Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) (32 page)

Twenty-seven / The Isle

Twenty-seven

The Isle

The Isle

From above Losara could see how small the Isle of Assedrynn actually was. It was smooth, flat black stone sitting low in the sea, apart from a small hill that rose at one end. For a traveller sailing dark waters under dark skies, it would be all but impossible to find without the help of the gods.

‘South,’ said Assedrynn, an unseen presence by his side, and they sped away across the water. Beneath, a white dot appeared and they dived towards it. Losara saw the white was foam turned up by the bow of a boat and that Battu lay inside, stretched out with his eyes closed.

‘He dreams, as you did,’ said Assedrynn. ‘Of the depths. Riding with the souls beneath. But he does not move between them, he stays with one. Look.’

The sea rushed up to meet them and Losara braced himself – but there was no onrush of cold or wet as their ethereal forms plunged below the surface. Deeper they went, until the shape of the boat was a dot once again, this time above them. Rock pinnacles jutted out of the ocean floor, and long weeds waved in the current. Sharks emerged out of the black, matching the progress of the boat above. At the front swam the largest, its great bulk mottled with scars, skin straining as if it barely contained its flesh.

‘Battu is there,’ said Assedrynn. ‘Inside. He drives the leader to hunt even when sated, to eat more than its share and leave the others hungry. Such is the nature of his greed. Power alone does not make him happy, only its assertion. That is why he has failed in his duty as Caretaker.’

‘What is meant by “Caretaker”?’

‘Come.’

The world blurred as they rose and left the sea. After a time Losara gained the impression of land beneath them, and soon they slowed. Ahead loomed the border of Fenvarrow, a curtain of light falling through the air, with bright Kainordas beyond. The Stone Fields crawled with movement. There were waves of Arabodedas, Vorthargs, goblins, low-flying Graka, and war engines burning. They clashed with troops of Varenkai, Saurians and Zyvanix wasps. There was no battlefront; all was muddied to chaos as the peoples of the world slashed and tore and broke each other.

‘This was the failure of Assidax,’ said Assedrynn. ‘We named her Warmonger and gave her power, but she was beaten back from the Shining Mines and pursued into Fenvarrow.’

They circled closer towards a figure standing on a rise in the midst of the battle. Losara recognised Shadowdreamer Assidax, her tattered skirts whirling as she twisted left and right, screaming defiance and gnashing her teeth. A rain of arrows fell upon a group of Arabodedas nearby, and from those perished Losara saw something rise, like a black wisp of smoke.

‘Souls,’ said Assedrynn. ‘Beginning their journey to our Great Well.’

Assidax raised her hands, weaving and incanting. The black wisps swirled as if caught in a gust of wind, and blew back into the corpses of the fallen. Limbs twitched and the dead rose, snapping the arrows off their bodies.

‘Souls denied passage,’ said Assedrynn. ‘Denied death. And we, the gods, are denied the power we gain when they return to the Well. And this, also.’

A group of Saurians was being outnumbered by Black Goblins, who hacked resolutely at thick reptilian scales. Some of the Saurians managed to spring free, but many were slain. As they died, glowing globes of light rose from each and began floating towards the border. Again Assidax made her necromantic gestures and again the souls were pulled back to their bodies – blackening as they came, as shadow took them over.

‘Born of light, but they will never find their way to Arkus’s Well,’ said Assedrynn. ‘They are changed by Assidax, by her magic. They are ours now.’

Time began to pass more swiftly and the battle sped up to a crashing blur of shapes and colours. As it slowed again, the battlefield was emptying. Kainordans were fleeing across the border, beaten back by an army of the dead.

‘They retreat,’ said Assedrynn, ‘but there is no victory. Assidax has used up much of Fenvarrow’s army yet gained no ground. Worse, she does not release the dead, believing she can retain control of them. While they are lesser creatures than in life, they are hard to keep in such numbers. Most of these will wander and disperse. They will flee to the forgotten corners of the world, the edges of settlement, to forests and deep lakes. They will hide in holes and rot to unliving dust and still their souls will not return to replenish our Great Well. Thus
we,
the very gods, are weakened.’

The vision swirled and now they were inside Skygrip, and before them on Refectu sat Battu.

‘
Caretaker
we named him, and Raker before.’ Anger sounded clearly in Assedrynn’s voice. ‘Rebuilder. Healer. Keeper of Fenvarrow. Restorer of the shadow’s might, that it may be ready for the prophesied child to wield. Hunter of the unliving, returner of souls to the Well.’

