I was in a square room, made of uniform bricks of grey stone. Two windows were shrouded in red curtains, with no breeze or light coming from either, and I was seated in a soft, leather armchair. It was warm, but a pleasant breeze appeared to rise from the thick carpets. I didn’t know where I was or how I got there. One moment I was preparing for death, the next I was free of pain, and sitting in comfort. I heard Ten Cuts speak and I saw everyone stop moving, but then nothing. Just the square stone room. I thought I was in the void, but couldn’t be sure.
A table appeared next to me. It was small and wooden, of strange design, and appeared out of nowhere. Upon its surface was a mug, filled to the brim with frothing ale. I trusted nothing about my new environment, but licked my lips nonetheless. My mouth was dry, and the ale was unnaturally appealing. Bubbles of condensation crept down the mug, and a rich smell of hops caressed my nostrils. I reached for the ale and held it under my nose, before taking a deep drink. It was beyond refreshing, and tickled my tongue with fizzing points of richness and warmth. I’d drunk ale before, furtively behind my father’s back, but had never really liked the taste. Now it was nectar, bringing me back to consciousness.
“It’s called Sixth Hill Reserve,” said a strange voice, out of nowhere. “You have nothing like it in the Kingdom of the Four Claws. At the Dark Harbour they drink stout. It’s not bad, but too bitter for my taste. I hear you Sea Wolves have good ale. But I also hear you are uncultured brutes, too blind to see beyond your rage. I’ve heard many stories in which your people are the villains.”
I took another drink, surprised at my lack of alarm. A strange stone room and a disembodied voice were merely the latest in a long line of obscure things I’d yet to grasp. I even considered that I was hearing voices that weren’t there. But I didn’t feel tormented. I didn’t feel pain either. But then I could have been going mad. It was a very real consideration. Perhaps everything since I’d killed Maron Grief had been a hallucination.
“You’re not going mad,” said the voice. “I have a use for you, but you shouldn’t have killed Zia Lahandras. You have caused me considerable stress. The Grim Wolf is powerful when not grieving his sister. His mind does not open as easily as others’.”
I was unfamiliar with the accent. It was precise, with clipped edges, but each word was enunciated clearly. It seemed to go with the square stone room, as if one was a part of the other, and I was caught between the two.
“Your mind surprised me,” continued the voice. “You’re one of four mortals in this realm to have seen me. And the first to do so without my intention. Ten Cuts is my closest ally, and Marius Cyclone was the first Eastron I trusted. Rage Breaker of the Sundered Claws was a necessity. And then there is you, Duncan Redfire.”
“Greenfire,” I corrected. “I belong to the house of Robert Greenfire, First Fang of the Severed Hand between the fifty-seventh and the eightieth year of the dark age. He brought peace after the Years of Ice. My father is Wilhelm Greenfire, High Captain of Moon Rock … and you’re the pale man, aren’t you?”
There was no reply. I scanned the room furtively, looking for something that might indicate a trick, or an illusion. But everything looked real. “Are you controlling their minds?” I asked. “How many of them? Are you controlling me?”
“Not you,” replied the voice. “You’re too powerful. But many others, yes. It’s the only way to save your people. How else do you imagine the People of Ice would ally with Marius Cyclone and the Dark Brethren? Old enmities run deep in your kingdom … as in all human realms of form. Telling them they are all going to die should be enough, but it rarely is.”
“Are you a spirit? Some kind of old totem summoned by the Stranger?” I took another deep drink of ale, and sunk further into the leather armchair.
“No,” was the reply. “If I told you who I was you wouldn’t understand the answer. For now just accept that I am trying to help you and your people. Few of you know it, but the Eastron will soon become embroiled in a war they can’t hope to win. The sea rises, young man.”
I tried to recall the vision in detail, but everything was remembered through a haze, as if my mind was protecting me from reliving the eldritch spectacle of the Sunken City and its dreaming occupant. “Do I have you to thank for knowing what I don’t want to know?” I looked at the carpeted floor, and gritted my teeth. “And are you the reason a crew of Sea Wolves is dead?”
