The mirror chronicles th.., p.24
The Mirror Chronicles: The Last Night, page 24
She thought for a moment and then said: “When Sylas and I were with Isia, when she showed him how we all have a Glimmer, how we’re all connected to them in some distant way, I felt … kind of … hopeful. Genuinely hopeful. I suppose –” she gave an embarrassed laugh – “I suppose I felt less alone.” Her eyes shot to Amelie’s. “Does that sound sad?”
Amelie shook her head. “No, Simsi. Not at all.”
“I mean, I understand what you’re saying,” said Simia, seeming to gain confidence. “It’s beyond strange to think that we might somehow come together with our Glimmer. But with Isia it seemed possible, even kind of … perfect. She made me feel that maybe I’d never been alone all these years and that maybe, all along, I was a whole lot stronger than I’d realised.”
Amelie looked surprised. “You don’t see how strong you are?”
“No, not really.” She glanced at Amelie self-consciously and then blurted: “I mean, do you see how strong you are?”
Amelie laughed. “No, but I’m not sure I want to become someone else just to find that strength, do you?”
“Do you really think that’s what will happen? That we’ll become someone else?”
“I don’t know,” sighed Amelie. “But no one knows what’ll happen and that’s the problem.”
Again, they both fell quiet. They sat back against the bulwark and watched Sylas and Naeo lost in their wild ballet with the elements. It was still astounding to behold.
After a while Simia said: “I think perhaps you should talk to Sylas again. He should know why you’re so worried, before it’s too late.”
Amelie nodded. “I will,” she said without taking her eyes from her son. “But, Simsi, you’re right. It’s hard not to believe it’s meant to be when you see them like this.”
“What was surprising to me was that the Suhl have no concept of the stars and the planets as we know them. Even the orbs of the sun and the moon are not seen as spheres, or really as physical things, but rather a mystical presence.”
ESPASIAN STOOD ALONE ON Carrion Rock, watching dawn spill on to the Westercleft Plain below. Long fingers of amber light split the dewy air, driving back the darkness. And yet the Magruman was filled with a deepening gloom.
Before him, the great Imperial army rolled against the hills of the Valley of Outs, seeming just as vast and unstoppable as it had the previous day. If anything, the dark stain seemed to have leaked further across the plain. As he squinted towards the Westercleft Hills, Espasian spied new dark rivers streaking the slopes, flowing from the peaks to the flats with all the speed of a double-time march.
He was taken by a sudden weariness and he swayed where he stood. The pain of the Black surged up his spine and neck, and that familiar darkness fogged his mind. He planted his feet more firmly on the rock and gritted his teeth, trying to force it back. He was still lost in this effort when he felt a presence at his side, and an arm slipped through his.
“What do you see?”
He turned to see Filimaya beside him.
As ever, she looked serene and beautiful: her long silver hair pulled away from her face in a simple braid, her delicate features lit bronze by the dawn. If she shared Espasian’s dread, then she concealed it well. He pressed her arm against his side and looked back at the Imperial army.
“They’re reinforcing from the west. Eight thousand, perhaps ten.”
She nodded, then turned and swept her eyes along the hilltops, taking in the feverish preparations of the Suhl. Armour and weapons, newly foraged from the valley floor, were passed quickly along the lines; warriors clad in gifts of the forest scrambled to their positions and cleared the defences of the detritus of the previous day’s battle; children darted bough to bough, carrying messages and provisions back and forth.
“They’ve found new hope, you know,” she said. “You must have heard it last night, in the hills and the Hollow. Everyone is talking of Bayleon and the Spoorrunners. Fathray’s calling it ‘the Night of the Orbs’. I even heard a song about it this morning, drifting across the lake. It told of the last great run of the Spoorrunners, and Bayleon who ran until the end, and Espasian who opened the valley wide.”
