Quest for the Sun (19 page)

We stood on the high bank above the cutting and watched.

The Candalupus shuffled to a halt in the centre of the arena; behind it, at a safe distance, followed a man cradling something in his arms, swathed in a cloth that even from this distance reeked of rancid oil. Something heavy, by the look of it …

He circled the beast warily, pulled the cloth away and proffered what it had hidden. It was a weapon, the length of a long-sword but broad and heavy, made of dark, dull metal. Vicious-looking curved serrations ran down both edges of the blade like a double-edged saw. I stared, sickened, as the creature reached for a weapon it couldn't possibly need: its groping talon was armed with claws that could have disembowelled a man with a single sweep. The creature rose awkwardly to its full height, fumbling two-handed with the weapon for a firmer grip. I felt a glimmer of hope. Lethal as those clawed talons might be, they weren't made for holding a sword.

‘And he is slow and clumsy, and will be quick to tire,' Lyulf murmured beside me.
Every strength has a weakness
…

Blade had been standing in the shadow on the far side of the arena, waiting and watching. Now she strode forward, a spring in her step, head held high. She drew her sword with a ringing hiss of steel; silver flashed in the sunlight. With her free hand she unbuckled her sword-belt and tossed it aside, drew her dagger and moved towards the monster, her body falling naturally into a crouching guard, weapons crossed.

The Candalupus roared and rocked from side to side, scraping its great clawed feet through the sawdust. Slowly it advanced. Just as slowly Blade backed away, never taking her eyes from the apparition that towered before her, circling to draw it after her and avoid being trapped against the side of the arena.

Suddenly, too fast for the eye to follow, a bright blade flashed out and there was the ringing clash of steel on metal; then Blade was leaping out of range again, both sword and dagger in her left hand, opening and closing the right as if to regain the feeling. She'd struck out, trying to penetrate that armour …

And now the monster was after her, lurching forward with great, grunting strides. His weapon swung like a scythe, one of his steps equalling four of hers. Blade back-pedalled swiftly, drawing him after her, her right arm hanging limp. Suddenly she tripped and fell backwards, just as Jamie had done … and with a roar the great beast was over her, sword raised for the death-blow.

Faster than light Blade's limp hand sprang to life and grasped her sword; thrust up from underneath, between the overlapping plates of armour on the monstrous thigh. As easily as a knife into butter the slender sword slid home, deep into the bowels of the beast.

A roar of rage and pain shook the stadium. A stumbling step back, and the mighty hacksaw smashed down in a cloud of dust and purple blood. I wanted to close my eyes but could only stare transfixed as the Candalupus staggered in a drunken circle, snarling and gnashing its teeth, rooting for its prey.

Then I saw her, on the far side of the arena. No sooner had she struck the blow than she must have rolled and sprung away; the saw-toothed sword had fallen on empty ground. The blood was the monster's. Now, groaning and slavering, it was hobbling across the arena after her. Blade's sword-hilt protruded from its inner leg, angled sharply upward, slick with sticky blood.

Closer and closer it came, and still Blade stood her ground. The only weapon she had now was her dagger, and to use it she'd have to be close … too close.

Up came a hand; the wrist flicked, as if tossing sand into the creature's eyes. The great head twitched back; he blinked, raised one arm to his face and gave a roar of agony. Blade stood poised, out of reach, watching empty-handed.

It seemed to take a long, long time for him to fall. It was as if the realisation that he was dead — beaten by a creature a tenth his size — took longer than the steel blade of the knife to penetrate his slow brain. But finally he swayed, took one unsteady step back … and fell. He hit the ground with an impact that shook the stadium like an earthquake. He lay still, his purple blood soaking into the sawdust.

Silence stretched on. At last the first voice came, reed-thin, uncertain: ‘Blade! Blade!' Others joined it: ‘BLADE! BLADE!' The arena was pounding with the chant, like the beating of a gigantic heart:
‘BLADE! BLADE! BLADE!'

Wearily, with dragging feet, she made her way towards us. If there was joy in victory, you couldn't see it. Her vanquished opponent lay face to the sky, one outstretched hand still clinging to the sword. She walked past him as if he wasn't there.

And then it happened. With the speed of a snake, the monster rolled and struck. The barbed edge of his sword bit deep into Blade's back, any sound it might have made swallowed by the chanting of the crowd.

For me, it was as if suddenly the whole arena was silent. All I saw was Blade falling, graceful as a swan, seeming to float down to rest on the soft sawdust as if it were a cloud.