“Regrettably,” was the reply. “I sought to keep Nowhere isolated until the time was right. I made Inigo attack your ship in the belief it would be an easy victory against a crew of brutes. Nowhere must be protected, and I couldn’t risk the Sea Wolves sabotaging my efforts, but Vikon Blood was a truly mighty warrior … and then there was you, young Invader. It was an unexpected turn of events.”
I threw the mug of ale against the stone wall. It didn’t break, or splash across the carpet, but simply phased out of existence when it hit the brickwork. It was not a satisfying display of anger, so I kicked the chair over, and upended the table. “An unexpected turn of fucking events? Do you know what you’ve done? You killed someone I liked. Someone who was kind to me. And you’ve started a war.”
“Hmm,” replied the voice. “I think Santago Cyclone did that when he sent an assassin to kill the Winterlord prince. Marius and his elder brother parted ways shortly after they saw the vision of the Sunken City.”
“One Dark Brethren is the same as another,” I grunted. It was the sort of thing Lord Vikon would have said.
“If only that were true,” said the pale man. “All three of the Cyclone brothers were shown the vision, and the three reacted very differently. Santago saw a chance for power, Trego went mad, only Marius saw it for what it was – the annihilation of the Eastron. He agreed to help me gain access to the Maelstrom. For only on the island of Nowhere, under the point of the void storm, can your people be saved.”
My anger gradually disappeared when it became obvious that the pale man didn’t care about my petulance. I righted the chair, and perched on the edge of the leather seat. “There’s something of great value here, isn’t there? Why else would you, Inigo and the Grim Wolf go to such efforts to keep it safe and secret?”
I didn’t get a response straightaway, and wished I hadn’t thrown away the mug of ale. I scratched at my thorn clinch and couldn’t feel Twist, confirming that the square stone room was somewhere in the void.
“Apologies,” said the voice, after what felt like an hour. “My attention is elsewhere. It has taken considerable effort to undo the damage done when you killed Zia Lahandras. Controlling so many mortals at once is draining, so please try not to kill anyone else. I may have to let you die next time. I don’t like my influence to be too overt.”
I only really had one question left. Everything else branched off it, like tiny rivers, flowing from an enormous lake. “Why me?” I asked. “I’m just a Sea Wolf freak. Why go to so much trouble over me?”
“I have a use for you,” was the maddening reply. “You’re going to help me. Together we can save the Eastron from slavery under the Sunken God. We can give them a future. We can honour them all.”
*
I was dragged back through the glass. The voice disappeared, as did the chair, the table and the square, stone room. The temperature dropped suddenly, and a whistle of wind travelled sharply through the caves of Nowhere. The realm of form was frozen in place, like a three-dimensional painting. David Falcon’s Fang was still sprawled on the rocky ground, his throat held firmly by the Grim Wolf, and his face locked into a mask of rage-filled defiance. Weathervane Will was cowering under three cutlasses, his eyes wide and his mouth open, as if he couldn’t believe that he’d die like this. Around me were a forest of unmoving figures, mostly holding blades and wearing anger on their faces. It was surreal to walk amongst them, unfettered by whatever held them in place. I stood face-to-face with Snake Charmer, looking up into his calm, light-brown features. There was no alarm or fear, just a passive acceptance of his fate.
Ten Cuts approached through the frozen warriors, looking at me with narrow eyes. The old Pure One had a thin smile on his drawn face, with his wrinkles forming an arc around a subtly-curved mouth. It felt as if we were alone, viewing a past scene that both had experienced. We silently circled around David Falcon’s Fang and Xavyer Ice, like it was a bizarre sculpture.
“What happens now?” I asked. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“Soon,” he replied, pointing to the stone floor next to Weathervane Will.
I frowned, unsure of what he was suggesting.
“I believe you were crouched next to the Kneeling Wolf,” said Ten Cuts. “Please resume crouching. Time will continue its march in a few moments.”
