Chapter seventy-three

The God’s Army at Monurbis

The ancient strong point of Monurbis sits in a gap in the mountains that separate the lush sub-tropical regions of North Tlaxaca from the dry old eastern Empire. It once looked out over the easternmost provinces of the Visneoria, but that all changed with the advent of the Tlaxacan horde. For a long while the city defended the new borders of East Visneoria, but then, after the second great Tlaxacan invasion, nine hundred odd years ago, it fell. It was now a city that bristled with armaments, and with the sound of smithies producing weapons of all kinds. It was usually a clangourous and argumentative place, a city that can be heard almost before it is seen. But not on this day. On this hot summer’s morning the city was halted and silent as all the forges and anvils, and all the parades and drilling, were stilled. The God was riding through.

He came, surrounded by his hardiest warriors, astride his great white charger, a horse three times the size of a normal steed, and surrounded by a sea of white believers.  These were all humans, of course. Behind Him straggled his army, more than three million ‘willing half-believers, half-slaves’, the endless kinaam, clawing at the earth and ready to destroy. And above the vast army were His creatures of the air, part of The God’s new plan to eliminate the fell elves completely.

He stopped graciously at the city entrance, high up in the mountain pass. From every corner of the city the people poured out to sing his praises. There were many sacrifices, and there was great joy at the beauty of the blood that was spilt. There were also demonstrations of the power of the air creatures, with groups of ten thousand kinaam brought forward for their sport. It was extraordinary how easily the tough little fighters were overcome by a single ray, again and again. The God roared with pleasure and power, at all his plans come finally to their climax. His new alliances with those western witches had proven fruitful and now his worship could come to all and illuminate everyone, in life and in death.

The army stayed only for a short time, as the Glorious Time of Doom was very close. The drums beat as He traversed from his lands on to the realms that He would soon conquer. The city chanted their bellicose chants to him as He left, their voices raised in harsh celebration of war and blood. And He was pleased by all of them and everything. His Time was now surely come; he could ride on into his inheritance.

As He processed on through the pass the little creatures of the crags and scree turned and ran away from Him – from the noise and clamour: all the furred and winged natural creatures of the mountains fled before Him. Among them were a few hundred spindly creatures that would not have looked out of place at all in the body of The God’s army, except that they were dressed in ragged greens and browns and that they were healers and scouts. They fled in little groups in front of the army, always keeping an hour or two ahead, and never being seen. And they planned as they moved. They planned as best they could to resist and counter, even though they knew that these might well be the futile plans of a foolish and powerless people. They sat around their camp fires high in the peaks, talking and singing, hidden away from all scouts or spies. And their clear green eyes burned with anger and with sadness and they spoke of many things. But most of all, they talked of the reckoning, which one day must undoubtedly come.

