The Black Rose (13 page)

As he entered, Jack was struck by a strong sense of déjà vu from the very first time the two of them had spoken at length, after Sardâr had been rescued from the heart of Mount Fafnir. The amber lights were low, shadows stretching across the floor and collecting in the corners of the cabin. The elf lay in bed, looking just as physically drained as he had after coming out of the volcano, his ochre eyes half-closed and his face drawn between curtains of grey-flecked dark hair. As before, Jack saw a strong semblance of a Zoroastrian priest in deep thought.

The elf beckoned him to sit on the end of the bed. “You couldn't sleep either, I take it?”

“Nope,” Jack replied, leaning back against the wall.

“What's on your mind?”

Jack explained his concerns about Lucy and Alex.

“Yes, I miss Adâ too. And Hakim, obviously. And Vincent. But we haven't chosen an easy life, have we? I suppose it's up to us to sacrifice comfort and the closeness of loved ones for the good of everyone else.”

“I'm not complaining.” Jack replied quickly, “I made my choice, the same as you. I had Lucy and Alex, but other than that I never really had any friends at home. But I've got friends in the Apollonians I wouldn't give up for anything. I've known you lot for such a short time, but still…” He was afraid he was becoming too sentimental, but Sardâr smiled encouragingly.

“I'm glad you feel that way. Think of it like this: every Cult plot foiled, every Shard discovered is one step closer to reuniting with Lucy and freeing Alex. And maybe we Apollonians can spend some time together as friends rather than agents when this is all over.”

Jack hadn't thought ahead to it being over. He was slightly surprised at the suggestion. So far, it had been about getting over the next hurdle, fighting the next demon, finding the next Shard. “I'd like that. I've never been on a proper holiday.”

They were both silent for a moment before Jack built up the courage to ask the question burning on his lips. “So you think there can be an
all over,
then? You think we can beat the Cult for good, and that'll be that?”

Sardâr inhaled slowly, gazing at the ceiling. “Even if we stop the Cult, it won't be all finished. The Cult of Dionysus think they manipulate the Darkness, but the Darkness really manipulates them. That's their biggest folly. It's sheer arrogance for a group of mortals to think they can control a cosmic force which, as far as we know, has been around indefinitely. You already know that. We can bring an end to the Cult, but the Darkness will still seek to consume the Light, even if it doesn't have mortal pawns to act for it. That's why finding the Shards of the Risa Star is so important—not just to keep them from the Cult but because we rely on this Übermensch legend to bring an end to the Light-Dark conflict for good.

“If only we still had Isaac here…”

Sardâr's eyes clouded over, and Jack instantly regretted bringing up the elf's old friend. He didn't know what to say. “Were you close?”

“Yes, we were. Isaac, Charles, and I were the first Apollonians: three mortals from three different worlds. We were all, if you don't mind me saying, great minds, but Isaac was greatest of all. He invented the first of our dimension ships almost single-handedly—he and his brother Ishmael built
The Golden Turtle
together. And he had this way of inspiring people, of helping them believe that even when the future looks like an abyss, we
can
change the world for the better.”

“He sounds very like you.”

“You are very kind, but—”

“No, I mean it. I've seen it. People look to you for leadership; they're comforted by you being there. Do you think the Apollonians would have gone inside Mount Fafnir or into the middle of a battlefield just for any old person?”

Sardâr smiled again. “Thank you.” He paused. “Jack, there's something you should probably know before we go any further. A suspicion of mine. It's only that at the moment, but even so—” He broke off. “No, don't worry. It can wait. We should probably both get some sleep.”

Anxiety not entirely assuaged, Jack bid Sardâr good night and returned to his own room.

Their voyage ended two days after it had begun, when
The Golden Turtle
was at the closest part of the river to the destination marked on the map. The group departing the ship—Jack, Ruth, Dannie, Sardâr, and Bál—had, for lack of any other appropriate clothing, been equipped with Thorin Salr-style tunics, boots and cloaks, and, to the dwarf's relief, their swords. This time, without the need for stealth in a city center, they were able to lower the ramp so the five could scramble ashore without first soaking themselves in water.

“We can't have got here before the Cult, can we?” Ruth said to Sardâr, looking around the riverbank.

Jack silently seconded her caution. There was nothing to suggest anyone else had been here, but as they had found out before in a bad way, sight definitely wasn't a reliable sense when Dark alchemy was involved.

“We might well have,” the elf replied, gazing at the trees. “Nimue may not have been able to travel using Darkness. The Cult back in Thorin Salr transported a bridge that way, but that was a fairly simple structure. Whatever this new machine they've built is, it looked a lot more complex…”

The forest stretched out before them, peaks of whispering green clustering up the rise from the river and rolling over hills in the distance. The sky was much clearer here than back in the city. Trails of frosted white laced across the azure sky, free from the excrement of smog-choked chimneys. In stark contrast to the stone and pummelled mud of the Albion streets, the ground beneath them here was springy and alive with grass and bracken. Gone, too, was the stench of charring that had stuck in their noses and throats for the entire time in the city. Here, they could breathe clearly again.