I swore under my breath, feeling like I was riding a runaway horse that kept getting faster and faster. Then Twist woke up and I was dragged to the stone floor. The thorn clinch felt as if it were on fire, burning my flesh black. The pain spirit had not experienced the stone room, or the pale man’s voice, and he was trying to catch up. As always, this was expressed through pain.
Ten Cuts extended his hand and helped me to stand upright, keeping his dark eyes soft. I focused on the spirit-whistle around his neck, silently begging him to blow it and make Twist go back to sleep. But he didn’t.
“Listen to me, Invader pup,” whispered the old Pure One, helping me into position next to Will. “You have been chosen by a benevolent power, who will be the salvation of both our peoples. In the centuries not yet lived you will come to worship him as a god. And your power will shine brightly over your people for eternity.”
Everything happened quickly, but no-one was killed. As one, acting as mindless drones, the warriors of Ice sheathed their swords, and Will and I were gathered up in restraining arms. The Grim Wolf’s rage turned quickly to amusement, and David’s defiance became contrition. Our escape was suddenly a matter of amusement, as we were bundled together. Snake was barely touched, and allowed to stroll next to Will and me, whereas David was kicked several times, pulled to his feet, and held in a choke-hold by the Grim Wolf.
“You’re a funny little fucker,” said Xavyer Ice, slapping the Winterlord’s cheek. “But you need to know when you’re beaten. Return to your cell and live another day, or keep struggling and I’ll kick you to death.”
I shook my head, wondering what had happened. I’d killed someone, but couldn’t remember who. I’d been terrified for my life, but now I just felt tired, as if I carried a huge weight. I’d helped David escape, but I knew how foolish that had been. We were all lucky not to have been summarily executed by the Grim Wolf and his warriors of Ice.
Ten Cuts stood next to Inigo Night Walker, behind the Grim Wolf, and the old Pure One was whispering in the Dark Brethren’s ear.
“Easy,” said Inigo, placing a slender hand on the Grim Wolf’s huge shoulder. “I think we should accept some blame here, Xavyer. Young Duncan must be awfully confused. By freeing the Winterlord and the rat, he was merely trying to take control. Is that not so, Master Greenfire? You remembered you were a Sea Wolf?”
Everyone looked at me. There was still some fear, but most people now smiled, as if there was a general agreement with Inigo Night Walker’s assessment of my state of mind. I certainly agreed with him, and was glad that the atmosphere had softened, and that I wouldn’t be responsible for getting anyone else killed.
“Well,” conceded the Grim Wolf, loosening his choke-hold and allowing David to stand upright. “You weren’t foolish enough to kill any of my people, so I believe I can overlook your glorious escape attempt. Just don’t try it again, my lord.”
David didn’t flinch, though I could tell his mind was whirring. Perhaps he was reassessing his combat prowess, or perhaps he was lamenting that he had no blade and had been forced to wrestle the huge man of Ice. “I will submit to imprisonment,” said the Winterlord. “But I will not wear chains.”
“Agreed,” rumbled the Grim Wolf. “Though there are easier ways of making that point.”
“I’ll take the boy,” said Inigo, grabbing me by the arm. “I won’t allow him to cause any more trouble. We should show him. Perhaps if we’d done so in the first place, he would be more willing to use his wyrd to aid us.”
*
I felt as if I was remembering a dozen different things at the same time. I forgot things, recovered them, then forgot them again. My mind was rebelling, making me feel like I was seeing everything from afar, a distant dream of form, unconnected to reality. I was quite definitely going mad.
I’d used my wyrd again, and killed four people, including the Grim Wolf’s sister. I’d released David and seen three more men of Ice die, but no-one recalled this but me. If the Grim Wolf ever had a sister, he no longer remembered her, and the six dead warriors had disappeared, as if they’d never existed. The only eyes that had seen what truly happened were mine, and those of Ten Cuts. Snake Charmer, William Vane, even Inigo Night Walker and Loco Death Spell – they’d all been tricked, shown a false reality that none of them questioned.
“Things are complicated,” said Inigo, leading me away from the cells and deeper into the caves of Nowhere. “But you already know that.”
