Tyler's Dream (11 page)

“A wyloth?” guessed Haranio. “Yes. The gatekeeper mentioned something of the sort.”

Varkon nodded. “I have been told this one is so large it can carve through solid rock. I was not convinced myself until I saw this place, but what else could have created such a circular passage?”

“Varkon,” said Haranio angrily, “that ink staining your skin must have worked its way into your brain. At least tell me you know the way. Tell me our fate will not be to be crushed by a monster, or to die of thirst under a thousand feet of rock.”

“I know the direction, not the way,” said Varkon, waving a compass in the air. “If we keep to the east and always follow the upslope, I can only hope we will find our way out.”

“Hope is what the failed rely on,” Haranio snapped. “I do not except to surface from this place alive.”

“If you want to crawl into some corner to die, go ahead,” said Varkon testily. “Old man, look on this as a blessing. The Sa-Tsu will not send a search party sent after us into this monster’s den, so we have but one large worm between us and freedom. Our odds are improving.”

Tyler matched Varkon’s pace, which basically meant running along behind him. Soon Tyler was bright with sweat and gasping like a fish in the air. Thankfully, the torch remained lit, as though it was using the rotten air as fuel. Their path snaked through a network of circular tunnels that zigzagged and overlapped in every possible direction. Varkon was often forced to make a choice between several possible passageways, but because he had nothing more than the compass and his luck to guide him, he never spent long deciding. Haranio transfigured into a snow lion for reasons that Tyler could not possibly comprehend. The thick fur puffing over his body must have been unbearable.

The tunnel finally ended. Varkon raised a hand to halt Tyler and Haranio. It was not a dead end, but rather the beginning of a huge space of some kind. Varkon probed it with his torch, but the light faded into the darkness so that the true size of the area could not be judged. Long icicles of rock spiked like stony thorns from the floor or thrust suddenly from the unknown night above. These strange pendants glistened as water dripped across them, and they seemed to be giant cones stuck with stars and slimy green thread. Huge mounds of tiny stones were scattered like handfuls of teeth all over the ground, heaped into crumbling piles. The companions had little choice but to continue. Varkon turned and pushed an obvious finger to his lips before venturing forward into the massive void. Tyler followed, stepping as quietly as he could.

Their pace continued interminably. Icicles of rock would materialise endlessly from the gloom as they travelled, their faces colouring ever paler with light, their shadows deepening and defining behind them, before swinging in great, speedy arcs as they passed and then widened and disappeared from sight.

Their trek took them over crunching pebbles, through shallow sheets of water, and over the tops of jutting rocks. Tyler absently surveyed one particularly strange formation as he passed, noticing its strange fluidity. It slumped lazily between several pillars while its base trailed into a particularly deep pool of black water behind it, but his interest lasted only for a moment as he noticed the light touch against a wall.
The other side of the cavern
! Hundreds of rounded passageways were carved across the bottom. This must be a central connecting area for …

Varkon was by his side in an instant, and his hand clamped tightly over Tyler’s stretched lips. Tyler flickered his eyes with warning. The ghatu nodded; he already knew. Slowly the ghatu dropped his hand away before continuing his silent walk across to the approaching wall.

The strange “formation” they were passing
breathed
. The wyloth was half submerged in water, and its upper body lounged across several broken pillars of stone. Besides the mountains, Tyler had never seen anything quite as large. Its head was sleek and hard, as though it had been shaped from several plates of steel. Every so often a long tongue would wind out from its mouth, tasting the foul air.

Crack
! A loud crunch shocked Tyler to a halt. He froze, shoulders cringed up to his ears. The remains of a crushed ghatuan skull was scattered about his feet.

The sound echoed repeatedly, searching unsuccessfully for a way out until it faded to a whisper. Tyler stared at the ground in disbelief at what he had done. A white, broken jaw grinned up at him.

The wyloth stirred. Its armoured head swayed rhythmically to one side, and then it abruptly snapped open its eyes. Two ancient yellow orbs stared down at them from the murk.

Haranio roared. Varkon grabbed Tyler’s hand, yanking him forward roughly as the wyloth thrust its body from the water.

