Gretchen got the shock of her life when she realised that the shoulders she held on to were not that of the attractive young man, but that of a sleek, whiskered seal. At first she thought it was just a trick of the eye, that the hood he wore was only made up to look like a seal, but then the head turned, rolled one large puppy-dog eye toward her, gave a wink, licked its nose, and then turned and continued carrying her away from the sunset.
_____________________
V
_____________________
Alex and Ecgbryt were profoundly disheartened. They had visited no less than four sleeping chambers, only to find them raided and their occupants slaughtered. They did not talk to each other—they had nothing to say. Their spirits were as low as the short tunnels they had to crouch through and as smothering as the narrow cave walls around them. They felt smothered. Alex took to openly swearing at every bump and jolt that a rocky outcrop or
low ceiling gave him. He felt that the tunnels themselves were outrightly hostile, reaching out and hitting him when opportunity arose.
They were utterly soaked. Water dripped from the walls when it didn’t cascade around them. At times they had to wade, hipdeep, along freezing streams, and it was absolutely impossible to get dry afterward. There was nowhere to rest that wasn’t slippery with slime. Alex decided he was going to raise serious objections to continuing their quest after the next stop on their map, which was bound to be another massacre scene.
They came to a staircase that curved upward. They mounted its steps and Alex gratefully found each one to be drier than the last. Perhaps he could convince Ecgbryt to stay and have a proper night’s sleep this time.
The stairs brightened as they turned. The walls transitioned from rough-hewn stone into smooth slabs, lit by the ambient glow of daylight. The breeze brought a smell to their nostrils that surprised them—the salty, moist scent of the sea—and their ears soon discerned the rhythmic rise and fall of waves. The sound was nourishment to Alex’s soul and he felt his pulse quicken. An eagerness leapt into his breast founded on . . . he didn’t know exactly what.
They passed a window, which blinded them both. Ecgbryt clapped a hand full over his eyes as he passed it. Alex was forced to look away but then turned back when his eyes had adjusted. It was a typically overcast day by the ocean and not particularly bright. The water was all that was visible apart from a few jagged rocks it washed against.
Wiping the tears caused by the stinging light from his eyes, he followed Ecgbryt upward. They passed other windows, which allowed more views of the ocean surrounding them, but so far they had no indication of what was inside the tower they were circling.
Then they came to an archway that a stiff wind blew through, creating a low, hollow whistle. From one side of it, they could look down into a chamber that fell beneath them, nearly as far as they had climbed—roughly fifteen metres, Alex judged. Stairs led down, curving against the wall, and above them, the tower appeared to be open at the top since a pale silver disc of sky was visible. The walls were as straight and flat as the day they were carved, but slits and strangely angled windows were placed at odd points in the tower that served to create some sort of complex wind tunnel.
The entryway into the chamber looked down on the sleepers. There were eight of them lying upon the customary plinths at the bottom of the tower.
“They look to be unharmed,” Alex said in wonder. “It’s hard to say exactly, but they look . . . fine.”
“There, see,” Ecgbryt said, pointing to the base of the steps. “Bodies. Bones, some weaponry. They are yfelgópes!” he exclaimed, excitement instantly mounting in his voice. “There must be a hundred of them. This is where their murderous path ended!”
Alex peered around Ecgbryt’s shoulder. What he first thought was rocky debris was in fact a pile of bodies, reminiscent of pictures of holocaust camps.
He swallowed and started into the chamber, but Ecgbryt held him back.
“Hold. They may have perished by some sort of trap,” Ecgbryt said. “I don’t see how the yfelgópes would be so foolish as to awaken the knights, even accidentally.”
They stood there for a moment, pondering their next step.
“Where is the horn?” asked Ecgbryt.
“I don’t see it. Do they need it?”
“Horns wake the sleepers.”
“Horns . . . oh, aye. I think I have it!” Alex said and pushed past the large knight.
“Be careful as you—” Ecgbryt started to warn him.