Chapter seventy-four

The City Wall at Ortia
 
Julia swept up the steps to Aurelian’s command post, high on the eastern section of the wall. She was accompanied by her little gaggle of assistants, provided thoughtfully by Marthian. These were eager and very pious young elves keen to serve Julia, but also fiercely loyal to the Proconsul. Several days had passed now with twice daily inspections by this strange group, and Aurelian, if anything, felt more uncomfortable dealing with them now than he did at the beginning. It was bad enough having to deal with Perclivius. He sighed invisibly – if he was being completely honest to himself, he didn’t find Marthian that easy either, however much he loved her.
Aurelian climbed down the battlement to meet Julia on the internal ramparts in the safest part of that section. He wasn’t sure whether he was meant to bow, so he just nodded emphatically.
‘High Priestess, Greetings’ He said
Julia nodded back, with equal awkwardness.
‘General’ she said, ‘how proceeds the battle?’
Aurelian wondered briefly if Julia had actually looked over the parapets and seen the ocean of kinaam. He stopped that line of thinking immediately; it seemed almost like treason.
‘The walls are secure and the enemy is taking many casualties. Our main concern is the siege machines that they are building’
The initial part of this siege, like the last two, had involved attempts by the Tlaxacans to send sappers under the city walls. However, once again this proved impossible; as the walls were Dwarven Magic built and they went down just as far as they stretched up.  Once this line of attack had been given up thought was put into going over the top. For the last two days the human carpenters in the Tlaxacan army had been building huge ladders which were clearly intended for scaling the ramparts. There had also been an attempt to build catapults, but they required a lot of timber, and forests with large enough trees were quite a way away.
‘Are you equipped to deal with such an assault?’ asked Julia.
‘Yes’ replied Aurelian ‘but throwing back the ladders will cost a lot of lives and resources. It is the sort of thing that we might do successfully three or four times, but after that… who knows’
Julia looked extremely concerned. She pulled the hood of her cloak further back so that her face was more visible. 
‘We must make sure that that doesn’t happen, then’ she said, nodding in sympathy.
Aurelian felt a surge of anger.
Well, of course he thought, and how do we do that?
Julia didn’t seem to notice any annoyance on his face, fortunately.  She just carried on.
‘I’ll leave an assistant with you so that she can warn me
‘Yes, I’m happy do that’ he agreed, uncertainly. 
‘I will need some warning…’ she indicated
Aurelian was certain that he was missing something, but he wasn’t sure what question he could ask that would yield a useful answer. He just nodded again.
‘And keep under shelter’ she commanded
‘I beg your indulgence, High Priestess’ he mumbled, ‘but why?’
‘Because you will not want any extra casualties, I’m sure’
‘How will we …umm… defend the walls?’ he asked.
Julia looked at him witheringly. She then seemed to be either too frustrated or too confused to continue on that tack.
‘How are relations between you and Perclivius?’ she asked, eventually.
The General considered this.
‘He’s put himself in control of strategy’ he said flatly, ‘he’s left tactics to me’
She smiled.
‘Good, I’m very pleased that you have sorted things out. Even the Proconsul seems to have found a way to work with him’  
Aurelian wondered whether that was some kind of cue for an input of praise. Whether it was or not, he wasn’t inclined to give it.
‘Possibly, High Priestess’ he said, ‘I’m not really in a position to comment. I’m just keen to get on with my job’
‘Of course, General’ she agreed; then hesitated momentarily.
‘Is everything satisfactory, High Priestess?’ 
She looked directly at him. He was struck by what a determined elf she clearly was. But also that, every now and then, she gave the impression of being completely out of her depth.
‘I must continue my tour’ she said, gathering herself together again, ‘I must go and talk to the Dictator and the Proconsul’
‘Yes, of course’ he said, ‘I hope that your day goes well’
Julia swept back down the steps, leaving a very young and eager elf behind. Aurelian smiled at the assistant. She smiled shyly back.
‘I’ll inform you when you need to take a message to the High Priestess’ he explained.
She nodded.
Aurelian sighed very softly and then turned back to his extremely close study of tactics.
 
