. Was he likely to bring about the downfall of Villius Ren? Oland thought about what Jerome had said: “It is more likely that… Villius Ren himself was to slay the beasts, then on to solo glory he would go.” If Villius Ren crowned himself champion at The Games, then, in his mind, he would be reassured that there would be no new champion to defeat him. When he couldn't do that, he finally had his men kill Chancey the Gold. With Jerome Rynish beaten down, Villius Ren could finally be reassured. Then Oland thought of the flicker of fear in Villius Ren's eyes when he had stood before him at the arena. The crowd had chanted the worst possible word for Villius Ren to hear.

Champion.