A Skillful Warrior (SoulNecklace Stories Book 2) (17 page)

The coachman smiled through teeth black and broken teeth and unfolded the steps. Tugging the carriage door open, he bowed once, like a good courtier. I nodded as regally as I could and climbed aboard. The man closed the door softly and the coach shook as he clambered back to his perch.

The coach swayed as the horses stepped forwards. Outside, the sun was coming up, the sea gleaming green and gold. Smoke drifted from the ship’s remains, merging with the dawn. I was going somewhere, but where?

I stroked the soft leather, inhaled its musty smell with satisfaction and tried not to pay attention to the warning squeeze about my wrist. After all those weeks in the ship’s hold, I felt cradled in luxury. What did it matter where I was traveling? Surely, now I was free of the ship, all would be well. Besides, if I could destroy magicians and a ship full of sailors, surely I could handle anything?

The coach had the same smell as Daddy’s study, with its old leather chair, battered leather-topped desk and leather-bound books. I rested my head on the seat and thought of home.

My eyes closed.

***

S
eated at his desk, Daddy stared out of the window at the sky, then sighed and bent his head to the open ledger. Long lines of spidery writing recorded the income from the estates, the number of crops sold, the cost of the seed and hoes and plows. Practical, but dull. Daddy’s finger drifted along the margin of the copperplate, creeping its way down the page.

Once, he turned as if startled and looked directly at me. But his eyes did not meet mine — instead, he shook his head and turned back to his figures. He couldn’t see me.

‘Papa,’ I reached for his shoulder, but he ignored me and kept on reading. His lips moved as he scanned, as though he was tallying the numbers aloud.

The latch creaked, dropped, and the door opened. Owein, my brother.

‘News?’ said Daddy.

Owein shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’ve sent messengers to the Crossing. But the Ferryman refuses to take them.’

‘Refuses?’

‘Says he can’t, or he won’t. Some such nonsense, anyway.’

‘He’s never been a man for nonsense. Most practical person in the Kingdom, I’ve always thought.’

Owein smiled briefly. ‘It’s not as though his job gives him the chance to be anything else.’

‘Exactly. Tell me, what precisely does he say?’

‘He says he can’t take them to the Crossing, for the Crossing is nowhere to be found. And when my men ask him what he means by that, he smiles and says to tell the Prince to come back another time.’

‘In those words?’

‘He says “to come back when the world has changed.”’

‘The world has changed,’ repeated Daddy. ‘I wonder.’

‘You wonder what?’

Daddy smiled, a flash of his old self peeping from his worried eyes. ‘Many things. How many stars in the sky, how deep to plant the seeds in spring, how many men to till the fields?’

‘Ah, I know the answer to the last.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Not enough,’ said Owein, in satisfaction. ‘It never is. You always complain.’ He slumped into a chair. ‘Well, at least the Ferryman’s not worried about the army. He says there’s been no sign since the Princess crossed over.’

‘Since she crossed over?’ said Daddy softly. ‘Something else has changed since too. The mountains.’

‘The mountains?’

‘Look. See for yourself.’ Daddy waved at the window.

Owein stepped to the desk and peered out the window. At the forest below, green and waving in the wind, and the sea beyond, a line of blue on the far horizon. ‘What mountains?’

‘You should be able see mountains. Far in the distance.’

‘There must be a sea haze. You know when the weather is fair you can’t see so far.’

Daddy rubbed his eyes. ‘Maybe. Perhaps, after it rains, I will see the mountains again. But I’ve not seen them since ...’

‘Since when?’

‘Since the night she left.’

Owein swallowed. ‘That night?’ he spoke quietly, as if to himself. ‘That night, I had the strangest dream.’

Daddy smiled. ‘Let me guess. You dreamed of a wave swallowing the land?’

Owein looked at him. ‘How did you know?’

‘I had it too.’ Daddy looked out the window. ‘I saw a flash of light, as though the sky had split itself in two. Then I heard it.’

‘What?’

‘A great roaring. I stood on this mount, but there was no more Castle, no more people; just rock and grass. The wind blew into my face and stung my eyes. And I saw ...’

‘What?’

‘A wall of water, growing ever taller.’ He lifted his hand. ‘I held up my hand, as if I could stop it, but I felt so insignificant against the power of this monstrous thing. Slowly, slowly, yet faster than I could fathom, it rushed on. Then the wave struck the land and I felt the shock of the impact. But it did not stop at the cliff. No. It traveled inland, faster and faster.’