The companions plunged into a tunnel on the east wall. Varkon’s torch fluttered faithfully against the rushing wind. Their passage dipped and then rose uncontrollably. Varkon whipped around the bends so fast that he ran almost halfway up the curved wall.

A low grinding caused the rock all around them to quiver.

The wall to Varkon’s right blasted away. Fragments of stone stung Tyler’s face, dust puffed into the air, and he was flung to the floor. The wyloth streamed past, scales screaming against the rock. Even at the unreal speed it was moving, it took an age to slip by. Finally, its tail flicked across with a low swish, disappearing down the new tunnel that it had created.

Varkon jumped to his feet. “
Move
!” The trio careened on down the passageway. Strangely, the air began to howl backwards away from them. “Can you feel that?” roared Varkon as they ran.

“Yes! What’s happening?”

“The wyloth is sucking air back as it tunnels. We must—”

Varkon was sharply cut off. The ceiling collapsed inwards with a smart crack, and the wyloth streamed vertically downwards into the very spot that Varkon had just occupied.

“
No
!” cried Tyler, as the force of the shaking rock tossed him off his feet once again. He scrambled upright, although the ground still shivered feverishly. Varkon and his torch were no more. The wyloth continued to thunder past, the sound of its scales slicing the rock only a few short feet away in the darkness.

“
Varkon
!” yelled Tyler hopelessly.

Suddenly the tail of the wyloth flashed past in a brilliance of scales, and with a jump, the light returned. Varkon stood on the other side of a huge, vertical well that had been carved through the floor and ceiling.

“Tyler!” called Varkon happily. “I thought … Well, come on, quickly! You’ll have to jump.”

Tyler crouched and then flung himself over the divide. Varkon grabbed his hand to guide him to safety. Haranio followed with an easy bound, and they were off once more.

One side of the tunnel buckled with pressure, and a crack suddenly snapped across it like lightening. There was a screech of scales from behind, and then the wind abruptly changed direction so that it was now pushing them forward.

That could only mean one thing. The wyloth swished around the bend, its eyes shining with the mysticism of a pair of dying suns. Tyler noticed another type of light was glinting up ahead.
Could it
be
…
?

“Tyler, watch out!”

Varkon dropped his torch, and Tyler stepped over the raging flame. Soon afterwards there was a terrible scream. The wyloth must have slipped over the oily blaze, caressing its long body with heat.

With a shout Varkon burst from the tunnel into the daylight. Tyler did the same, but something collided with his jaw, causing his feet to wrench out ahead of him. From where he lay on his back, he saw a ghatu silhouetted against the blue.

“Vavo kru—”

The wyloth blasted through the tunnel and took the ghatu in mid-sentence. It was moving so quickly that it propelled entirely over Tyler’s flattened body, passing inches from his upturned face. It then whipped itself about while swallowing the ghatu with a single bite, armour, spear, and all, before ploughing back into the side of the mountain, thrashing like a worm until only a cloud of disturbed dust remained.

Tyler raised himself to his elbow, his eyes watering. He put a tentative hand to his jaw. The sun was in the middle of the sky, and after the long ages spent peering continuously into gloom, it seemed painfully bright. He rose a hand to shield his face from the glare.

A hand touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?” Varkon was kneeling over him.

Tyler blinked, lizard-like. “I’ll be fine.”

Haranio hobbled from behind. “Tyler, are you hurt?”

Tyler scrambled to his feet quickly, legs straddling unsteadily apart. “Varkon, Haranio’s a traitor!” he said, pointing at the shamif.

It was as if the floor was suddenly paved with hot coal. Varkon sprang to his feet and twisted to face Haranio. “I
knew
it. I could tell you were scum from the moment we met.”

Haranio remained relaxed. “The lad is not thinking straight, Varkon,” he said. “Before you
mindlessly
attack me, I would ask Tyler exactly why he thinks that I betrayed him.”

Varkon paused, waiting for an answer.