Gazing upon the hard face of Battu, Losara understood. The gods had charged him to be a peaceful Shadowdreamer, opposite to his desires and his very nature – and he had openly defied them. He’d attempted to storm the Shining Mines, depleting the very forces he’d been ordered to rebuild and strengthen
for Losara.
After his failure, Battu had carried out initiatives to cull Fenvarrow’s undead, but always they had seemed half-hearted. Losara now realised that the dark lord only undertook these actions to redeem himself, not through any wish of his own.

‘Caretaker in name no longer,’ said Assedrynn. ‘Nothing given in its place. Do you understand, Losara Shadowhand?’

‘I do.’

•

Losara awoke.

He was floating in the sea, surrounded by the gods. As massively as they towered above him, and strange as they were, he felt safe. Mokan and Mir flew towards him, their feet dragging in the water as they beat their powerful wings. When they stopped, they sank into the sea up to their waists.

‘You’ve seen?’ shrilled Mokan. ‘The failure of the Caretaker!’

‘The sharks,’ growled Mir. ‘He swam too long with the sharks!’

‘I have shown him,’ rumbled Assedrynn.

Lampet’s head appeared around Assedrynn’s bulk, snaking along with his eyes flashing blue. ‘The pilgrimage,’ he hissed.

Assedrynn heaved a fin from the water and Lampet weaved out of its way. As it crashed down, Mokan and Mir howled laughter, while Chirruk opened and closed her claws with great cracks that resounded across the sea. Lampet gave a throaty chuckle and sank a little lower in the water.

‘Enough,’ said Assedrynn, and they fell silent. ‘Losara, your time here is almost over. You know your ultimate purpose, but we offer a way forward. The dream has thrown up many possibilities, many futures . . . some a consequence of your next steps.’

‘A pilgrimage,’ hissed Lampet.

‘A pilgrimage,’ whispered Mokan and Mir together.

‘The futures that hold the most hope,’ said Assedrynn, ‘appear to be born from the undertaking of a pilgrimage.’

It seemed a strange thing to be so important, but Losara said, ‘As you wish.’

‘Begin from Skygrip.’

‘Any particular direction?’

‘No,’ said Assedrynn. ‘Let curiosity lead you. Seek to know your land. One other thing . . .’

Elsara, the lionfish, had been sleepily submerged almost past her dark oval eyes. Suddenly she reared out of the water, her spikes sticking in all directions. She spoke in a rasping, echoing voice. ‘Do not go alone.’

‘Do not go alone,’ muttered Mir, and a second later Mokan repeated it. ‘Do not go alone.’

‘Why?’ asked Losara.

Assedrynn stirred. ‘Because,’ he said, ‘it expands our understanding to see things through another’s eyes. And company will make you travel true, not just whisk from place to place.’

‘What do you mean, whisk?’

‘Time to depart,’ said Assedrynn, and Losara realised the great fish had been slowly sinking into the sea. ‘Even at the world’s edge we cannot long remain. Lampet will eke out a few more moments. Goodbye, saviour child. Carry our futures wisely.’

Silently the gods sank into the sea, all except Lampet. Once they were alone, the serpent’s eyes flashed green. ‘Return to the Isle, and up,’ he said.

Losara swam towards the Isle and hauled himself out at the low end. As he walked up the hill, he noticed again the tiny blue flowers, growing not out of cracks but from the rocks themselves. Stooping by one, he turned its face gently towards him. Salt crystals glistened on dark petals, and it was so small and perfectly formed that it somehow seemed to stand out from reality.

‘It would die anywhere but here,’ came Lampet’s voice over his shoulder. ‘It is too used to salt and rock and hard and cold. If living were easy, this would die.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Losara.

‘First to go if the light triumphs.’

Losara continued to the top of the hill. In the sea surrounding were loops of Lampet’s great body, but no boat.

‘I don’t see the boat,’ he said.

‘No more boat for you, Shadowhand.’

‘How am I supposed to travel?’ Losara asked, but he almost felt he knew the answer.

‘Now that you are more shadow than flesh,’ said Lampet, ‘you need not anchor when you travel the shadowlines. You can simply go.’

