Chapter 5

The Dourlands, Aurim-That-Was

The rain lasted for five days as Shedara and her companions wound their way through the hills. It left everything stained dark with soot, from their clothes to their hair to most of the contents of their pouches; only Shedara’s spellbook and components, sealed tightly in a sharkskin bundle at the bottom of her pack, escaped the black drenching. By the time the land started to slope downward, they were all praying for an end to the constant downpour, and to remember what it was to be clean and dry.

The folk of Thenol had a saying: Irluth alcatha ec-harnos, pen ostigom delpharnos. The only thing worse than when the gods don’t answer your prayers is when they do.

On the fifth day, the hills came to an abrupt halt, yielding to flat lowlands that stretched far ahead to a hazy horizon. The rain ended as well and would not return, for what lay beyond the highlands was a desert. Dunes the color of powdered bone undulated for leagues, slashed by narrow, deep crevices that were always filled with shadow—not canyons delved over millennia by water or wind, but great jagged cracks in the earth, opened in mere days by the quakes that shook Aurim apart after the Destruction. Plumes of ash and dust whipped into the air, stinging their eyes as they descended into the wasteland.

“I heard the tales,” Essana murmured as they slogged through powder so fine that they sank to their knees. “The explorers who came to this place from the League, seeking relics of the old empire… my father collected books of their tales.”

“Explorers,” Shedara muttered and lifted the cloth mask she wore over her mouth to spit into the dust. “Jackals, more like. The kind of man who robs the crypts of dead kings, hoping to make their fortune out of the suffering of others.”

“Like you, you mean,” Hult added. “Or were you not a thief before this?”

Shedara flushed, her hands clenching into fists. “What I did was different. When I stole, I did it for my people. There were elves in Aurim too. Many of their artifacts were lost. Recovering them honors their memory. It’s not the same as despoiling tombs for gold and jewels.”

Hult shrugged and said nothing. His people were raiders, pillagers; the finer aspects of motive were not his concern.

In time, they reached one of the crevices. Shedara wasted no time, unfurling a long coil of silken rope from her pack and dangling it over the edge. She murmured a spell, and the rope’s loose end tied itself around a jagged finger of rock, cinching tight enough that both she and Hult, pulling on it as hard as they could, couldn’t make it slip. When that was done, the four of them gathered at the crack’s edge and peered down. The fissure was only ten paces from one side to the other and descended far into the rock.

“The explorers told tales of these places too,” Essana said, licking her lips. “They said awful things lived in the rifts. Dragons and demons and worse.”

Hult bit the heel of his hand to ward off evil. Azar raised an eyebrow. The wind hurled a wave of dust at them, forcing them to turn away, coughing and shielding their eyes.

“They would say that,” Shedara said when it had passed. “Places like this are the only shelter in these parts. These ‘explorers’ of yours make their camps in them, to keep hidden and stay out of the storms.”

“Then the tales of demons are lies,” Azar said.

She shrugged. “I didn’t say that. Some of these ravines might be swarming with them, or with the dead, or spiders and beetles the size of cattle. Aurim’s a bad place, and if I could avoid crossing these lands, I would. But the things they say live in these holes… we can avoid them if we’re careful.”

“Careful,” Essana murmured and pursed her lips. “Ah.”

Shedara studied her, watching her out of the corners of her eyes. Essana was a strong woman, and had been through dread and horror at the hands of the Faceless. But she was still afraid, and Shedara couldn’t blame her. Still, the only alternative to the chasms was slogging through oceans of ash for weeks on end. The entire southern half of what remained of Old Aurim was like this; it went on for a hundred leagues and more, broken only by the half-buried bones of cities where ghouls and hobgoblins dwelt. If those creatures didn’t kill them, thirst and fatigue would.

Shedara wished, not for the first time, that they had gone to Baltch. The island kingdom off Neron’s eastern coast could have given them respite. She could have booked passage for them on a ship bound for the Rainwards; she knew a few people there who owed her favors. But the trip would have taken them well out of their way: it would have been at least sixty days’ hard march through the Emerald Sea alone, and probably that again to sail to the Rainwards. They didn’t have that much time. Maladar wasn’t taking the long, safe path to where he was bound.