She leaned forward, trying to catch his eye, and when Espasian showed no reaction she stepped in front of him. “Bayleon gave us the night, Espasian. Time to recover, to gather the injured, to repair our defences. Without his sacrifice, the valley would have been overrun. Now, at least, we’re ready for another day, perhaps another night. And we’ll no longer have to face the Ogresh.”
Espasian filled his lungs. “Yes,” he said, his voice expressionless. “I know.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Espasian,” she implored. “War asks the unthinkable, not only from the fighters but from those who command. You may not be able to make the sacrifice yourself, but you have to ask it of others. Some would say that is even more difficult. Even more courageous.”
Her eyes explored his face, looking for a sign that her words were reaching him. “You have kept our hopes alive for a few more hours. And, for each of those few hours, the Windrush sails on, and Sylas and Naeo draw a little nearer to the Motherland.”
Espasian smiled sadly. “You are right, of course, Filimaya. I just can’t help feeling that Bayleon’s sacrifice should have counted for more.”
For some moments they both watched the great press of men and beasts surging ever forward, gathering in staggering numbers at the bottom of the slope. And then what had seemed chaos moments before became order and discipline. Imperial regiments gathered in tight formations and standard-bearers were ushered forward until they each stood alone before the swelling ranks. Quite suddenly the beat of the battle drums gained in pace and volume to echo thunderously round the hills.
“They’re going to charge,” said the Magruman under his breath.
He glanced back at the Suhl lines, then walked to the very edge of the rock. He waited until he could be seen and raised his hand high above his head.
At once the Suhl warriors stepped forth, making their way between the shattered defences of roots and earth, formidable in their armour of great plates of bark lashed with vines.
But there were so few. Espasian looked anxiously along their lines as they spread themselves loosely between the banks and roots. There was barely one to each section of the defences. Then he looked down at the great horde before them.
“Too many,” he muttered, his eyes darting between the two front lines. “Far too many.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Filimaya at his side, her voice taut.
He shook his head. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Paiscion shouldn’t have gone,” said Filimaya, almost to herself. “He should be here to help you.”
The sharp report of a horn drew their eyes back to Thoth’s army. At once a dozen more Imperial horns sounded all round the valley. The piercing chorus startled birds from the trees, and they squawked and flapped up into the skies, gathering above the hilltops in vast spiralling clouds.
Answering the horns, the Imperial standard-bearers hoisted their ensigns to signal the charge. Without hesitation, the men and beasts of Thoth’s army careered up the slope, devouring the hillside in leaps and bounds, yelling and baying lustily as they ran. They were like hunting hounds loosed from the leash, and they had scented their prey.
The two forces met with a violent crash and clatter. The Suhl lost their entire front line of defence in the first impact, their fighters crushed or thrown back by the sheer weight of bodies. Those who were able fell over the wall of roots behind them, gathered themselves and then did their best to stand their ground, fending off two or three adversaries each, thrusting with pikes and spears. Any who knew Essenfayle drew earth, rocks and roots to their aid, desperately trying to make up for their lack of numbers.
But the Imperial army was refreshed and reinforced: more than a match for the thin lines of weary defenders. The Suhl fell by the dozen, lost in the seething press of bodies, and so their numbers were thinned still further. Already there was a breach near the Cleft, and a regiment of Ghor streamed through, howling as they sprinted for the trees.
Espasian lifted his eyes to the sky where the birds chattered and cawed above the valley, lending their voices to the dreadful din of battle.
“Paiscion,” he murmured to himself.
He looked back at his failing army and then turned on his heels and scrambled towards the very highest point of Carrion Rock.
“Where are you going?” Filimaya called after him.
He looked over his shoulder. “To do what Paiscion would do!”
In just five more strides, he was there and turning back towards the valley. He looked out across the chaotic scene, then closed his eyes.
For several moments he simply breathed, calming himself, and only when he was completely still did Espasian raise his arms aloft.
As he opened his fingers, the most astonishing thing happened. The entire host of birds fell silent. The flapping and fluttering ceased, and the vast multitude seemed to hang in the air. Thrush and falcon, blackbird and buzzard soared, forming wide, graceful wheels in the sky.