Satisfaction suffused Losara at this confirmation – what freedom he now possessed. He could
whisk
anywhere in the entire world, and appear at the other side whole and complete. Unlike Battu, he’d never have to fear the path of shadows he travelled breaking or shifting behind him, cutting him off from his mortal body.

‘You understand,’ said Lampet.

‘I do.’

‘Anything more to ask? My time dwindles.’

Losara remembered his promise to Tyrellan to ask the gods about the butterfly. He described Tyrellan’s predicament to Lampet and the serpent’s eyes glowed red. There were answers given, but Tyrellan was not going to like them.

Lampet gave a great sigh and his eyes turned yellow. His head drifted backwards as his loops in the water began to sink out of view. ‘Blessings upon you, saviour child,’ he said. ‘If not first and only, then serve us as well as yourself and our people.’

‘As well as I serve any,’ said Losara, ‘that well I’ll serve them all.’

As Lampet disappeared into the depths, the last thing visible was the yellow of his eyes.

Losara Shadowhand leaped off the hill, dissolving into shadow to speed across the sea.

•

By the time he’d wondered how fast he could go, Losara found himself at the base of Skygrip Castle. Those parts of him that had physical substance whirled in the shadows, clinging to his core presence like moons circling a star. As he travelled up the outer walls, a patrol of Graka flew past. He leaped at one to land in the shade between its shoulder and wing. Riding with his unknowing host, he stayed for several passes around Skygrip, then sprang back to the tower. He reached the long throne-room window and slipped inside.

An unwelcome scene met his ethereal gaze. Battu was holding Lalenda aloft by a crystalline wing, his whitening fist threatening to snap it. His face was a twisted storm of anger, the black wells of his eyes expanding. Tyrellan looked as if he was trying to calm him, but the dark lord’s shouting drowned him out.

‘Why would
I 
be walking through fields of grass?’ he roared. ‘Under the sun, by the Dark Gods! You must tell me, prophet – is it a dream, or will it transpire?’

‘I have no answers for my lord,’ said Lalenda, and Losara was surprised by a note of defiance in her voice. Battu began to shake her, making her wings rustle.

‘Master,’ said Losara. All eyes snapped to him. He hadn’t even realised he’d stepped from the shadows, and quickly checked himself to make sure he was all there – and he was. He moved forward from the window, clasping his shadowhands together. ‘I have returned from Assedrynn’s Isle.’

Battu dropped Lalenda and she fell without a sound. The wells in his eyes did not recede, and for a moment he looked like a cornered beast. ‘Apprentice,’ he said, and glanced at the window, clearly wondering how Losara had come to be standing there so instantaneously. His eyes fastened on Losara’s new hands and he faltered. ‘They have blessed you mightily,’ he said, attempting to force civility into his voice while everything else in his demeanour remained rabid. ‘Well done, my boy.’

Tyrellan, his orb eyes wider than Losara had ever seen them, fell to one knee and bowed his head. Battu’s anger flickered towards him, but was quickly contained.

‘Did they . . .’ Battu licked his lips. ‘Is there any message they wish passed to me?’

‘None,’ said Losara, and Battu scowled. The Shadowdreamer stalked forward, falling just short of looming over his Apprentice. Losara did not think Battu would strike out, not yet, and watched him calmly. ‘They only ask that you release me to a pilgrimage,’ he continued. ‘To travel Fenvarrow and know the land.’

‘Of course.’ Battu seemed relieved that Losara would be leaving again. ‘If the gods wish it done, so shall it be.’

Losara arched an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Oh, really?’

The expression was not lost on Battu. Not on Tyrellan either, and the Black Goblin’s head turned slowly from Losara to Battu, registering something of the exchange.

‘I am also in need of companions,’ said Losara. ‘The gods decree that I not travel alone.’

‘Very well,’ said Battu, his stance and face again completely contrary to the reasonable tone of his voice. Losara wondered if he even knew how he appeared. ‘Who would you take?’

Losara glided around Battu so he could see Lalenda. The pixie had not moved from where she’d fallen, but sat sprawled with her hands on the floor. Though muck and tears stained her, she did not seem as tremulous as he remembered her. She stared at his hands, and then his eyes. Now that he thought about it, they had all looked at his eyes.

He smiled, finding he was genuinely glad to see her. The next moment he felt overwhelmingly sorry that she’d remained so trapped and abused in this place, while he had managed to soar free.
Why compare her feelings to my own?
he wondered briefly.
If I did that with everyone, I’d surely go insane.