“Don’t worry, I think I’ve sussed it, look—”
Alex took one step forward and felt the strangest sensation. The air blowing past him suddenly whirled around and twisted upward. He was in the middle of a wind dervish. Just standing there had affected the flow of air in the tunnel in the most ingenious fashion and started it in a new course up the tower. A low, reedy hum was first heard, and then other notes rising in a cacophonous chord that threatened to deafen them all.
“It’s the horn!” Alex shouted in delight, looking upward again at the holes in the wall that the wind blew against. “The tower itself is the horn! That’s why the knights awakened! The yfelgópes did it just by entering the room!”
The noise tapered off and Alex turned to continue his descent down the stairs. Then he leapt back in surprise. The knights had already awakened and were mounting the stairs toward him, weapons drawn and ready.
“Ecgbryt, do you want to talk to them?”
“Knights of Ennor,” Ecgbryt called out from the top of the staircase. “Rise up now to fulfill your secret oath and complete your sacred duty. A brother knight calls to you—the time has come to awake.”
The knights looked at each other and then at the strange pair standing at the entrance to the tower.
“Is it time?” the knight at the front asked. “Truly, is it time?”
“It’s
past
time,” Alex said. “Come on, grab your gear. We’re offski.”
_____________________
I
_____________________
“We call ourselves the
léafléas.
That means ‘The Doubtful.’ My name is Argument.”
Daniel blinked. “Argument?”
“I am told it is my dominant trait.”
“You would find it hard to believe how long it took us to convince him of that fact,” the léafléas behind him said.
Daniel swayed. His body was weighed down by exhaustion, but he could feel his heart beating quickly. The left side of his body was throbbing, issuing waves of heat at every swell. He looked at the band of yfelgópes in front of him; they appeared as ugly and hostile as any other group of the creatures. Could he trust them? Was it possible he was so tired that he was delirious? Could he even trust himself?
He would have to trust his instincts. And right now they
were . . . vague. He was getting an impression, but it was hard to fit into words. The yfelgópes—or the léafléas, as they called themselves—were . . .
“Sticky,” he said to himself.
“What?” asked the yfelgóp in front of him.
“You look sticky—I think you’ll stick,” Daniel said decisively. They were leading him through the cells and up and around a spiralling back entrance. The ground had a tendency to lurch beneath him like the deck of a ship. He wished he still had his jacket and that it wasn’t back in the Langtorr’s foyer.
“You’re the right length,” Daniel said, trying to clarify. That might be misunderstood, he reflected, but . . . well,
he
knew what he meant.
Do I have a concussion?
Daniel wondered.
Well, what could be done about it if I do?
Argument nodded. “Then come. We will take you east and east by northeast, through an untravelled and unwatched route out of the city and into the wild caves beyond.”
“What then?” Daniel asked.
“Then we look for Godmund and the other resisters,” a léafléas behind Argument said.
Daniel laughed. “Of course.”
“Shh! More quiet, please. It is funny?”
“No, not really. I think I’ve just worked it out.”
“You know where Godmund and his band are?”
“Hah, no. That’s still . . . sort of . . . purple. No, I just—never mind. Go ahead and get me out of here.”
Daniel followed them, a smile tugging at the right side of his face. They wound through dark corridors, and he was amazed at how calm and relaxed he felt, despite the situation. He felt he had a secret weapon, an advantage—the knowledge of what was really going on.
They came out through a cavern near a wide pool of water. Daniel wondered if there were fish in it, and if those fish had eyes.
Maybe, maybe not,
he thought and then stumbled slightly.
“Try to be quiet. Each sound we make may draw suspicion.”
Annoyed, Daniel was going to tell the yfelgóp—léafléas, whatever—that he should worry about his own feet and not his, but had trouble framing the sentence, and then the moment passed.
It’s still the right length,
he told himself, and anyway, he had his pocket—his secret in his pocket—and that put him at ease again. But there was another thought floating around his head:
Length, sticky, pocket? Who talks like that?
There was something going on in him that didn’t make objective sense. Well, there was nothing to do for it now—he just had to stay the course. Push through, even if it was only by sheer bloody-mindedness.
