‘Hold of me!’ said M’Meska. ‘I dig claws in!’
They were able to take a firm grip on the Saurian as she shuffled along, sinking her claws into the wood with every step, functioning as a kind of anchor for the group. However, since they walked as a clump, any who fell threatened to take them all down.
‘Oh, Arkus,’ moaned Hiza, from the front.
‘What?’ said Bel, from the rear.
‘The magic of the path,’ Hiza said. ‘I think it protects from more than just the leaves.’
In front of them a crystal spider lowered itself, working its mandibles and glinting in the lightning. Hiza swung his sword at it, almost uprooting them all with his follow-through, to send it clattering away. It sprang up from the ground, apparently unharmed, and skittered back towards them over streams and roots. Others began to descend from branches, wavering in the wind on the end of crystal threads. As Bel drew his sword one landed upon his arm, sinking in its fangs. In horrified fascination he watched his own blood travelling up into its belly. Then he yanked it loose, almost losing his balance as he flung it away as far as he could. It curled into a ball and bounced off a tree, flipped back on its feet and headed back towards them, along with others.
‘Of course,’ said Hiza hysterically. ‘Because this wasn’t bad enough in the first place.’
‘Jaya!’ said Bel. Facing so many enemies, he was beginning to feel himself being taken over by the spirit of battle – but he clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the tantalising promise of joy. He needed to get the others to safety, and whatever footsteps would keep him alive if he left the branch to whirl into the wood, he was sure would not do the same for his companions. Instead, as he mentally rooted himself to the group, patterns realigned, and at last it seemed that a balance could be struck.
‘Jaya?’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re a spry and nimble thief. You can run. So run! M’Meska!’
‘Yes?’
‘You can leap, and your scales are thick – so leap! No questions, just do it! Try to keep your eyes covered!’
Those two broke away, Jaya moving faster along the branch than when they’d been grouped, and M’Meska springing from root to root.
‘What about us?’ said Hiza frantically.
‘We have our blades,’ said Bel. ‘Back to back, you lead!’
Together they shuffled along the root, fending off attacks as best they could. Bel leaned slightly on Hiza, depending on his friend to find their footing. He kicked a spider out of midair, then swiped at another that dangled from a branch. Hiza edged forward, eyes darting to follow the gleam of tiny assailants. Bel spotted one above them, gave Hiza a little shove to get them out from directly under, then reached up with his hand to catch the spider as it fell. It sank its fangs into his palm, but he hurled it off into the stream. All around them leaves continued to fall, slicing their skin as they fell.
‘What are you laughing about?’ shouted Hiza.
Bel did not realise he had been laughing.
‘I see it,’ said Hiza. ‘Ahead, the path!’
‘Feel free to pick up your pace,’ grunted Bel, smashing away a spider with a resounding clang. Arkus, how satisfying. More, bring me more before it ends.
‘The others have reached it.’
Arrows began to whistle by, knocking spiders off branches, even smashing leaves from the air. Bel felt giddy – and his blood sung, but the notes were spurting out of him. He shook his head to clear the rain from his eyes, and managed to bat one spider at another, sending them both sprawling, a bundle of legs grasping at nothing. For a dizzying moment, Hiza was gone …but then hands caught him and eased him backward. Hiza’s grip was slippery on his bloody skin, half-dropping and half-lowering him to the ground. Around him his tattered companions bled freely from their wounds onto the path through Crystalweb.
‘Beauty indeed,’ said Bel, and collapsed onto his back.
Construction
Teliah wandered happily barefoot down the gentle slope into Erling’s Vale. It was not a vale in the traditional sense, for it was not surrounded by hills, but merely an area of land lower than that around it. Willow trees stood here and there along streams so reedy they were almost hidden, except for the telltale dragonflies hovering about. Underfoot the grass was the softest Teliah had ever known, and ahead lay the round clay huts of the healers’ community in which she had grown up, and where she would find her parents.
How long since she’d come here? Years?
A pair of children ran past, dragging a kite through the still air, only keeping it aloft by their momentum. She remembered doing the same at their age, tearing down the slopes with her little brother, Harren. She had not seen him often since leaving for Holdwith to begin her training as a lightfist. When she’d last returned, a fleeting visit for her eighteenth birthday, he hadn’t been here; he had gone off north somewhere to find his fortune. It had disappointed her not to see him, and she wondered what kind of man he’d grown into. A good one, she was sure – but did he have the same easy laugh, the same bounce in his step? Would he be here this time? Had he returned?
‘Look,’ said the man beside her, and she looked. There in the grass was Harren as she remembered him best, tossing a ball from hand to hand, still a boy! She gasped and flew to him, reaching to hug him …but he faded at her fingertips. She came up confused, and turned to her companion.
‘So,’ he said. He touched the back of his hand to her breast, right above her beating heart. Somehow his presence, his touch, made her calm. ‘That’s the one you hold most dear?’
She frowned …was it? What of her parents? But no, it had always been bright-eyed little Harren she loved the most. He had been her eternal companion in their imaginary campaigns, laughing as they decided which tree they would climb on any given day. They had been a team, always together, loyal to each other above anyone else.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
The man nodded.
A wind caressed the back of her neck, and she shivered. It caught the children’s kite and stole it from their grip, twirling it away into the sky. The day grew cold.
‘Look there,’ said the man.
To the south, the horizon darkened. The great boiling mass of the Cloud crept towards them, sending out runners that it quickly caught up with to engulf, even as it sent out more. She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, not understanding what was happening.
‘The Shadowdreamer is coming,’ said the man.
‘But …what of …our defences?’
‘Fallen,’ said the man.
‘Holdwith?’
‘Fallen.’
A memory tried to rise to the surface, but she found it hard to grasp hold of. Shadow wraiths whirling along parapets? No, no, it could not be.
‘We must flee,’ she said. ‘There will be others who’ll fight on …maybe we can band together?’
‘Too late,’ he said. All around, the world faded, until they were standing in a vast, empty void.
‘What is this place?’
‘He comes,’ the man answered. ‘Let us see how you imagine him.’
Out of the darkness strode a figure, dragging a small boy by the wrist. He was tall, powerful, his blue hair wild as a bramble bush, his fingers tipped by broken nails, his eyes slit and snake-like, his face angular and cruel. The boy he pulled along was Harren.
Teliah cried out and tried to run to her brother, but her legs wobbled and she fell to her knees.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ she asked desperately.
‘You are dying,’ said the man mournfully.
He knelt by her, took her arms, and gently showed her wrists. Blood leaked from clean wounds, slowly but surely, ebbing away.