We took her back to our campsite, pale and still as death. Lyulf carried her like a baby into her small caravan. Though the Masked Man made a gesture as if to help, he would let no one else touch her. The five of us stood in a silent cluster outside, waiting, Kenta hugging Blue-bum close for comfort.

After what seemed a long time the door opened slowly. Lyulf stood there; he must have drawn the curtains, because the room beyond was dark and still. There was something lost about him — the first sign I'd seen of the child that lay beneath his hard exterior. He raised both hands in a small gesture of helplessness.

It was Richard who spoke. ‘Is she …'

Lyulf shook his head. ‘Her clothes … I can't …' His voice cracked.

It was Kenta who understood. Stepped forward, and gently took his arm. ‘Of course you can't. Gen and I will do it. Go with Adam and Richard, light a fire and boil some water; we'll call you as soon as we can.'

 

At last Gen came to fetch us, her face grim; she met my eyes and gave her head a tiny shake. Together we squeezed into the single room of the caravan and stared down at Blade, our eyes adjusting to the gloom. She was lying on her front, head turned towards us, eyes closed. The girls had undressed her; a light woollen blanket covered her from the waist down. The right-hand side of her slender back was coffee-cream and perfect, smooth muscle a silken covering over a tracery of ribs. But the left side …

Kenta was speaking, her voice steady and matter-of-fact. ‘I've checked as best I can that nothing's been left in the wound, but the impact seems to have driven fibres from her clothes …' she swallowed, and carried determinedly on. ‘It won't stop bleeding. We need to apply pressure, but her ribs are broken, and I'm scared they might puncture … And the sword has left stuff inside, like grease; it has a strange smell. Once the water's cooled we'll swab it, but we need antiseptic, antibiotics … she probably ought to have a tetanus shot …' Her voice trailed away.

None of us looked at each other. What Blade really needed was a sip of healing potion … but there wasn't any.

At last Lyulf spoke, in a mutter almost to himself. ‘Fire-tongue … how can it be that we have still not come upon it? Yet it grows this far south …' He turned to us. ‘Do you know it? It also goes by the name of wound-wart; it staunches bleeding and banishes the ill humours that cause a wound to fester.'

‘We don't know it,' said Jamie staunchly, ‘but we'll find some, if you tell us where to look. You can stay and take care of Blade.'

The terrible flatness had left Lyulf's eyes. He lifted one hand and rested it for a moment on Blade's tangled hair. ‘Look for a straggly low-growing bush — you will think it a weed. It bears long seedpods that turn from green to red as the season advances …'

‘It sounds like capsicum — cayenne pepper!' said Rich. ‘My Grannie grows it in her veggie patch and puts it in everything. It burns like the blazes.'

‘Fire-tongue! That'll be it!' yipped Gen. ‘Let's not waste any more time — and don't worry, Lyulf, we'll be back in a flash!'

 

But we weren't. The afternoon wore on into evening, and still we searched. Once Rich found a plant he thought might be right, but all it had were a few green nubs that might or might not grow into seed pods. All of us would have given up hours before if it hadn't been for the thought of the look in Lyulf's eyes when we returned empty-handed.

It was almost dark when we heard a sudden excited chitter from Blue-bum, followed by a cheeping call he'd never made before. I ran towards the sound, hearing the others hurrying through the undergrowth, and there he was, skipping round, a whole plant uprooted in his hand. He clambered up my arm, scattering dirt from the loose roots, and shoved it triumphantly in my face.

Lyulf was right, it did look like a weed — except it was covered in crinkly tongue-shaped pods, ranging in colour from green to deep, glossy scarlet. ‘That's it for sure!' I crowed.

‘Yes — clever boy, Blue-bum!' Jamie said.

‘But naughty boy for pulling it up by the roots,' scolded Rich with a grin. ‘My Grannie'd have something to say to you if she was here.'

Blue-bum chittered crossly and made a digging motion with one hand, patting with the other. Kenta gave Rich an exasperated look. ‘Will you never learn to trust poor Blue-bum, Richard? We're going to take it back and plant it in a pot, so it'll always be there if it's needed — aren't we, Blue-bum?'

We turned back towards the camp, darkness thickening around us. Now that the first excitement of our success had faded we were all uncomfortably aware of where we were, and Lyulf's warnings about the dangers of the wildlands seemed very real.

