‘Because,’ she said, and paused for a moment, ‘I’m bored.’
Grimra sighed. ‘You be dreaming of a place, now you wants to go there.’
‘Something like that.’
He swirled around her. ‘Not a nice place. Not safe.’
‘But you will come?’
‘Grimra promises to protect flutterbug,’ the ghost said resignedly.
One way to reach the wood was to leave via the front door and circle around to the back of the castle …another was to go up to the aviary and simply drop down, a fall of over a league. This seemed by far the more exciting route, and so it was that Lalenda found herself standing at the edge of the gaping cavern mouth high in the castle.
Looking down into the great shadow in the lee of Skygrip where the reaches of Duskwood lay, the reality of what she was about to do began to sink in. She felt ill-prepared, for she had nothing with her save a little bread, in case they were gone a while, but what else did she need? She had no use for weapons, for she was better with her retractable claws than with any sword or dagger – and besides, Grimra was with her.
‘Flutterbug is sure she wants to do this?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Lalenda, and stepped off the edge.
She spread her wings to slow her fall, but found the winds worryingly strong. Feeling herself being pulled about, she changed her mind and dived, an exhilarating freefall, cutting through the currents breaking against the castle like a stone sinking in a choppy sea. Usually there would be Graka patrols circling, but on this occasion she did not see any. How bare had Tyrellan stripped the land of its defences?
The wind rushed in her ears and, despite his misgivings about their destination, Grimra hooted as he followed her downwards. Floors of the castle whipped by in a blur, and Lalenda lifted her wings a little to guide herself out over the wood. As they passed the base the wind eased, and she was able to take more control of her plummet. Soon she could make out individual trees beneath her, and started searching for a good place to land. She spied a path zigzagging haphazardly and took aim at it. Landing more heavily that she’d intended, she sent up a cloud of dust that stung her eyes and made her sneeze.
Around her the wood was as she remembered from her vision – dry, dusty and dead. From somewhere off the path, she heard movement. That thing she had seen? Or something else?
‘See?’ said Grimra. ‘Me be telling you it ain’t pretty.’
There came a low, bone-tingling moan. From out of the trees swooped a spectral creature with trailing edges, like a torn cloak wrapped round the torso of a man, so faded that it was hard to make out the details beyond its void-like mouth stretched into an ‘O’. It reached for Lalenda with ghostly fingers, and sharp tips shot out of her own, though the creature had no flesh for her to slash. Grimra gusted in front of her, and the thing was caught up in a whirlwind of flashing claws and gnashing fangs. It was shredded to pieces under the onslaught, wisps of it floating away until all was gone.
Slowly Lalenda’s claws retracted. ‘What was that?’ she whispered, her heart beating furiously.
‘Wraith,’ said Grimra. ‘Freeze you with its touch if it can, thinks it be sating its hunger that way. Mage once, body with magic, now magic without body.’
‘And is it …gone?’
‘Yes. Cannot be harmed by mortal weapon, but Grimra be no mortal.’
Not for the first time Lalenda wondered what Grimra had been in his earthly life, but it was not a subject easily broached with him. In fact, the only time she’d tried, it had made him angry.
‘Grimra be staying on top of Lalenda,’ came his voice right in her ear. For a moment his fangs appeared again, this time before her eyes, as if he was on the verge of swallowing her and she was looking out from his maw. He had covered her like a protective cloud, and she felt better for it.
‘What next?’ he asked.
‘Not sure,’ she said. ‘Let us walk.’
Moving as one, they set off into Duskwood. Frequently there were other sounds from off the path, but only once or twice did Lalenda catch sight of distant figures in the shadows. They spotted another wraith coasting along just above the trees, but Grimra made noise at it. It trailed them for a while but eventually drifted out of sight.
Then the moment from her vision came upon her. A ghoul stirred in the dust as she passed by, and rose to its feet. It was a desiccated thing, its remaining skin like leather, traces of old rags embedded here and there. Its grey eyes were dull and blank, and while Grimra hissed at it, the ghoul simply stood watching.
She dared to take a step towards it. ‘Can you understand me?’
It turned its head slightly, but gave no further indication.
‘Asleep in the dust too long,’ said Grimra.
The ghoul made a low rattling sound in its throat and turned to shuffle off.
Again Lalenda wondered if there was a reason for her coming here? If there was, she hadn’t the slightest notion what it could be.
Ahead the path sloped downwards, and the trees on either side grew thicker, crisscrossing each other to form a dark tunnel. She paused on the cusp, hesitant to enter such a foreboding place.
‘Something is near,’ murmured Grimra.
Before she could ask what he meant, further down the path sticks exploded outwards under a flash of metal. Quickly Lalenda dived behind a rock, her wings tense, ready to fly. There came the sound of wood breaking, footfalls, a thudding …then silence. She thought, after a few moments, that she could hear a slight creaking.
‘Who is down there, Grimra?’ she whispered.
‘Big ’un,’ he said.
She edged her gaze around the rock.
Standing on the path, next to a gap it had apparently rent in the tunnel of trees, was a hulking figure. It was bent over, leaning heavily on a huge square-ended sword. It wore heavy armour that may once have been lustrous but was now dull and rusted. A spiked helm on its head tipped to the side, almost precarious. From under the armour trailed rotten rags, forming a kind of skirt around its thick legs, which were like tree trunks of twisted tendons. It shifted its weight on the sword, swung its head around to face her with eye sockets hollow and deep. Lalenda gasped and drew back behind the stone.
‘Trespasser,’ came its sepulchral voice.
‘Grimra?’ she whispered.
‘I be here,’ came the ghost’s voice. ‘But …me cannot be fighting that one, flutterbug. Should be leaving.’
She summoned her courage. The thing, male by the sound of it, did not seem like a fast mover. Slowly she rose out of hiding to face him. He simply stood regarding her.
‘Who are you,’ she said, trying to sound confident, ‘to call me trespasser?’
The thing stirred, his bones creaking. ‘Who are you, to ask?’
‘I hail from Skygrip,’ she said. ‘Close to the Shadowdreamer I am, and free to go wherever I choose. Nowhere, in the entirety of Fenvarrow, am I trespasser.’
The enormous ghoul tilted his head towards the castle, high in the distance behind her, tattered braids swinging from underneath his helm.
‘Times change,’ he muttered, seemingly to himself. Then, more loudly, ‘But nothing changes down here. I admire your courage, pixie, but you would be wise to leave this place. The living are not welcome here.’
‘Who are you?’ Lalenda repeated.
The undead grasped his sword with both hands in an effort to hoist himself up tall. He could not seem to unbend his back, however, and there was a distinct cracking as he tried. Eventually he gave up and slumped back to his bent posture.
‘Nobody,’ he said. ‘Though I carried the name Molluvial once.’
That sounded familiar, and she remembered seeing it in one of her books. Could it be the same …?
‘Who was Shadowdreamer when you were alive?’ she said.
Molluvial tapped his bony fingers on the sword. ‘Telnuwind.’
She crept carefully towards him, into the tunnel, trying for a better look. As the trees enclosed her on either side, Grimra swirled past, growling.