They moved up the rise and into the thick of the forest, following Sardâr's map reading. Jack was taken aback by the new surroundings. He had seen an orchard on Earth, but it had been circumvented on all sides by buildings, anything mildly threatening removed by generations of human locals. This place, he could tell, hadn't been manufactured at all. Pockets of uneven grass and leaves sprang up here and there around his feet, and clumps of moss clung to the sides of trees. Wild banks of stinging nettles and other flora considered unfashionable in civilized society were in the full throes of life all around. Fallen branches had been left as they were, becoming colonized by mushrooms and absorbed into the ground. It was enough to make any landscape gardener suffer a breakdown.

It might have been his imagination, but everything seemed greener here too. The sunlight filtering through the clustering canopy of leaves was dyed a brilliant patchwork of emerald and gold, speckled patterns darting with the breeze over the ground. It must have been late November or early December on Earth now, but here the world seemed in the thick of spring.

Sardâr led them up the rise and then down into a wide tree-covered valley. Several other landmarks had been indicated on the map, and they ticked them off as they passed: a narrow ravine, at the bottom of which a brook gurgled; a large tree stump in the shape of devil's horns; a ring of fungi-encrusted standing stones. Finally, after at least an hour's walk, they passed between two grassy banks and moved out of the cover of the trees.

They stood on the edge of a wide glade, trees surrounding them completely. The sun was directly above, set like a jewel in sapphire surroundings. It must have been about midday.

“It should be here,” Sardâr said slowly, examining the map as he strode into the center of the ring. “The
X
is marked right here…”

The others began looking around. Other than that it was the first one they'd come across, the glade seemed entirely unremarkable. If possible, Jack thought, this area seemed the greenest and liveliest place yet: even in the shade of the trees, there was not an inch of bare earth where some life had not sprouted.

“Well, then what are we miss—?” Bál broke off his sentence with a gasp.

Jack wasn't listening. He had caught sight of something glimmering in the shadow of a sycamore. When he moved closer, it looked as though two toffee-colored jewels had been set into the bark, glinting in the sunlight. He blinked.

The pair of jewels blinked back.

Jack stumbled, landing hard on his back. He stood and backpedalled as fast as he could. The others had retreated too. His eyes still fixed upon the tree, he grasped one of Ruth's arms for support. Even through the rush of panic, he still registered the brush of her warm fingers as they clasped his wrist for reassurance.

It wasn't only the sycamore. Even as they watched, more and more glints became visible out of the shadow of the canopies. The trunks themselves seemed to be liquefying, the entire structure maintaining its shape but the grain now flowing like ripples on water. Knots widened everywhere, and the very bark seemed to extrude itself from within, reaching outwards into the center of the glade. A twisted arm to the right, a gnarled leg to the left, branches rustling with the movement, and seconds later they were surrounded by a group of figures.

Even with a growing compendium of elves, dwarves, goblins, giants, and demons, Jack's brain seemed to be taking an extra long time to work out what he was seeing here. The figures before them were like trees but also like humanoids: their skin was bark, complete with moss and leafy branches, but there were definitely two arms and two legs on each of them. And, of course, the jewel eyes set into stumpy heads, all fixed upon them. It was as if the trees of the glade had been copied and pasted onto a human template.

Sardâr got to his feet slowly, eyes flicking between the tree figures. “It's alright; you can get up,” he whispered. “They're not going to harm us—I think.”

Jack did as he was told. The other three did the same. Even when Jack stood, the figures were tall. Of course—they were tree-sized.

“Which of you is in charge?” Sardâr ventured, glancing around the circle.

With much rustling, the figures looked among themselves in what seemed to be confusion. There was a crackling as a bark mouth opened, and words came like a breeze through autumnal branches—yet sounding to Jack distinctly Welsh.

“There's no one in charge. We're all equal here.”

“Granted, but even an egalitarian society predicates the appointment of an executive—”

Jack placed a silencing hand on Sardâr's shoulder. “You're fairies, aren't you?”

Several of the wood figures nodded slowly.

“How did you know that?” Ruth hissed, her eyes still on the surrounding figures.

“The black mirror. The Emperor mentioned fairies were here…” Jack had slightly surprised himself with his own memory. He had to admit, this wasn't what he'd been expecting. The fairies he'd known from childhood stories had been mouse-sized, with the build of ballerinas and glowing butterfly wings. What he now faced was as different from Tinker Bell as was possible.