“Well, I saw someone in my dream a few nights ago,” bumbled Tyler, the words not coming as easily to him as he had hoped. “They wanted to kill me, but I couldn’t tell who it was. It can’t be you, because you’ve saved my life so many times …”

Varkon frowned and risked a glance towards him. “What do you mean, in your dream?”

“I think my dreams are more than dreams. The visions, the emotions I share are too real to be fiction.”

There was another pause as Varkon processed this. Haranio shook his head and turned his earnest eyes towards Tyler.

“Do you really think that it is my intention to
murder
you, Tyler?” The shamif’s old face softened. “Perhaps this shows us that your dreams are not glimpses of the real world. We know too little about them to jump to conclusions.”

Varkon’s guard was relaxing as Tyler said, “How can I trust you, Haranio? How can I trust—” Tyler’s eyes watered with a sudden despair. He didn’t know what to do.

“My dear boy, I will never be able to prove myself to you beyond all doubt. Sometimes you just need to have a little faith.”

“You’re right. In one day I have accused both you and Varkon of betrayal. I do not deserve your companionship.”

Varkon shook his head. “I think that but for a dream, there is no reason for any of us to be labelled a traitor. It would serve us better to stick together, to trust.”

“To trust,” repeated Tyler.

Haranio smiled. “May this be the true beginning of our companionship.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
SMOKE
ON
THE BEACH

Varkon distributed the clothing that he had scavenged from his short time in the mountain. He had also stocked up on food, so at lunch they feasted on dry rat meat. Tyler’s initial disgust was soon overcome by his grumbling stomach, and once he had gained the courage to sample a shred of the unfortunate rodent, he was cured of his doubts. The meat was actually salted and rather tasty. Varkon called it
umha
.

His new clothes, on the other hand, were a different story. They itched, bit, and rubbed at his skin whenever he moved, but with the freezing wind forever against their faces, the clothes’ warmth was reason enough to suffer the occasional rash.

They travelled east, and as they did so bold islands of grass began to pop up from the snow. Flowers raised their lonely stalks from the frost, and as the sharp cliffs below the Klinha Mountains unravelled into long, undulating knolls, they multiplied to fill the landscape.

The sun shone for that first full day of travel, but it was a cold light, with the wind blowing so hard that the companions clutched at their garments, and their teeth chattered as they strode. Despite this, it was good to breathe in the fresh air after being consumed so recently by the foul stench of the mountain, and a warm internal energy seemed to ignite in them so that not even nightfall impeded their excellent progress.

Varkon’s eagerness to push on was driven by his concern at finding a ghatu sentry at the tunnel exit. “The Sa-Tsu must have spread his troops finely to cover every possible gap. It makes me realise how desperately my people want to capture you, Tyler.”

After they had eaten some
umha
, Tyler and Varkon slept. Haranio insisted on keeping watch; it was anyone’s guess as to whether a search party would be sent to look for them.

He reached out a disbelieving hand to touch her silky cheek. From there he dropped a cautious finger down her white neck until he found that small nook at its base. “I love you,” he said. “I love you.” But it would never bring her
back.

Early morning saw the companions huddled together, gnawing at their breakfast like a dray of squirrels. The world around them was still loose with shadows. A mist hung about, as if a cloud had crashed to the earth during the night. Because of this, and because none of them had fully woken, there was a feeling that they had wandered into a place between the real world and that of dreams. The feeling was only too familiar to Tyler.

“So,” said Haranio, breaking the silence. “With the Klinha Mountains at our backs, I would imagine it is time to consider what lies ahead.” His hands cupped his chin as he talked so that his mouth could not be seen.

“The sea is now all that lies between us and our goal,” said Varkon, turning his eyes away from the mountains. “What other way is there to Ithrim but to follow the bays and shoals along the coast? The beach must now serve as our road to the end.”

“And yet won’t every road be watched?” asked Tyler.

“Well said. But these empty plains …” said Haranio, shaking his head. “We are taking a great risk, remaining so clearly in the open.”

“We must make our way to the sea,” said Varkon firmly. “Haranio is right, we are currently extremely exposed. We must keep our wits about us, duck into the long grass quickly at first sight of danger.”