***
 
The civilian and the military arm were in council in the Dictator’s Office. Marthian sat on one side of the heavy oak table and Perclivius on the other. They were only meeting because Marthian needed to establish exactly how many military mouths there were to feed, and how to deal with the growing number of casualties. He had not wanted to meet at all. For the last two days he had claimed to be at a series of military planning meetings.    However, Marthian thought these meeting very unlikely, unless they had been the kind that specifically excluded the commander of the army. Finally she had pinned him down. She loathed meeting him, of course, but she felt that she had little choice.
‘Do you have those manifests?’ she asked, briskly, not wanting to extend the meeting five seconds beyond what was strictly necessary.
He glared at her. He was sitting bolt upright with his arms crossed across his chest.
‘What manifests?’ he asked, ‘did you mention these to me before?’
‘I have sent you several notes. They are the lists of serving personnel for catering purposes and lists of the injured for the hospital’
He waved her away.
‘That’s the General’s job. He must have that paperwork’
‘I’ve checked. He definitely doesn’t’ she explained, ‘he says that you took them from his offices when you moved headquarters’
‘I’ll look into it’ he said and stood up to shoo her out.
‘Do you want your troops to be fed and healed?’ she asked, not moving from her chair.
‘Of course – but I have higher concerns’
‘Yes? And what are they?’
‘I am planning a grand strategy’ he indicated, ‘something to revolutionise the battle. I can’t be involved with every detail of pettifogging accountancy’
‘Then just delegate someone to find the manifests for me. I assume that you have been keeping track of casualty numbers?’
The Dictator remained standing and continued to stare at the door meaningfully.
‘Again, that’s a job for your husband’
He laughed, enjoying the joke again – he’d made it many times.
‘Yes and his assistants and mine have been trying to get the most recent figures together. But there’s still a gap’
‘At a time like this, only rough figures need to be collected. I’m sure that the General’s work is good enough’
‘So, are you wilfully refusing to provide me with the information?’
‘Wilfully, Proconsul – of course not. I just don’t think it’s as important as you do if we lose count of some soldiers down the back of a filing cabinet’
Marthian’s mouth was set into a straight line. She kept control with considerable difficulty.
‘How do you inform the next of kin that their daughter or son has been injured or has died?’
He looked confused by the question.
‘And if we don’t know that someone has been killed then we may waste a lot of time looking for them’ she pointed out.
‘Details’ he exclaimed dismissively, ‘that’s what you’re for, and you seem very good at it. I suppose women’s domestic experience perfectly suits them to these sorts of questions.   But, of course, it’s the ability to rise above of the details that makes the male brain so suited to strategy’
Marthian looked round at Perclivius’s highly decorated, renovated office. She noticed that some of the fine china that he was using had clearly been pilfered from her palace. On the wall were huge strategic maps of the region, with Ortia about the size of a sovereign. They were beautifully drawn, at least.
‘Yes, you really are very good at certain things, Citizen Perclivius’ she said slowly.
‘I don’t have to listen to your snide remarks, Mistress Marthian’ he snared, ‘I am Dictator’
‘Oh really, are you collecting titles?’ she growled back, ‘I have two other suggestions: Malingerer and Bully!’
He narrowed his eyes and stabbed his finger at her.
‘I still have the power to throw you into prison… I can still have you executed’
Marthian smiled coldly.
‘You had your chance’ she said, ‘but now I’m afraid that you’re stuck with me’
Perclivius raised his arm and, for a second, she thought that he was going to strike her. But then Julia swept into the room. Perclivius’s arm dropped down to the level of the desk and he turned to greet her. Marthian rose too.
Julia examined them both quizzically.
‘Is everything going well?’ she asked.
Dictator and Proconsul nodded reflexively. 
‘Good’ said Julia, failing to notice the tension in the air, ‘let’s get down to business…’
 