Filimaya was spellbound. “Yes!” she gasped. “This is what he would do!”
As she watched, each of the wheels of birds suddenly collapsed inwards. Tens of thousands of feathered bodies tumbled from the skies, plummeting like stones – wings back, necks outstretched – diving towards the canopy of the forest. They fell in complete silence so that few of those caught up in the battle noticed the spectacle above them. And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over because the birds disappeared into the clouds of leaves.
Filimaya walked slowly to the edge of the rock, staring at the forest.
Nothing stirred.
She glanced uncertainly at Espasian, but his eyes were still closed, his arms still aloft.
Then something caught her attention and she whipped round. It was a rushing sound, like wind raking through leaves, and it was coming from the forest. The entire forest.
Suddenly a flock of tiny birds erupted from the thickets and, further off, some large birds of prey – kites, Filimaya thought – burst from the gloom between the trees, spread their wings wide and then dived towards the battle, beaks and talons outstretched. A scattering of other great birds followed, all along the line, and then the whole forest seemed to give way. Thousands of birds poured forth – thrushes, magpies, falcons, robins, chaffinches and goshawks – and with them came the creatures of the forest floor: lynxes, boar, deer, foxes, rats, stoats and weasels. All of them, birds and beasts, careered down the hillside, soaring, leaping and scurrying straight into the thick of the fight.
The birds stayed in the air only long enough to loft over the battling Suhl, then they fell, squawking and screeching, into the fray. They scratched and clawed, forcing the attacking troops to drop their heads and cover their eyes, flailing wildly, striking their fellow warriors in their confusion. But the attack came from below too. Small teeth tore at hides; sharp claws ripped at legs; tiny feet scuttled through fur and mane, beneath armour and mail, sending soldiers and beasts wild.
Thoth’s army at first held its advance, those in front driven on by those in the rear, but it was not long before the harrying, scratching creatures had halted the charge.
From Carrion Rock Filimaya watched a gang of Hamajaks suddenly break from the melee below and run shrieking and gibbering down the hill, pulling tufts of fur from their manes. Scores of Ghorhund turned too, yapping and howling, and soon entire regiments were breaking formation, some of them beginning a full retreat.
A rhythmic beat struck up somewhere along the front – not the deep, throaty boom of Imperial battle drums, but the sharp report of sticks and clubs thumping against roots, shields and trees.
To Filimaya, the rhythm was unmistakable. It was a Suhl march.
Her eyes sparkled and a smiled flickered on her lips.
She looked excitedly up to the pinnacle of Carrion Rock and saw Espasian, stony-faced, lowering his arms. He staggered where he stood, then fell to his knees, his eyes still fixed and staring.
“Espasian!” she exclaimed, rushing over to him. She knelt beside him and threw an arm round his shoulders to stop him from falling. His body was drenched in cold sweat, his chest heaving, his breaths coming in wheezes. “Are you all right?” she gasped.
For a moment he seemed not to have heard her, but then he nodded.
She held him close, and together they looked down at the hillside, to where the tide of the battle was turning. The Imperial army was now in full retreat, its crazed warriors stumbling and flailing as they were assailed from all sides by the creatures of the Valley of Outs. The Ghor regiment that had breached the lines was charging back out of the forest and now streaked down the hillside, pursued by a flood of creatures large and small. Already the splintered remains of the Suhl defences were clearly visible, and a gap was opening up between the two forces.
Filimaya looked down at Espasian. “There, Espasian,” she said softly. “That is why Bayleon gave his life.”
“One challenge we face is that we have no idea from which side of the divide the storms will come.”
ASH LAUGHED AND WHOOPED as he staggered along the length of the ship, beaming at his crewmates. “This is the way to sail, eh?” he cried, patting a bulkhead. “This is why they call her the Windrush, no?”