‘Until all the land was swallowed up,’ whispered Owein. When he looked at Daddy his brown eyes seemed almost black.

‘Yes. Until all the land was swallowed. And I alone stood on a rocky boulder by a surging sea. And then even the boulder was swept away.’

‘And you awoke.’

Daddy rubbed his eyes. ‘Did I? Sometimes, I think I’m still asleep.’

‘Was this a true dream? You told me I might have them one day.’

‘Maybe. Possibly. But this didn’t feel like the sort of dream that the Guardian sends. This felt stronger. Older. Harder. Yet, I was not the only one to dream this particular dream.’

Owein nodded.

‘I wasn’t speaking of you,’ said Daddy. ‘Alden dreamed it, also.’

‘Alden?’

‘He told me of it the next morning. Perhaps every one of the blood had the same dream.’ Daddy smiled then, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘It might be a way of finding out who else in this land shares our blood. I’ve often thought my father sired children I knew naught of.’

Owein grunted. ‘Probably Alden, too. He’s fond enough of women, God knows.’

‘You,’ said Daddy, ‘should think better of your brother. He’s not at all like your Grandfather. If he had fathered a child, he would claim it.’

‘You’re sure of that?’

‘Of course. You should be kinder in your thoughts towards him.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ said my father, ‘he’s the only brother you have.’

‘So where is he now, this precious brother of mine?’ said Owein, his voice bitter. ‘I’ll tell you. Down in the wine cellars. The wine cellars! Here’s you and I noticing a shift in the world. And what of that enemy, that we were so afraid of, and now seems to have vanished? And naturally, we question. We wonder.
We
are concerned. But Alden? Ah, why should he care, when he has a maid to warm his bed and wine to warm his stomach?’

Daddy stared into the corner where I stood, a silent watcher. ‘The wine cellars?’

‘Yes,’ said Owein bitterly. ‘He’s been down there for hours. He’ll be roaring drunk by now. Doubtless Mother will make some plan to conceal it, so he doesn’t lose any precious royal dignity.’

My father waved a hand at him,
be silent
. He sat still for a moment, as if lost in thought. Owein frowned.

‘The cellars,’ said my father again. He stood up, went to the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To join your brother,’ said Daddy.

‘Oh yes. Go on! Now there’s a solution. The whole world gone mad, no messages in or out, the landscape’s changed and what must you do?’

My father’s voice floated up the stairwell. ‘Are you coming?’

Owein snorted, picked up the pen stand and threw it hard, against the floor. It shattered, smattering ink about the room.

‘So don’t listen to me. Follow precious Alden instead.’ He stalked from the room, calling as he descended the stairs. ‘Wait for me. I’m coming too. Let’s all get drunk.’

***

O
utside, all was dark. The road must be well-laid; there was no jolting or bumping. Straps hung from the side walls and swayed with the rhythm of the coach. I pulled one just to see what would happen and it came away from the wall. Curious, I pulled on the strap again. A leather box swung out from a cavity in the coach wall. When I shook it, it rattled.

Inside it was packed with metal boxes, stacked inside it as neatly as a child’s puzzle. One by one, I pulled them out and set them on the seat beside me. The tallest container was a flask with a cork top. I pulled out the cork and sniffed. Water! Now all I needed was food. And clothing. And a weapon. But I would settle for food.

The lids of the other containers were wedged on tightly and I had to pry them loose, a difficult task with my broken fingernails. When I eventually succeeded, I nearly dropped the box in surprise. Had the Gods heard me? Food! Three small rolls, wrapped in leaves. They smelt of spice and tomatoes and oil. I sipped my water, ate my picnic, felt like a king. Or a Princess. Now, all I needed was clothing and weapons and then I would be happy.

The coach rocked gently. I settled my head against the leather seat and sighed in contentment. Outside, the world was dark and the only thing I could see was the torchlight of the coach sweeping across empty fields. My eyes closed.

***

A
t first, my dreams were fragments of sound and light.

––––––––

A
crowded inn. Bright candlelight. The clink of bottles and a roar of boisterous song. Holding a tankard, Will was settled into a corner. He looked sad and somewhat lonely. How could he be lonely, in that company?