Still, Shedara worried.

“I will protect you, Mother,” said Azar, reaching out to touch her arm. “Nothing will harm you.”

Shedara glanced at Hult. He was looking back at her, his mouth a grim line. She curled her lip in reply. They’d questioned Azar at length the morning after the fight with the trolls. He’d had no idea how he’d summoned the lightning. He had no memory of it at all. Shedara believed what he said was true; she’d even surreptitiously cast a spell that would tell her if he were lying. He truly didn’t know what he’d done.

That troubled her even more.

She had a spell she could cast to look deep into his mind and discover the truth. She’d used it on Forlo to find out the cause of the nightmares that had plagued him when they first knew each other. It was arduous magic, though. She had to have time to prepare, and a willing subject. Right at that moment, she had neither. So there was nothing for it, not then, except to keep an eye on Azar—and a blade close at hand, just in case.

“I will go first,” Hult said. His face was pale even beneath its cake of dust, but he was proud, refusing to admit that he felt fear. He loosened his sword in its scabbard and bent to pick up the enchanted rope. “If there is trouble, I will call out.”

If there’s trouble, Shedara thought, you’ll be dead before we can reach you.

“Go on, then,” she said. “Jijin walk with you.”

He gave her a surprised look—she had never invoked his god before—then swung down into the chasm and dropped out of sight. Shedara glanced over the edge, and for a moment she saw him descending the rope, hand over hand and as sure-footed on the rocks as a monkey. The darkness swallowed him.

They stood there, none of them saying anything, waiting for the Uigan to call up to them—or scream. The wind buffeted them, sending ropes of ash hissing across the dunes. Above, the sun was a pale eye, almost lost in the yellow sky. Shedara realized she was holding her breath and forced herself to let it out. Hours seemed to pass. A tear crawled down Essana’s cheek, leaving a trail of clean skin behind.

At last, the rope went slack. Shedara caught her breath again, then leaned down over the edge. She picked up the rope, wondering what that meant. Had Hult reached the bottom? Had he fallen? Had something darted out of a burrow in the crevice’s wall and devoured him before he could cry out?

A moment later she got her answer: two hard tugs on the rope from the bottom. Hult’s voice drifted up from below, faint and hollow.

“It’s all right!” he called. “It looks safe down here. There’s even water!”

Essana bowed her head, exhaling. Azar put his arm around her shoulders. Shedara cupped her hand to her mouth and shouted back. “Don’t drink it! It’s probably fouled!”

“All right,” he replied. “Who’s next?”

They all looked at one another.

“I should go last,” Shedara said. “It’s less safe up here than down there, most likely. I’m not about to leave you here alone to get grabbed by ghouls.”

Essana nodded and wiped her face. The tear’s track smudged, dark. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Fine,” she said. “Give me the rope.”

It was darker than Shedara expected at the bottom; the sun had moved on since Hult climbed down, and the shadows had closed in. She dropped down into the water the Uigan had found—a shallow stream that was little more than a trickle, running down the middle of the chasm—then glanced up and spoke a word of magic. In response, the rope untied itself and dropped down after her.

Shedara nodded and glanced around, taking in her surroundings as she bundled the rope up again. The walls were close enough that she could reach across and touch both at the same time. The stone was jagged, dusted with ash, but also dotted with clusters of small, black mushrooms and patches of white lichen. The crack twisted enough that she could see only a dozen steps in either direction before it bent out of sight.

Hult stood nearby, sword in hand. Near him, Essana and Azar huddled together, both wide-eyed and blind as barrow-rats. They looked right past her.

“Shedara?” Essana asked. “Are you there?”

“Right next to you,” she said.

They all started, even Hult, who scowled. “We could use some light,” he said. “None of us share your elf-sight.”

“Give me a moment,” Shedara replied, reaching into her spell component bag. She pulled out a puff of milkweed fluff, tossed it into the air, and spoke a word as it started to fall. It burst into pale, white light and hung in midair, no longer drifting toward the ground.

They all blinked, squinting against the sudden glare. Their shadows danced on the chasm walls. Hult bent down and dabbled his fingers in the water, then raised them to his nose. Beside her, Essana did the same and winced when she sniffed.