His high spirits were infectious, and he left those under his command grinning and staring with renewed admiration at Sylas and Naeo. The pair’s feats had become ever more daring and astonishing. Sometimes the Windrush skipped along the face of a wave at a tilt that would capsize a lesser vessel; sometimes she rode a foaming ridge so that the seas seemed to have fallen away altogether, and those afraid of heights cowered, covering their eyes. Once she rose sharply, pirouetted on a watery peak and then plunged on in a new direction; and now she bounced from peak to peak, making her crew cry out in excitement.
The more the Windrush danced, the more Ash came to life, laughing and joking, dancing his own quickstep along the deck. He paused briefly to speak to Fawl, who barely seemed to notice him, so rapt was he by the antics of the ship and the gleaming sails.
“Marvellous!” declared the Master of the Ship, gaping in all directions. “These seas are wild enough, but nothing catches them out! Nothin’!” He laughed with abandon. “It’s more like they’re catching the seas out! In all my years … Just watch her run! Watch her run!”
Ash laughed with him and then made his way towards the bow. There he spied Triste clutching the railing and surveying the seas ahead.
“Best seat in the house!” yelled Ash, slapping his shoulder.
Triste nodded, but did not turn. He stared ahead with an intensity that Ash noticed at once.
“Everything all right, Triste?”
The Scryer glanced at him, but quickly returned his gaze to the waves ahead.
“I’m not sure,” he said, his words almost lost in the howling winds and roaring waves.
The smile slowly faded from Ash’s face. “Why? What do you see?”
Triste wiped some spray from his brow. “Another storm.”
“Another?” repeated Ash, looking back towards the horizon. “How could there be another so close to this?”
“Not a storm like this,” said Triste. “This one only a Scryer can see.”
All of the light left Ash’s face. “What … kind of storm?”
Triste gave him a grim look. “A storm of malice and hate, and every malignity the heart may harbour.”
The ship rose on a mighty wave and, as it crested, both men gazed ahead, trying to make out anything of substance on the seas, but all they could see was the indistinct smudge of a faraway headland.
Ash pointed. “That must be the Jaws of Kemet.”
The Scryer nodded. “And the storm I see is somewhere just beyond, at its—”
Suddenly the ship lurched awkwardly to one side and both men had to cling on to the rail. The deck slewed violently as the Windrush scudded down the side of a wave, banking so steeply that its yards almost touched the neighbouring wave. One of the many chests on deck broke free of its fixing, slid past them and pitched overboard. The keel no longer skipped lightly over the surface, but carved deep into the green-grey waters, threatening to twist about altogether.
Triste and Ash turned to see the deck strewn with luggage and members of the crew. Amelie was clinging on to Simia’s hand as they both slid through a sheet of seawater towards the side of the ship. Even Sylas and Naeo were clambering up from a fall, gazing about in confusion and struggling to find one another’s hands. They had just taken their place back at the helm when suddenly they looked sharply to starboard and their eyes widened in horror.
A shadow crept across the deck, cast by a mountainous wave, which now towered above the ship. Fawl cried out and signalled desperately at the crew to take hold of something, then charged headlong towards Sylas and Naeo, screaming at them to get down.
But it was too late. With a fateful slowness, the wave arched, its foamy crest teetering above the mainsail. For the briefest moment it seemed to hang there, as though taunting its prey, and then, with a deafening roar, it crashed down upon the deck, sweeping Simia, Amelie and all before it into the sea.
The Land Rover stalled for a moment as the driver wrestled with the gears then, with a mechanical growl, it leapt ahead. It lurched violently, forcing Dresch to brace herself against the wall and ceiling, and elbow Lucien in the face. It was the fifth time since they had left camp.
“Sorry!” she said again.
As before, Lucien didn’t reply. He was engrossed in the view through the windscreen lit by the leaping beams of the headlights. All he could see was the convoy of two vehicles ahead, and the country road, and looming hedgerows flashing past. But he could not shake the feeling that at any moment something more sinister might appear: a line of dark figures spanning the road, or leaping through the fields alongside them, or perhaps just the gleam of yellow eyes floating in the darkness.