––––––––

M
y father, scrambling his way through the tunnels of the wine cellar, Owein trailing behind. The torches flared, touching their faces with orange, and the arched stone walls seemed to tremble, as if some great beast was breathing.

––––––––

R
osa stared into fog. The tower was wreathed in white, like a stone island in a grey sea. The room was chill. Beads of water pricked against my skin. There were shapes in the cloud: people, or great wings, beating, beating.

––––––––

F
inally, these snippets coalesced into grey light and the sound of trickling water.

A man, his back to me, held a small bow made of wood and wire. The wire rasped against a green rock and cut into the stone. Set beside the man was a bowl of water, its surface rippled, trembling with the movement of his arm. As I watched, the man coughed, then sprinkled sand and water on the stone. There were fine grooves and curves on its smooth surface; he was carving jade.

A boy entered the room. ‘Great Master. Let me do this for you.’

The man shook his head. ‘This is my task.’ His voice was hoarse, and he panted, as if coming from a race.

‘Master. You must rest.’

‘I will rest, soon, my son. Ah. Yes, soon I will sleep. Forever. Until that day, I must work. There is much to do.’ He picked up the bow again, then tipped his head to one side. ‘Is someone there?’

The boy stared into the dark corner where I stood, watching. ‘Master, there is nothing.’

‘I thought I heard breathing.’

‘It is the noise of the saw, Master.’

‘The stone calls to me, my son,’ The carver turned the stone gently with his left hand.

‘Do you need more water, Master?’

The carver nodded. Picking up the bowl, the boy scurried from the room.

‘You can come out.’ The man tipped his face to the light. ‘I know you are there.’

Hesitantly, I stepped forwards. Was he talking to me?

‘I hear many things,’ he said. ‘A grasshopper’s heart. The brush of a bird’s feathers. And I can hear you behind me. Do you mean me harm?’

‘Master,’ I said, ‘I mean you no harm.’

He took a deep breath, then seemed to relax. Picking up the bow, he resumed carving. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said honestly. ‘I was sleeping, and now here I am.’

‘Ah,’ the man replied, as though my ignorance was his answer. ‘You wish to see what I am doing?’

I peered over his shoulder. ‘You are carving stone.’

‘I am carving jade.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I must.’ His thumb rubbed the surface of the stone gently.

‘What are you making?’

‘A dagger. Do you know anything of daggers, oh visitor?’

‘A little,’ I thought of my knives. I missed them.

‘This will be the pommel here,’ he pointed a finger, grey with sand, at a knobbly shape at the top of the stone. ‘The dagger will be half as long as my forearm. Cured it in the fire, it will be sharper than steel. And just as hard. Things cured in fire are hard, are they not, my watcher?’

He turned towards me as he spoke. I recognized him now, for there were sunken holes where his eyes should be, and his face was scarred and burnt.

‘Yes, Master Yang,’ I said shakily. ‘Things cured in fire grow harder.’

‘This,’ he stroked the stone, ‘will be the sharpest knife in all the world. And after I have made it, I shall die.’ I must have moved, for he stopped, then added, ‘My visitor, everything passes. Save stone. Stone does not pass away. Stone endures far, far longer than its creator. Thus, my body may die, but my work remains.’ He stared up at me with his eyeless face. ‘And this will be my best work. I know it, even as it emerges, only half-made. I can feel the stone calling; it calls with power, and with great passion. And the hand that wields this knife, my dear, must be as strong as the stone itself.’ He turned the jade slightly, so I could see the shape emerging from the stone. The head of a dragon.

‘Great Master,’ the apprentice called, ‘Who are you speaking to?’

‘No one, my son,’ said Master Yang.

The boy opened the door. Light flooded in.

––––––––

‘M
iss, Miss.’ The driver stood at the door of the coach.

I blinked at the bright sun. While I had slept, night had passed and now the sun was high. The coach driver smiled at me encouragingly, like a woodsman coaxing a wild animal.

In front of me was a white-walled building. Its narrow deepset windows seemed to frown down on me, an unworthy guest. The guard knocked on the wooden door and quite suddenly and noiselessly it opened. A guard with sheathed sword and leather jerkin stood in the shade of the lintel and another figure, tall and broad, lingered in the half-shadow. As she stepped forward into the light I felt a sudden shock; her face was scarred by a black tattoo across her cheek. It looked like an arrowhead.