***
 
Aurelian watched the construction of the siege engines on and off for the rest of the day and then into the first half of the next morning. The little messenger elf stayed close by, never saying anything, but eager, if required, to do her job.  Aurelian kept Gaius nearby, too, and sent him off on tasks to and fro.
By this point the Tlaxacans had constructed about thirty giant ladders, just outside the range of any bow shots. They were rough and ready structures, but they would require a lot of effort to repel. The whole thing was made worse by the thought that this might well be the first wave of an endless repetition of attacks. In the end, one of them would get through.
‘Gaius’ said Aurelian, ‘I think they’ll be on us in half-an-hour’
Gaius stood to attention.
‘That seems likely sir, yes. Shall I alert your captains?’
‘Yes.  Do it and come straight back here’
Gaius bowed and ran off along the battlements.  He was following a well-rehearsed plan of action.  They had practiced such siege manoeuvres many times.
 Aurelian watched as the unwieldy ladders were raised up and then dropped down on the twenty or so kinaam who would carry then to the wall. Most of them would be ablaze in quick time – Aurelian’s archers were adept with flaming arrows.
Aurelian saw the messenger elf out of the corner of his eye. He’d forgotten all about warning Julia. Of all the things to have to do at this point…  He turned to the messenger.
‘Time to deliver your message, elfling. Tell the High Priestess that the enemy will be attempting to storm the gates almost immediately.’
The messenger got up eagerly and ran off down the steps. It must be good to be happy in your job, thought Aurelian, absentmindedly. Then he turned to the troops in his section, walking round and checking that they were all steeled for the assault and that the equipment was ready. 
Ten or so minutes later Gaius reappeared. He looked slightly distracted, but this was hardly surprising. This was the first time that the youngeer of the army had had to deal with sort of conflict. However, his distraction seemed to come from within the city.
‘Sir – what is that?’ he asked, pointing towards a cloud that had begun to grow in the sky above the Lady’s Quarter. It was like a summer storm cloud, except that it was much lower and confined to a very narrow band.
Aurelian stared at it, uncomprehendingly.
‘Something magic, I’d say’ he said. He shielded his eyes with his left hand.
‘For good or ill?’ asked Gaius.
‘I really have no idea’ answered Aurelian. He stared back at the crowds of kinaam who were marching towards the walls lifting their giant ladders.
‘Anyway – we must concentrate on the direct threat’
The archers had begun to fire their burning arrows directly at the ladders. Every time one struck a dozen kinaam fell on the arrows and attempted to extinguish them. However, at least one ladder had been stopped completely, the fire running up one side and preventing any further movement.
Aurelian was distracted again by the odd cloud.  Now it had expanded outwards, but had hollowed out in the middle, so that now it was a ring of tall black clouds. As he watched, torn between the two focuses of crisis, the ring expanded out over the walls, so that the bank of black clouds covered the whole perimeter from ground to sky. No-one could see a thing. Aurelian’s mouth went completely dry – was this it? Was this some magic that would prevent his defenders from responding to the ladders? What could they do? For a moment he felt like he was falling into a dark pit.
Then he remembered.
‘And keep under shelter’ Julia had said.
Damn, he thought, wrong again.
He shouted very loudly at Gaius and at anyone else who could hear him.
‘Get everyone under cover. Find cover! Find some cover! Gaius, all of you, tell everyone that you can’
The soldiers on this part of the wall either crouched down under the protected parts of the battlements or ran to tell their companions to hide. Everyone could now hear the scrape of the ladders against the wall. Then it rained like it had never rained in the city before.
The sky around the circumference of the wall, in a band about a hundred feet across, opened up and the rain came down in a continuous sheet. The kinaam who were halfway up their ladders were toppled over instantaneously and fell back on the creatures below.  The torrent continued, turning every inch of the wall into a huge waterfall. Everything below the waterfall fell away and slid back into the mud. Many of the ladder-carriers and climbers drowned in the temporary moat that had formed around the city; the others ran back through the quagmire, covered in water and mud.  Many were trampled by their faster companions.
After about three minutes of this, the rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The top of the wall now had vast pools of water stretching across from tower to tower. A ragged cheer went up from the bedraggled elves, who had now reappeared from their sheltering places. Aurelian looked down on the retreating Tlaxacans, most of whom were up to their waists in mud.
‘Bare arrows! Fire at will!’ ordered Aurelian. Hundreds of flameless arrows arced through the air.  Very few of the struggling Tlaxacans made it back to their base.
 Everyone was soaked to the skin but they were all smiling. This was a really unexpected boost. 
‘Praise be to the Lady!’ shouted Aurelian and everyone chanted her name in unison.
When this was over Aurelian turned to Gaius, frowning, despite the temporary victory.
‘Two things, Lieutenant’ muttered Aurelian.
‘Yes sir?’
‘First – please could you go and ask the Proconsul where we might possibly find a lot of buckets and mops’
‘Of course, sir’ said Gaius grinning discreetly.
‘And second’ continued Aurelian, ‘keep reminding me that in the future that I must pay closer attention to what the High Priestess is trying to tell me’