After another fifteen minutes of walking, they came to a group of yfelgópes seated around five Niðergeard lamps with shutters on them, letting out only the dimmest light.
“Who approaches, and from what direction?” one of the yfelgópes from the other group challenged.
“It is Argument. I approach from the south: one hundred and twenty-nine steps north, one hundred and thirty-three steps east. How long have you waited?”
“We have stayed this ground one hundred and thirty-nine minutes. How long did your journey take?”
Argument began a response. “What’re they doing?” Daniel asked the léafléas next to him.
“It is our way of identifying members of our group. Those numbers hold significance.”
“Doesn’t he recognise him? Like, by his face or length?”
“Yes, but it is well to make sure.”
Daniel nodded and listened to a few more exchanges.
“Is this he?” asked the interrogative yfelgóp, finally satisfied with the responses.
“Indeed,” said Argument, with a good measure of selfsatisfaction.
“Hi, Daniel Tully. Pleased to meetcha!” Daniel said, extending a hand and grinning carelessly.
The yfelgóp standing in front of Daniel looked at his hand expressionlessly.
“This is Certain Doubt,” said Argument, behind him. “He is the most senior of us.”
“I used to be called Eddik,” Certain Doubt said peevishly. “It is time we left. We should not have stayed so long.”
“I don’t suppose anyone managed to pocket my things?” Daniel asked.
“We did not,” said Certain Doubt. “Your items would have been noticed missing before you were. We did, however, bring you this sword.” He signalled to one of the other yfelgópes, who stepped forward, carrying a large bundle. Daniel took the sword that was resting on top of it. “It is not yours, but it is of the nearest dimensions we could find at the time. Also, here are clothes, to keep you as warm and dry as possible.”
Daniel had been counting, and there looked to be about twenty-five of them altogether. He pulled the sword partway out of its scabbard to inspect it and then pushed it back in with a
snap
.
“Are you tired? Do you need rest?”
Daniel’s head bobbed upward. “What? Sorry, what?”
“Sleep! Are you tired—do you need rest? It is of the utmost importance that we move swiftly, but if you need to rest, then we will stop here for a moment.”
“No, no, I should be fine,” Daniel said, fitting the sword belt around his waist and shaking out the travelling cloak he’d been
given. It didn’t seem to have a pocket. “Ready when you are, captain. Stretch on.”
“I am ready. We all are ready. I am no captain.”
Daniel nodded, with an apologetic expression that he then wished no one had seen. He had to be careful. He couldn’t stretch it, or they’d tumble that he was on to them. He couldn’t stretch it. It had to stay the right length. Otherwise it wouldn’t stick.
Stick. Sticky. Stretch. Stick.
“Well, come if you’re coming,” Certain Doubt growled.
Daniel shook himself. He had to stay awake. Stay focused. He had to figure out this new situation he was in. He had to find the answer.
“You must be understanding of him and allow some exception if you are able. There is much in these events that press on him,” Argument said as he tugged Daniel along by his arm.
“I’ll just bet there is,” said Daniel.
They carried on, northward, Daniel was told, but he had no bearings. Niðergeard was more or less behind him, that’s all he knew. The yfelgópes—the léafléas—were apparently orienting themselves by the alignment and distance between certain lights they could make out, but Daniel was not familiar enough with the city to know which side of it they were viewing. He didn’t know where they were taking him.
He found the léafléas strange. He had never accredited the yfelgópes with much intelligence—he had almost always known them to be half-crazed, animalistic savages. But here, he was surprised to find they actually had a human-like intelligence. They loved to argue and debate over any little thing that could be found. Where they were, which direction they were walking, how much more in weight one was carrying than the other and for how long, and—more than anything—how far they had walked.
“I’ve got two thousand and five hundred,” one of them—Daniel had picked up that he was called Judicious Speculation—announced. “How about the rest of you?”
There came a cascading report of numbers from the others: two thousand three hundred and seventy-one, two thousand four hundred and eight, two thousand two hundred and ten, one thousand nine hundred and eighty-three . . .
“Your knee’s deformed, Informed Dissent; that’s why your steps are so close.”