“It smells like rotting meat,” she said, flicking the drops away.

“Or bodies,” Hult agreed. “A great many bodies, left out in the sun after a battle.”

Shedara sniffed the water too, tears stinging her eyes. “Couldn’t drink that if we were half dead of thirst,” she said. “And no one touch those mushrooms either.”

“Really?” Essana asked. “I was going to make them into a stuffing for the next lizard we caught.”

Hult let out a chuff of laughter, and Shedara cracked a smile. Azar, however, looked at his mother in horror and shook his head. “You shouldn’t eat anything here,” he said. “These lands are poisoned.”

There was a moment’s silence while Shedara did her best not to laugh out loud. She could see Hult doing the same, but Essana gave them both a hard look and reached out to pat her son on the shoulder.

“I know, Azar,” she said. “It was another joke.”

The young man blinked, not understanding. “Oh.”

“We could use some food, though,” Essana said. “Before we get moving again. I suspect we won’t stop again before nightfall, and I for one could use the strength.”

They all looked to Shedara, who sighed. She was tired already from the rope and light spells, but Essana was right. It was past midday, and they hadn’t eaten since morning. “Fine,” she said and took off her cloak to spread on the ground, away from the trickle. “Give me room to work.”

It was a quick matter to cast the spell, one of the simplest she knew. She coaxed Solis’s power, cool and crisp, into her body, then eased it out with a wriggle of her fingers and a few spidery words. Magic swelled around them, forming a mote of golden light above the cloak, which swelled and burst into thousands of splinters. When they faded from sight, a heap of food remained.

Food was a generous term for what lay before them. It was hard to describe—not bread, not porridge, but something in between, not quite solid but far from liquid. It was gray and greasy, but it was nourishing.

“This,” Essana said as they dabbed their fingers in the sodden mass and scooped it into their mouths, “is why you mages haven’t taken over the world. It tastes like wet parchment.”

“I’m sorry,” Shedara said and took a long pull from her waterskin. She’d conjured the drink that morning, enough to fill the flasks each of them carried. The next morning, she would have to do it again. “I suppose we should have asked Le-nekh for some kind of seasoning.”

Hult grunted, chewing with a far-off look in his eye. “It will do,” he said. “I’ve had worse.”

“You’re a rotten liar, Hult, son of Holar,” Shedara said.

Azar ate ravenously, not seeming to care about the food’s questionable texture and appalling taste. Shedara eyed him, wondering what the Brethren had fed him while they were… growing him. She suspected it was better not to know.

After they finished, Shedara shook out her cloak. Sucking at her teeth—the gruel clung to them like glue—she whipped the garment over her shoulders again. As she did, she caught a glimpse of Essana out of the corner of her eye and felt her scalp prickle. The woman’s eyes had gone wide, her mouth dropping open.

“What’s wro—?” Shedara asked, turning toward her.

“Hold still!” Essana breathed. “All of you.”

They froze, stiffening. Hult’s hand was on his sword, but he didn’t draw it. Something had just crawled out of a crack in the stone, less than a hand’s breadth from his shoulder. It was a black scorpion the size of Shedara’s hand, but with two tails curling up from its backside. It held still on the stone, pincers flexing, then scuttled toward Hult. Venom the color of rust beaded on one of its twin stingers.

In a single motion, Shedara flicked a knife from its wrist sheath into her hand, then slung it underhanded in Hult’s direction. The blade flew so quickly that the Uigan had no time to flinch, which was good because if he had, the scorpion would surely have stung him. Instead, he stayed still, and only recoiled when he heard the chink of the dagger striking rock. Sparks flew, and the blade dropped into the creek, the scorpion curled and twitching, impaled on its tip.

“What in Jijin’s name—?” he gasped.

“It’s all right,” Shedara said. “It’s dead now.”

She took a step toward the dagger, picked it up, and examined the scorpion, still spasming. The thing was deformed in other ways besides its twin tails: one pincer was much larger than the other and covered with gristly knobs; it had seven eyes, three of which were dead white; and its underside was covered with a lattice of sticky fibers, some sort of corrupt growth that clung to her dagger when she pulled it out.