Chapter seventy-five

The Bell Tower at Melloreis
 
Potentilla stood up from where she had been sitting cross-legged on the floor. She smiled broadly.
‘Can you hear that?’ she asked the room in general.
Fred made a face. Kath shot a look in his direction. Rem stood and cupped a hand to his ear. Hardacre frowned.
‘I’m not sure that I can hear anything, Lieutenant’ he said
Kath was pretty certain that Potentilla wasn’t an officer, but she thought it best to keep quiet.
‘Really?’ said Potentilla, astonished, ‘how can you not hear it?’
‘Hear bloody what, you scrawny elf?’ grunted Fred
She looked around at the group, incredulous.
‘The bell’ she said, ‘the bell’
She spun round to see each of her companion’s reactions, and one by one they shook their heads. She looked a bit shocked.
‘Well, that’s odd’ she muttered.
She walked to the door and put her ear close to it.
‘Kath, come here’ she demanded
Kath shrugged and joined Potentilla next to the door.
‘Put your ear against the door’ Potentilla requested, nodding.
Kath heard absolutely except the pink noise. This was getting silly.
‘There you go!’ said Potentilla triumphantly, before Kath had a chance to speak.
‘She can’t hear anything and…’ said Fred, ‘you’re losing your marbles’
Kath shook her head sadly.
‘I really can’t Tillie’ she said, ‘I’m sorry’
‘You humans…’ sighed Potentilla, ‘I don’t get it…’
Her voice trailed off. Then she had another thought.
‘It must be the door’ she exclaimed, ‘we’ll open it and then you’ll hear’
Hardacre walked over to Potentilla and did exactly as Kath had done.
‘I’m afraid that you’re the only one who can hear anything, Lieutenant’ he said, after a lengthy, slightly pantomimic, attempt to listen.
‘Open the door then’ demanded Potentilla, ‘then surely you’ll be able to hear for yourself’
The others looked at Hardacre, but no-one else spoke.
‘We’re going to have to go and get Viola, anyway’ pointed out Potentilla. 
Hardacre stared at the door.
‘Can you open it just a crack, Dr Fielding?’ he asked, ‘just in case…’
 ‘Well, I could try’ said Kath, uncertainly.
Fred opened his mouth, but as he had no other plan it scarcely seemed worth speaking.
Kath pulled the rod out of her bag. It crackled in the Dwarven Magic field. 
‘Everyone be ready to react to any attack’ said Hardacre, ‘Dr Fielding will open it only for a split second’
‘Of course…’ murmured Kath.  She gestured at Potentilla.
‘Can you make sure that the door doesn’t swing open too rapidly, Tilliie?’
Potentilla nodded happily.
‘And everyone must listen’ she insisted.
Kath held the rod up and rapidly pulled out the three notes of the triad. The door began to swing open towards them, but Potentilla expertly blocked its motion with her foot.  
Everyone (except Potentilla, of course) were astonished to hear a single bell ringing in the late afternoon. It sounded like the clearest, purest note that any of them they had ever heard. It gave them hope.
‘See!’ said Potentilla, triumphantly.
‘Open it a little more Lieutenant, if you would’ said Hardacre.
Potentilla slid a hand on to the back of the door and swung it inwards about a foot – which was not exactly what Hardacre had in mind. In front of them was an entirely empty stairwell, with the light illuminating it beginning to fade slowly into evening.
‘Master Healer’ said Hardacre, very quietly ‘can you scout up to the top of the stairs?’
Rem nodded and squeezed past Potentilla with surprising agility. Moving almost as quietly as Viola would have done, he climbed up the stairs and disappeared for a minute or so. Then they saw him coming back towards them. He had a grim look on his face and tears in his eyes.
‘The Bell is killing the enemy. It is very bad, it hurts Rem’s heart. Rem must tend to them’
 