David and the others had been placed back under lock and key, and we were surrounded by a squad of void legionnaires, led by Loco. Ten Cuts was trailing behind, and we’d entered a series of strange caverns, with jagged stalactites falling from the ceiling.
“It’s a terrible thing to know the sea will rise,” continued Inigo, his eyes narrowing as he recalled the vision. It was strangely reassuring to know that others had seen the spectacle of the Sunken City, despite their ignorance of the pale man and his mind control.
“Who else has seen it?” I asked, my face twitching.
The Dark Brethren glanced behind him, smiling at Ten Cuts. “The Stranger has placed the authority in the honourable hands of this Pure One, and Ten Cuts plays his whistle to whom he chooses. Xavyer Ice and I, Santos Spirit Killer, Jessimion Death Spell, a scattered few others. Marius Cyclone will be the salvation of the Eastron.”
I grunted in exasperation. “What the fuck does that mean?” I asked, more tired than angry. “I’m sorry, but I think I’m going mad. I need to hear something that I understand.”
Loco Death Spell slapped me. “Manners, boy.”
“At ease,” ordered Inigo, casually. “He deserves something more, so we give him something more.” He positioned me in front of him, stalactites hanging over our heads. “Some foes cannot be fought, Master Greenfire. Some foes can annihilate you without acknowledging you exist. Without a sword being swung, or a ballistae being fired.” He ordered a halt, and the void legionnaires stood at-ease. “If the Eastron cannot win, what can we do?”
He was waiting for an answer. I’d gotten used to people asking me rhetorical questions, assuming that their wisdom would trump any contribution I might have. I was, after all, just a Sea Wolf pup, a freak who had survived the rite at seventeen and stumbled his way into prominence. Nothing I’d done, from killing Maron Grief and saving Prince Oliver, to erupting aboard the Dead Horse and killing Zia Lahandras, had been properly thought out. It had all just happened. But at least my eyes were open. I knew that someone or something was controlling the minds of everyone here.
“You actually want an answer?” I replied. “From me? You don’t even know why you’ve kept me alive. You know half of the puzzle and I know the other. So tell me what you’re protecting here.”
Inigo took two strides backwards, motioning for me to follow. “I’ll answer my own question,” he said. “If the Eastron cannot win, all we can do is retreat. But to where do we flee?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled, with an exhausted sigh, realizing that his question had in fact been rhetorical. “Where do we flee?”
“The void,” replied Inigo, knowingly. “Every single one of us. Even the Sea Wolves. The Eastron invaded from across the sea, but we will retreat into the distant void. You’ve seen what we face, and you know we can’t win. We need to leave before it’s too late.”
“Are you mad?”
He laughed. “This is not a hasty plan, Master Greenfire. My lord Marius has thought this through. From the day he saw the vision, to the day he learned of a distant realm and the way to get there.” He kept moving backwards until we stood in the centre of the cave. “If our route to survival had not been on the island of Nowhere, we would not have come here. Nor would we have attacked the Dead Horse. This place must be protected.”
Ten Cuts approached, ignoring Inigo and me, looking up at the forest of stalactites. He placed his spirit-whistle to his lips and let forth a single note, which echoed gently around the large cave. From the ceiling, appearing in black waves, I saw the glass break and I saw the Maelstrom. My wyrd tingled and I felt the presence of the great turtle spirit, but this was not a vision. The Dark Brethren formed a circle around us, and a spiral of the void storm descended to ground level.
“The Stranger was visited by an old spirit,” said Inigo. “The spirit told him of a doorway to a distant realm.”
The Maelstrom formed an archway between Ten Cuts and me. It was three times taller than me and framed a crackling vortex of void energy. The fractured glass of Nowhere had thrown forth mighty void serpents and all manner of spiritual chaos, but it appeared also to have thrown forth a doorway. I could feel the power beyond and my wyrd pulsed, like the door had a magnetic pull. From the assembled Dark Brethren, small tendrils of light-blue wyrd snaked towards the centre of the cavern. Everyone except Ten Cuts showed their wyrd. The old Pure One moved to face me. He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He knew both halves of the truth, more so than me, and held some authority I didn’t understand. He and his spirit-whistle had shown me more than I’d wanted to see.
