‘There is a catapult or two, but no tar, to my knowledge.’
Lalenda frowned. ‘Very well. Off you go, then.’
The goblins bowed thankfully and departed, and Grimra circled close.
‘What does flutterbug want with such stuff?’
‘Fire,’ she said, ‘is the best way to destroy the undead.’
Fire was something outside her experience, so she set off for the only place she knew of where someone obviously knew how to make it – the castle kitchen. Upon seeing her enter, Saray headed towards a cupboard, perhaps thinking she wanted more to eat.
‘Saray,’ she said, ‘never mind about that.’
He paused, a quizzical expression on his face. ‘What can I do for you then, mistress?’
‘Show me how you make fire.’
He seemed uncertain. ‘It is …a dangerous thing, miss. Maybe, if you wanted something heated, I could –’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Show me.’
He drew himself up. ‘Very well.’
He gestured that she approach the fireplace, and she went over to kneel next to him.
‘This,’ he said, ‘is our way. There are others, of course, but I don’t know them.’
Next to the fireplace was a shelf cut into the rock, full of pieces of wood. Saray reached in and drew out a bundle of twigs and leaves, and a tin.
‘Tinder,’ he said. ‘Now, to speed things along, sometimes we’ll dip it in this.’ He prised open the tin, dipped the bundle into the liquid inside, then laid it in the fireplace.
‘What is that?’
‘Fish oil, though any oil will do, really. Get back to work!’ he snapped at some of the other Greys who had crowded around to watch. Sheepishly, they moved off.
‘Now,’ he continued, reaching for more objects, ‘what we have here is called a flint, which you can use with a knife or any blade …hit the knife on the flint, and you jump out a spark. Just so.’
He proceeded to whack the flint with a knife over the tinder. After a couple of tries a spark fell, and as it hit the oiled tinder, a flame jumped up instantly. Saray reached into the shelf and withdrew some larger sticks, which he placed upon the flames. Soon they too were smoking.
‘You need to keep feeding in bigger and bigger pieces of wood,’ he explained. ‘Soon enough you will get hot coals, and –’
‘How much of that oil do you have?’ asked Lalenda.
‘Um …well, just this, in here, but in storage, well …I’m not sure, several barrels?’
‘Show me,’ she said.
Grimra seemed to be struggling, and she was glad she hadn’t tried to make him lug more than one barrel. Although he could manifest a physical grip to some degree, it was all claws and fangs, and she worried that he would burst the barrel before she was ready. Rents had already appeared in several places, and drops of oil were raining down before them as they dropped once more towards Duskwood.
‘Flutterbug is sure this not hurt poor Grimra?’ he asked for the tenth time.
‘We will get you well clear before we set it off,’ she assured him, smiling at the first nerves she’d ever seen in the ghost.
As they drew nearer, she searched the wood for a likely spot. She wanted somewhere near the bowl, but not the bowl itself, for she did not fancy having to dive through all those wraiths. Close enough, she saw a flat area where the trees had mostly collapsed, and pointed. ‘There.’
As Grimra moved away she found herself a ledge on the cliff to land on. She watched the barrel moving over the wood to the place she had indicated …then it suddenly dropped as Grimra let go. It plummeted to hit a pile of wood and burst open nicely. She bent and began to unpack things from a small satchel – a torch wrapped with rags, which she proceeded to soak in the oil tin she’d taken from the kitchens, a flint and a knife.
‘Me be doing what crazed flutterbug wants,’ came Grimra’s reproachful voice from beside her.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Now head a little further up, but be ready to come and give me a lift if I need one. I don’t know how flames affect ghosts, but best not take the chance.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Grimra firmly.
She lit the torch, uncomfortable holding such a thing in her hand, with the warm wafts it sent against her skin. Everything in her cried out to fling it away, but she tightened her grip and took off from the ledge. Gliding down to where the barrel had split, she hurled the torch into its open rib cage.
Flames leaped up with alarmingly immediate ferocity. As they spread, a ghoul she hadn’t seen camouflaged in the wood pile stood up, burning, strangely silent as it was engulfed.
Quickly she wheeled upwards, flapping for all she was worth, as beneath her smoke began to rise. Whatever magic Assidax had used to keep the wood dry was having the opposite effect of protection.
When she was some hundred paces up, Lalenda stopped to hover and check her handiwork. A wraith glided in, and flames jumped to run along its length. Maybe no mortal weapon would harm such a creature, but fire seemed to be something else entirely. The wraith twisted as if caught in the caress of some strange lover, and melted away.
‘Let us be gone, pixie,’ came Grimra’s voice.
‘Just a moment,’ she said.
The fire was creeping towards the bowl. From out of the thicker tree line, a monstrous sword flashed into view, orange in the approaching heat. Molluvial hauled himself out to stare at the fire, then looked up at her. There was something conveyed in that gaze, she felt sure, though it was hard to tell what. He did not flee, nor did he rush towards the flames. Perhaps he could not seek out his own end, or perhaps he knew it would find him no matter what.
Smoke began to make her cough, and she knew it was becoming dangerous to tarry. She would need all the breath she could muster for her second journey up to Skygrip today.
‘Help me, Grimra,’ she said, and he whirled about her.
Up they went, away from the glowing red snakes that ran in all directions beneath them, fattening and joining each other. The black smoke that billowed up would soon be seen for many leagues around.
Her deeds this day would not go unnoticed. Duskwood burned and, after a long wait, the souls trapped there were finally returning to the Great Well of Assedrynn. An unfamiliar sense of accomplishment fuelled her as she beat her wings, a self-worth not derived from her value as a prophet. No longer was she simply a mouthpiece who told others about great feats to be done – now she could do them herself . She had redressed a great wrong, succeeding where Battu had failed, all on her own, and it felt good.
Caretaker , she thought, and laughed as she climbed.
Crystalweb
A faded sign hung above a fork in the road. One way continued following the curve of the mountains and read ‘Valdurn’, and the other went south-east and said ‘Crystalweb’. Losara considered them, trying to recall Tyrellan’s map of Dennali.
‘Which way?’ Bel asked.
Tell him to go right , Losara sent.
That is not the way.
It is a longer way, is all. I, unlike my counterpart, am in no rush.
Fazel pointed down the right-hand path. ‘This way.’
As they continued onto grassy plains, in the distance ahead the path ran into a group of trees. There was something odd about the way they twinkled in the sunlight.
‘Those have to be crystal trees!’ said Hiza excitedly.
Bel nudged Jaya. ‘I never knew he was such a flora enthusiast.’
Losara observed that she did not seem to receive his humour well and wondered, not for the first time today, why she seemed somewhat cold with him. He found it interesting that, while they loved each other, there was still this capacity for ill feeling. Then again, had he not himself argued with Lalenda before journeying to join Bel’s group? Was she still angry with him?