***
Rem and Potentilla picked up their weapons and led the rest of them up to the top of the stairs. The sight that greeted them was appalling. It seemed that most of the kinaam had fled the city, but around the Bell Tower a brand new pile of dead bodies had accumulated. Kinaam maimed by the Bell were crawling to the edges of the city, desperate to get away.   There was no sign of any of the human enemies.
Rem went to see if he could help any of them, despite Hardacre’s pleas for them to stay together. Hardacre took Kath and Fred towards the Tower.
The stench of seared flesh was almost unbearable as they picked their way over the new pile of bodies. They realised now that the power of the bell was to tear asunder those close to its ringing – the pile of fractured bones that they had seen earlier were not just the result of nine-hundred years of decay. There were thousands of corpses and the sight of so many dead Tlaxacans was in no way cheering.
‘This is a brutal way to fight an enemy’ said Kath, her face as pale as death.
Hardacre nodded, his eyes half closed. The power of Quiena’s weapon made him in equal parts awed and afraid. He spoke very softly.
‘But what a brutal enemy and how effective a weapon. This is the life and death of empires…’
They stumbled haphazardly to the base of the tower, feeling giddy and appalled by the carnage.  Even Potentilla was subdued for a while. Rem came running after them, jumping over the bodies as if they were hot coals, and every now and then stopping in the vain hope that he would find a moving, living body that might be healed. He came up close to Hardacre and put his hand to his forehead.
‘Too many, too hurt’ he said softly, ‘I will try to help later. But now need to help group. I forgot my duty’
Hardacre looked into his face.
‘Master Healer, your duty is to heal. You never need apologise for trying to save lives ’ 
Kath was pressed against the wall of the tower, cowering from the sights behind her. She looked longingly up at the tower. They needed to get up there as soon as possible.
‘How are we going to attract Viola’s attention?’ asked Kath, ‘she’ll never hear us call’. By now her entire body was buzzing with the need to escape from this dreadful place.
Hardacre frowned. He reluctantly began to consider what spells he knew that might attract Viola’s attention. While he was pondering this, Potentilla notched an arrow and fired it straight at the bell. The arrow arced upwards and struck it full on. There was an odd ping sound and then the bell stopped.
‘You’ve killed her’ cried out Kath, but then Viola’s face appeared, craning over from the space in the bell tower wall. Potentilla grinned hugely.
‘Thank the Emperor!’ Viola shouted down.
‘Gods be praised!’ answered Potentilla, repeating the ancient formula without thought.
‘How can we get up?’ asked Kath urgently.
Viola looked down on them uncertainly.
‘Is it safe to stop ringing?’ she asked. 
‘Yes,’ shouted up Hardacre, ‘I’m sure that it will be fine for a minute or so. We need to get inside as soon as possible…’
Viola ran down the stairs and let them in.
The first thing that Hardacre did was to relieve Viola of ringing duty. Kath took over and sat on the floor pulling the rope up and down. It was very easy to ring, which, perhaps, was not entirely surprising. 
Hardacre looked carefully at Viola. She looked tired but pumped up. Her face was red and she was panting.
‘Are you feeling well?’ he asked her.
‘Not entirely’ she said, her words tumbling out rapidly and a little awkwardly, ‘it’s all been a bit much. Once I started to ring the bell I really felt compelled to carry on. I’m very pleased to have been relieved – perhaps we can do it in shifts?’
Hardacre gestured to Rem, who led Viola away downstairs to check her out.  Rem’s expression was hard to read, but he was clearly not happy.
‘How does it feel to ring it, Dr Fielding?’ asked Hardacre
Kath smiled up at him. Her eyes were dilated and sweat was forming on her brow.
‘Euphoric’ she said, ‘and very strange. Exhilarating. It’s like everything is running very fast’
‘I’m not volunteering’ muttered Fred
Hardacre inspected the dead elves on the floor. Their clothes had almost completely withered away but it was clear from the coloured fabric that remained that they had been Visneorian soldiers. It seemed that they been ringing the bell when they’d died.
‘What do you make of all this, Dr Fielding?’ asked Hardacre.
Kath giggled and stood up, still pulling the bell rope.
‘It’s a big bell, Laurie! And it makes a big noise. A really nice, big noise’ 
Hardacre leant over and grabbed the bell rope. The ringing stopped momentarily. He was shocked – no-one had used that name to refer to him since he was about nine.
‘Dr Eccles. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take over after all’ he said, gesturing towards the big human.
Fred glared at him, but grabbed the rope anyway. He began to pull it very hard. After about five rings a strange look came over his face; a look that none of his companions had seen before. The edges of his lips began to curl upwards. His ringing became a soft, almost elegant, swinging of his arms and he slowly settled down onto the floor.
Hardacre shook Kath very gently. Kath’s grins slowly subsided. Hardacre waited for a few minutes until Rem and Viola had returned. Viola looked essentially back to normal, but Rem still looked grim. However, he was clearly pleased to be busy helping.
‘Viola is fine. The bell effects appear temporary. It odd though’
‘More than odd’ said Hardacre, ‘it’s immensely powerful and potentially extremely dangerous’
‘But not more dangerous than the Tlaxacan army’ pointed out Viola
Kath looked up at the bell. It just looked like an ordinary bell to her. She really needed to conduct some diagnostics.
‘It’s saved our skin’ she said, ‘so, I think we should thank Viola, oh, and Quiena.’
‘You don’t think that it’s dangerous, then?’ asked Hardacre.
‘Oh yes’ said Kath, ‘amazingly so. It looks like a desperate measure designed for desperate times’
‘And these are…?’ asked Viola, slightly impatiently. 
‘We’re ringing the bell’ said Hardacre, flatly, ‘and we’re obviously right to do so.  I’m just uneasy about it’
Rem was staring down into the darkening city. Slowly the corpses and struggling enemies were being hidden from view.
‘It is a great instrument of war’ he said, ‘made to survive a great assault. I know that. But it is at best necessary wickedness. Such hurt and evil is made by Whitecloak. He is only villain here. However, I hate this bell’
Hardacre touched him on the shoulder.
‘We don’t need you to ring the bell’ he said, ‘there are enough of us to do it without you’
Rem looked surprised. He turned.
‘You think that I am without stain?’ he said, ‘of course not true – we all responsible for war. We not notice evil growing and when we finally notice we not stop it. Then great hurt is done to everyone by everyone and killing starts. I will ring bell – when it is my turn.’
‘Rem’ Kath said, ‘they are like animals –they’re not like you at all, or like your tribe’
Rem stared at Kath and then at Hardacre.
‘They are cursed. Are all you clever elves and humans so stupid that you cannot see that?’
The rest of the party looked puzzled. Fred continued to rock back and forth lost in a little world of reverie.
‘Cursed?’ asked Hardacre, ‘what do you mean’
‘Whitecloak take some southern race of human-like creature, then he cast big spell on them make them his slaves. They no longer think for themselves. Have you seen their eyes?’
Everyone murmured. They all had seen the kinaam’s eyes – white and lifeless.
‘So – can they be cured?’ asked Hardacre, astonished.
‘I don’t know’ answered Rem, ‘but I will try to find out’
The light had completely failed now. Viola lit a lantern and placed it on the floor in front of the bell. Fred murmured a little ‘thanks’ and continued to pull the rope back and forth contentedly.
The bell rang on; loud and clear.