Kenta was especially quiet, her face closed as she hurried
beside me at the front of the group. Of all of us she was the only one with any medical knowledge, and I didn't dare ask how bad she thought Blade's injuries might be.

We'd wandered further than I thought in our search, but at last I saw a copse of trees that looked familiar, and the heavy feeling in my chest lightened. We were nearly there.

Suddenly Blue-bum made a low vibrating sound almost like a growl. Something about it froze Kenta and me in our tracks. ‘What is it, Blue-bum? What have you seen?' Kenta whispered.

Every sense on edge, I stared round in the darkness, my ears straining for whatever sound Blue-bum might have heard, whatever movement he might have seen in the shadows. And then I smelt it, the merest whiff on the still air: a cloying, maggoty smell of corruption and decay.

‘It's them — the Faceless!' Gen breathed. ‘Quick — run for the camp!'

We ran. It was just ahead in the next group of trees: the brightness of the fire, the safety of the others. Rich was in the lead; I forced myself to slow, staying behind the others as rearguard. I could almost feel the icy breath on the back of my neck … I ran on, my pack bumping on my back, cursing myself for setting out without a weapon, not daring to look round.

Rich, Gen, Jamie, then Kenta and Blue-bum disappeared into the trees. I crashed after them, not caring how much noise I made. They'd be there now, in the clearing with the others, safe from whatever was coming after us …

I reached the clearing. Stopped, staring. The others were there, faces blank with shock.

Where the camp had been, the caravans, the men, the glonks, the blazing fire … now there was nothing. We needn't have run. Nothing was coming after us.

It had already been — and gone.

There was nothing left. Just trampled grass, a scatter of ashes, a scrap of fabric I recognised from Blade's black cloak … and on the ground where her caravan had been, a dark splash of blood.

Those that roam the wildlands are taken … though the circus arts protect us, they put us most at risk.
The five of us away, Blade injured and Lyulf at her bedside … Borg, the Masked Man and the wounded fighters had been no match for them. They were gone, all of them, right down to Gloom and the glonks — gone to the Realms of the Undead and whatever fate awaited them.

‘Well,' said Gen, ‘thank goodness we have our rucksacks with us.'

‘Yeah — and the good thing is, there's nothing to pack,' said Richard.

‘But there's no point setting off in the dark,' Kenta said.

‘You're right,' Jamie agreed. ‘I vote we make a fire, get some rest and go after them at first light.'

‘And at least we've got matches and some food. Jamie's right — we should get all the rest we can,' said Gen.

I stared round at the faces of my four friends — at Blue-bum's face, monkey-mouth set in a determined line.
Some paths are made to walk alone
, Lyulf had said. But — for me, for the time being at least — this wasn't one of them.

 

We were looking for wood, taking care to stay close together, when I saw it: the colour of the earth, half-hidden by dirt and dry leaves. Kneeling, I brushed the soil away; lifted it and held it in the palm of my hand. Lyulf's amulet.

He wore it always — had been wearing it last time we'd seen him, in Blade's caravan. Scuffed suede, worn smooth with use and time. It was strangely heavy, and as I weighed it in my fingers I felt something slide and chink inside. The thong was broken. Lyulf's luck. Whatever it was, it had run out.

 

I showed it to the others by the campfire.

‘We'll give it back when we find them,' said Rich.

Jamie gave it a sidelong look and said nothing.

There was a silence; then Blue-bum gave a little chitter that sounded almost embarrassed.

‘Ignore him,' grunted Rich. ‘It's none of our business.'

‘Although it couldn't do any harm … and it might give us a clue about what's happened — where they've been taken,' said Kenta.

‘Hardly likely to be a clue in Lyulf's talisman,' Rich growled.

‘But maybe there is. Maybe he pulled it off deliberately,' Gen said.

Suddenly everyone was looking at me. ‘It's private,' I said slowly. ‘If it was mine, I wouldn't want whoever found it looking inside. But we're not just anyone; we're his friends. And perhaps …' They watched me in silence. The certainty was growing stronger, stronger by the second. ‘Perhaps we're meant to know.'

Slowly I loosened the neck of the little bag. The drawstring was tight, the thin leather biting deep into the holes. A long
time had passed since Lyulf had opened it. At last it was open. I looked round the circle of faces, checking one last time. I hoped my instinct was right: that I was doing the right thing. I tipped the contents of the bag out onto the palm of my hand.

There, gleaming in the dark, lay the missing golden half of the Sign of Sovereignty, and a silvery arrowhead that glowed with a pale fluorescence like moonlight.