“Where does it lead?” I asked Ten Cuts.
“To a hall beyond the world,” he replied. “Large enough for a civilization to make a home. And beyond are realms of form beyond count. The Eastron are mighty, and they do not deserve to fall into the sky when the sea rises.”
“Who is the pale man?” I mumbled, ignoring the Dark Brethren. “And what does he want from me? Forget all the shadowy shit and just tell me the truth.”
Inigo and the others were focused on the shimmering break in the glass, perhaps musing upon what lay beyond. They were not listening to us talk.
“You are still alive because your wyrd is wild and powerful. You have resisted training and learned nothing about how to cage your might. The Invaders are a conundrum with a single great weakness – they twist what makes them special into petty displays of strength. They think that swinging a sword is the answer to every problem.”
I smiled. “It’s the answer to most. The Pure Ones had no questions it couldn’t answer.”
“We lived in harmony with the world,” he replied, his weathered face only a few inches from my own. His light-brown skin was loose and made it hard to tell what expression he was wearing. “Perhaps this world needs harmony more than it needs swords. But no people deserves annihilation, even the Invaders from across the sea. If you do not take this single avenue of escape, you will all die.”
I glanced at Inigo Night Walker. He and the other Dark Brethren were staring at the doorway, seemingly blind to everything else. I felt as if I was seeing the world from a unique perspective, removed from reality. Or at least reality as I understood it. Only Ten Cuts existed in the same space as me. The strange voice had described the old Pure One as his closest ally. But then he’d also described Marius Cyclone as trustworthy, so his judgement might be suspect.
“You are not a warrior,” continued Ten Cuts. “You are not a leader, a scholar, or a rogue. Your power is unique, and … as the world needs harmony more than swords, it needs you more than it needs your fellow Sea Wolves. You are the only individual we have found with the power to widen this doorway. If you agree to help, this single slice of void can become a gateway, through which a thousand mortals can march, side-by-side, to safety.” He looked at me, his earnest eyes conveying layers of complex emotions. “But our time is now short, for your people will soon come looking for their lost ship. We sought to guard the doorway, keeping it safe and secret as we worked, an inch at a time, to make it larger. Then we found you … and salvation seems closer.”
It appeared so elegant. A simple solution to thwart the Sunken God. I didn’t know if it would work, and I was certain the Sea Wolves would view it as running away, but, for the first time since I’d left the Severed Hand, I felt I knew what was expected of me. At least in part. Saving the Eastron from extinction would honour Lord Vikon, the Old Bitch of the Sea, everyone who’d died aboard the Dead Horse.
“Word from the coast,” said Loco, slicing through my introspection. “Warships sighted.”
“How many?” replied Inigo.
“Four. Three from the Severed Hand and one from the Folly.” Loco had already begun ordering the other Brethren out of the cavern. “They’re moving quickly, my lord, we can’t take them at sea.”
The commander of the third void legion waved me and Ten Cuts away from the rapidly disappearing doorway into the void. “Tell the Grim Wolf we’re braving the Maelstrom and moving back to Cold Point, then to the coast. We’ll greet the Sea Wolves at the beach.”
Ten Cuts shook off Inigo’s hand and frowned. Then he spoke, directly at the commander. “We have no time for this. Once the young man and I have travelled beyond, we can work fast. We may yet be able to greet the Sea Wolves as friends and saviours.” His manner was commanding, and made the lesser Dark Brethren avert their eyes and appear contrite, though Inigo remained imperious.
“Not yet,” replied the commander. “That boy may be the only chance we have for a diplomatic solution. A few extra days won’t harm our chances of escape, but it may save the lives of many Eastron. He’s coming back to the coast with us.”
I swore under my breath.
The world came into being and it didn’t change.
From its first moment until its last it will have a master.
When the master blinked, men appeared.
Men grew, warred, learned and existed all within that blink.
One day the master will see again, and our blink of the eye will end.
Manos Bowyer, Spirit-Master of Four Claw’s Folly