Chapter seventy-six

Lost in the Folds
 
John lay on the cold blue floor as the Outer Void creatures attached to him one at a time. As time passed they became larger and larger, strange winged creatures drifting up from the depth with long proboscises, attaching themselves directly to his head, and sliding a core of blue directly into his brain. And others, crawling along the walls, with hundreds of legs and snapping jaws, that attached to the spinal cord, each one nestling in neatly between the vertebrae. They were dismantling his nervous system step by step, and each had a niche within which they could devour everything that they could find. They fed very rarely, but that was fine, they only needed neural energy in order to mate, and eventually something always wandered in.
John’s mind had almost gone, drifting off in a series of repeated fragmented dreams. He would walk to the front door of his house, realise that he had lost his key, knock on the door and wait, but no-one would come. And then the memory would reoccur and then reset again. If only Laurence would open the door, everything would be fine again.
Then the image shifted.  He was on the back of an elephant but it refused to move and slowly its legs were being covered with a white mist. He knew that he had something in his cloak that would make it move, but he couldn’t find it and he didn’t even know what it was.
The two recurring visions began to merge and then fade. John was very grateful for this and even more grateful for the warm darkness that had begun to cover everything. Maybe this was for the best; he seemed to have failed everyone, perhaps, or had he failed a test? Something about a maze? Oh well. Was he looking for someone in a maze? Yes, a friend, someone called Hardy. This person was a close friend, but he thought that he had let him down, time after time. He wasn’t sure how, but he still very sad about it. Such a shame to never have made it up to him. Such a pity, oh, such a pity. His mind was almost drained away, like the last gurgles of bath water down a plughole.
 