“How horrible,” Essana said.

“No kidding,” Shedara said, letting the creature drop and grinding it beneath the heel of her boot. “This is how things are for the creatures that still live in Aurim. They breathe poisoned air and drink that foul water all their lives.”

“They live in pain,” Azar murmured, his eyes shut. “All their lives. They know nothing else.”

They frowned at him; then Hult yanked his blade from its scabbard. “We’ll need more light,” he said, and nodded at the glowing bit of fluff that still hung in the air. “That bit wasn’t enough to drive that thing away, but a few more might keep its kind in the shadows.”

“Good thinking,” Shedara said, reaching for her spell bag. “It’s lucky Solis is full for the next few days. I’m not sure I’d have the strength if it wasn’t—”

She stopped, her heart leaping into her throat.

There were three more scorpions on her bag.

All of them were deformed, none smaller than the one she’d just killed. One was close enough to her fingers that it could have grabbed them with its pincers. She held her breath, fighting back the sudden urge to scream. She let her eyes drift this way and that, then felt a terrible, sick feeling in her gut as the walls suddenly came alive, bugs crawling out of nooks and clefts all around them. There were scorpions everywhere.

Mother of the moons, she thought. I’ve killed us all.

The creatures swarmed around the four of them, moving over the stones, then onto their bodies. Instinctively, they all held still and fell silent except for a low groan that came out of Essana’s mouth. Sweat poured down Hult’s face. Azar raised his hand, and Shedara saw a scorpion with twelve legs scuttle down the sleeve of his robe toward his knuckles. Venom dripped from its stinger.

“No… one… move,” Shedara said through tight lips.

“What do we do?” Essana replied, her voice trembling.

I wish to Astar I knew, Shedara thought. She felt movement on her back, on her legs, in her gods-be-damned hair. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t remember the words to a single spell. If she so much as breathed too hard, she was sure, half a dozen stingers would drive into her flesh. She’d be dead before she hit the ground.

“Let me think,” she said, but she couldn’t. She watched the scorpion dance along Azar’s arm. Its front legs touched his palm, and it stopped. The stinger trembled. The creature was about to kill him, and still she couldn’t think of a single word of magic.

Then Azar’s fingers twitched, and the scorpion stepped onto his hand like an invited guest. He turned his hand, and held the thing cupped in his palm. The thing was huge, like the stone-crabs dwarf fishermen caught in their underground lakes. It quivered, pincers opening and closing, opening and closing.

Azar smiled, then clenched his fist.

That should have been it, the end of him. Even if he killed it, the scorpion should have stung him in its death throes. Then he would have cried out, and the rest of the creatures would have started stinging too. In three heartbeats’ time, they ought to have all been lying in the stream, carrion for the vermin to feast on. But it didn’t happen.

What did happen was, in a way, much worse.

The scorpion died without the least struggle. Azar simply crushed it with his bare hand; there was a wet crunching sound, as if he’d cracked a rotten nut, and white slime dribbled between his fingers. The monster’s tail held taut for an instant, then relaxed, drops of poison falling into the water. Azar looked at it, opened his hand again, and let the remains fall from his grasp. Then he looked around, raised his hands, and clapped them once.

Shedara felt a chill gust over her, like the winds of Panak. Then, with a chorus of crunches and squeals, the rest of the scorpions died.

It was the same with all of them: when the cold wind touched them, their shells shattered, broken as if by a hundred invisible fists. They simply caved in, guts oozing from their smashed bodies, and tumbled from wherever they had been. The patter of their corpses hitting the ground went on for some time. Shedara watched the three on her bag crumple then felt the warm dribble of ichor on the back of her neck as the one in her hair fell away. She shuddered, bumps rising on her arms.

No one moved or spoke for nearly a minute. They all stared at Azar, too stunned to react.

“What… what did you just do?” Essana asked at last, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Azar replied.

Hult made a face and turned to Essana. “Do you see now? Do you believe?”

She licked her lips, shaking her head, and Shedara felt annoyed, thinking the woman was about to deny what they’d all just seen. Just as she was preparing for an argument, however, Essana reached out and cupped her son’s cheek with her hand.

“Child,” she said, “it’s time we had a talk.”