“And the distance to be walked? The time it will take?” asked Tyler, hardly daring to hope for good news.

“Child,” said Haranio slowly, “at best we have another year before our feet.”

For a few more days they continued, always towards the rising sun. Varkon kept his eyes to the sky, scanning for the gliders his kind often deployed on the strong winds this side of the mountains, but the gliders never once appeared.

The Klinha Mountains eventually faded into the distance, leaving the landscape devoid of any feature but the grass and waving flowers. The distant horizon seemed to inspire reflection, and so Tyler would often catch himself wishing for his cosy village, his scented forest, his family, his home – his previous peace from all of this madness.

They spotted the four thin trails of smoke one afternoon, rising from behind a hill to the south. It was lucky the wind had stilled, allowing the smoke to collect like trailing cotton.

“A settlement?” Tyler wondered. The smoke was too controlled to be a wild fire.

“It would seem so,” agreed Haranio, in this thoughtful way. “But who would set camp in this barren place?”

“I’ll scout ahead,” said Varkon. “It’ll do no good to have the three of us barging over the top of that hill together.”

“And it will do no good having a seven-foot giant barging over the top, either,” said Haranio. “There is no need for you to take such a risk, Varkon. You forget who I am.”

And at that Haranio began one of his transformations. After many clicks and snaps, a white dog stood panting before them, complete with a fluffed-up tail and floppy ears. Varkon snorted and turned on his heel to sit.

“Right, we’ll wait—” He stopped mid-sentence, staring west towards the Klinha Mountains. Smoke rose from the western horizon, too, but it was black and unnatural. It crawled across the sky as though it were alive.

“What is it?” breathed Tyler. There was no reply. “Varkon?”

A single drum-beat thundered across the folded hills. Another followed quickly. Memories came to Tyler then: the night his whole village was burnt to cinders to the sound of those drums.

DOOM,
DOOM
,
their message spelt, and the smoke edged more quickly across the sky. All three companions watched as though hypnotised. The light that bathed the golden hills stained to a sickly red hue. Varkon turned his head towards Tyler, black eyes burning with fear.

“His army marches.”

A dark mass crept over a hill not too far to the west, directly beneath the smoke. At first it looked like the peaks of a wavering forest, but the mass moved too quickly, and the edges seemed uncertain. Soon the mirage gave way to cold reality: it was a vast and terrible army. Thousands marched towards them. Ghatu lurched in their ranks, and strange creatures the size of dogs with sharp, protruding teeth darted nimbly between their strides. Pacing before them all was the Dhimori, swathed in billowing midnight, sword cradled in both hands, razor spikes gleaming in the dead light.

“Run for the smoke.
Run to the south
!” roared Varkon, snapping out of his trance.

Without a word Tyler turned and accelerated towards the four white columns of smoke, knowing that what lay ahead of them was now their only hope. The trio hurtled over the top of the hill.

It was a village perched on the edge of the sea.
Oh, the sea!
Tyler gasped as he looked over the ocean, the whirling gulls, and the white beach. Then he was charging down the slope, his throat burning with exhaustion and his legs hot with pain. Village folk could be seen, looking outwards with surprise from the rims of their huts.

“Run! Run!” bellowed Varkon to the wind.

They plunged on towards the village. Some of the men raised their weapons. Tyler raced onward regardless. What choice did he have? “He is coming! The Dhimori!” he cried, uncertain as to whether these people were friend or foe – or could even understand him. He held up palms in peace. Most of the villagers now had their weapons naked in their hands, countenances set to kill.

Tyler glanced behind him. The Dhimori’s army surged over the top of the hill, and like a wave breaking against the shoals, a hail of black arrows splashed out, threading the sky and clouds. There was a still before the storm. Then the arrows slashed down all around in a deadly rain. Several village men fell, feathered sheaths protruding from their bodies.

“Run!” cried Tyler hoarsely, although he could not be heard for all the shouting and screaming that took place. “The Dhimori is here!”

“The ships, lads! To the ships!” a voice called from the crowd.