A lantern was bobbing in the dark. John lifted his head from the floor to look up at it. As it came closer he saw that it was being held by a short, plump, intensely ginger man, with a bright red beard, speckled with white. As he approached he was humming something, an air or catch that he recognised but could not place.
The ginger man pointed a finger at him and spoke to him in Ethian with a broad Rhylic accent.
‘Well boyo, I thought you were the main bloke at this magic?’
John knew exactly who this was meant to be. But it seemed such a distraction from the lovely warm darkness around him. The light was so bright.
‘Are you Ionadon? Is that really the best my subconscious could do?’ he whispered, shielding his eyes.
‘That’s what I am, yes, of course – your subconscious. And you shouldn’t call me by that stupid Elven name. My given name is Jones, you know that, as it was your people who gave it to me…’
‘Yes – Jones the God’ smiled John, despite himself, ‘so many Joneses, one deity’
‘You’ll not be believing in gods, so that’s no problem to you, is it…’ said Jones, ‘…so you best start listening to that subconscious of yours instead’
‘What?’ asked John, confused. Suddenly the air had become bracingly cold. He felt very tired and very cross.
‘If you’re wanting it that way, say there’s one part of your brain that’s still working and it’s trying  to save you. So, considering the total, do listen up, you poor dab’
John had no idea what this red phantasm was talking about.
Jones shook his head kindly. He lifted his lantern and started to walk away.
‘Just shift your stumps and be following me’ he said, ‘I’m all you’ve got, and we need you and yours to belter that cythral[1]…’  
John knew that if he followed the light that he’d have to move away from the lovely warm darkness, so at first he stayed completely still. Why should he move?
Jones stopped and looked back at him. His pale face was illuminated in the halo of the lantern. He looked disappointed.
‘It’s Hardacre’ said Jones, ‘not Hardy, by the by. He’s the one you’ll be letting down, if you don’t come on. You blokes rely on each other, but it needs to work both ways, you know… ‘
John had a brief vision of a tall, stiffly kind man bringing him a cocktail. He groaned; he knew that he couldn’t abandon his friend. Reluctantly and painfully he got up and began to follow the light.
 Jones moved on, apparently randomly across the uniform surface of the dreamscape. John had no idea why he was taking this strange higgledy-piggledy path.  In fact he had no idea what was going on at all
In the waking world John struggled to his feet and began to walk. His eyes were closed. His body was so covered with the Outer Void creatures that it was hard to see his original skin or clothes. He half limped, half staggered onwards, with no conscious control over his body, but nonetheless he walked on, following the bright lantern light.
‘That’s better; if you can walk back to the real world and shift those weird grobblies, then your mind can come back. It’s like blood coming again to a perishingly cold hand…’
John said nothing but his steps became more deliberate. Jones looked back at him and grinned.
‘You’ll still be in a bucket of potch when you get home, but let’s get you out of this mess first’ said Jones.
 ‘What?’ asked John, vaguely – he was feeling so tired and cold – all they seemed to be doing was walking round in circles.
‘Melloreis, you need to get there. But you’re in no fit state, presently, you sad article…’
‘Is that where Laurence is?’ John asked.
Jones grinned.
‘How should I know? I’m just you having a talk with yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Well, I think that’s probably where he is…’ mumbled John, uncertainly.
As John’s corporeal body walked through the folds, eyes closed, the corridors slowly became paler, and one by one the Outer Void creatures let go. First the multi-legged things attached to his spine, then the winged monsters tapped into his brain, and finally the small jellies. They dropped off one by one.
‘When was the last time you gave me a thought, Witch Lord?’ asked Jones
By now John was struggling to keep up, as Jones strode on through the dreamscape.
‘I’m not that sort of person’ insisted John, ‘I don’t need gods’
‘Oh that’s true, look what’s occurring now, no need of my help at all, evidently…’
‘What?’ asked John, utterly bewildered.
‘Good things I don’t need lots of praying, I’d say. Fat chance of any of that from an ungrateful dab like you’
‘But you’re not a god, you’re just my mind….’ muttered John
‘Well, anyway, every way, you’re stuck with me, boyo – I’m your protector, like the thing or not. The world has need of your coven – not everything just applies to you, you know’
John tried to think this through logically, but he couldn’t. All he wanted to do is sleep and get rid of the nagging voice and the roaring cold that were filling his body and seeping into his mind.
‘Right’ said Jones, ‘looks likely we’ve got you back. Remember me!  Now – open your eyes’
‘But they are open…’ John began to say. He felt a bump, as if he had missed three steps and tripped down some stairs.
He opened his real eyes in the waking world, and realised that he must be back in Skiophos. He was in a green glade of a dense forest and relief flooded through him, like sap sucked into a thirsty plant. He felt himself falling. The world shrank away to a disappearing dot. With a final unconscious reflex, he teleported home.



[1] Rhylic word for a devil.