Ships?
Tyler’s hope at hearing that word was immediately snuffed as a horrible thought suddenly occurred to him. “Varkon, cover your face! People will not understand!” Tyler glanced at his companion to find that he had already disguised himself with Haranio’s spare clothes. His most obvious features were cloaked, but he still looked awfully suspicious, a hooded stranger towering head and shoulders above everyone else.

They ran with the people of the village, tearing through streets towards the sea, towards the ships. Tyler could see them now, their masts silhouetted above the rooftops. He counted five in all.

A man cried out and fell not far ahead, an arrow wedged between his shoulder blades. There was no time to help. The clash of weapons signalled the arrival of the Dhimori, and as Tyler turned, he saw the ghatu crash through a weak line of village men who had remained, perhaps to serve as a distraction. Tyler burnt with guilt.

One last row of houses, and then they were pushing along a rickety pier that stuck like a rude tongue across the water. An enormous crowd thronged around them, pouring into the moored ships like rats scuttling the shore.

The drums beat ceaselessly. Tyler pressed along the pier with the rest, fighting for a ship and to keep in sight of his companions. It was hopeless. First Haranio and then Varkon disappeared. He found himself alone, struggling against the crush of the mob, all hurrying to flee the madness. He pushed past the first two ships – they seemed too full. As Tyler ran beside the third one, he abruptly turned and shouldered his way up the ramp and onto the safety of the ship.

“Varkon!” he yelled. “Haranio!”

Foreign faces and strange looks were all that surrounded him as he made his way through the people crowding the deck. An odd sensation started at the pit of his stomach, and as he broke through the last cluster of people so that he could see the shore, he realised why: the ship was gliding away from land. Beside him the sailors secured the dripping anchor.

Ahead, the village roared with flames. The drums boomed. On the water nearby, a ship burned, its bow bathed with fire. The choppy sea about it dipped and boiled, each pointed wave glinting orange with flame. The village receded, seemingly gliding away. By the time the ghatu archers gathered, Tyler and his ship were well past striking range, and the hail of arrows flung after them slapped against the water. The shoreline was now smothered with the writhing army, their murderous cries launching far further than their floundering arrows.

A hand grabbed a fistful of Tyler’s long hair and yanked it uncaringly downwards. Tyler winced and bent over to relieve the pressure. A sightless eye, coated with a milky glaze, was thrust about two inches from his face. It gazed at him,
through
him, like a piece of glass. The man’s thin lips quivered as he spoke, and yet he managed to keep almost every other muscle in his face absolutely still. “What’s this that we have here, eh?” His smaller eye darted madly, and the man’s mouth flashed open, to reveal a crooked quarry of yellowed teeth. “Foreigner,” the mouth spat. “You don’t belong here. Where’s ya from?” Tyler’s hair was jerked even further back with another unkind pull, so that his pained face pointed to the sky. A finger tapped his chin. “Ah,
now
I recognise you rat.” The man’s hot breath rolled over his thin tongue and blew into Tyler’s ear. “I saw you running. You brought the ghatu on us! You fetched them right to us!”

As his voice rose, the stranger yanked at Tyler’s hair especially hard and kicked his legs from under him. Tyler’s tired body whacked against the wooden deck. Something was seriously wrong; his right arm was warm and wet. He craned his head groggily to survey his limb – his shirt was soaked in blood. A kick was planted right between his ribs, and then another.

Voices. Then darkness thundered all ar
ound.

He lay on his back, still. The world and the sound of it slipped away. The sun, which had been slanting between the sails, dimmed weakly. Finally it sunk away into the horizon of his mind, into a pool of everything and nothing. He was floating, drifting on a breeze, bathed all around in night. Someone was speaking to him, persuading him to relax, to be calm. A voice stroked his thoughts, caressed and calmed his troubled mind.

“
STRUGGLE NO MORE. I PROMISE YOU PEACE
,”
There, high above and robed in whirling, tattered cloth, was the Dhimori.

It no longer mattered. The voice was all he cared about.
His
voice. Tyler surrendered to the bliss. He had fought enough.