The Marid stretched before them like an open wound, red, raw and full of pain. It was early morning and the sun had not yet risen.
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ asked Gerriod. ‘If we’re going to do this, we better get started.
‘No, we must wait until nightfall,’ urged Sefar. ‘We cannot cross in the day. The heat alone would kill us.’
‘Alone? You mean there’s something else.’
‘Yes. The sun-springs.’
‘I was right,’ muttered Gerriod. ‘I knew this was going to get worse.’
They wandered along the line of cliffs that lined the western edge of the Marid until the came to a copse of wandering palms that sat on the very edge of the precipice. The broad leaves of the trees provided ample shade for the company, but this was spoilt by the fact that every few minutes one of the trees would pluck its roots out of the sandy soil and shuffle to another position within the copse. No-one knew why the trees did this, but Gerriod quickly found himself growing increasingly annoyed with the fact he could not lie down to sleep for any reasonable period of time.
‘Have a look at this,’ Sefar said as he pointed down at the edge of the Marid. ‘Down there.’
On the edge of the red rock plain they were intending to cross, a herd of shelp had gathered to eat the grasses growing at the base of the cliffs. One young shelp had been playing with a baby tumblethorn, chasing it about on the grasses. In trying to escape the gambolling shelp, the tumblethorn had rolled away out onto the Marid.
‘Let’s hope the little shelp isn’t stupid enough to follow it,’ said Sefar.
But as far as intelligence went, the shelp’s lack of it was renowned. A soon as the tumblethorn wound its way out onto the red rock of the Marid, the playful shelp followed.
Trypp looked down at the strange scene with a look of distress upon his face. ‘If it’s in danger, shouldn’t we –?’
‘There’s no way we could get down there in time,’ Sefar said nodding towards the east. In the centre of that broad horizon, golden light billowed, heralding the arrival of the sun.
‘I could get down there in time,’ Trypp said, placing one leg over the edge of the cliff.
Sefar squatted down on his haunches and took hold of Trypp’s wrist before the Sapphyrran could go any further. ‘No Trypp,’ he said softly. ‘You can’t.’
A moment later the sun cut itself free of its moorings and set sail across the sky. Light spilled across the Marid’s flat surface. The shelp was disoriented by the brilliant light and panicked, running further into the barren plain.
A subterranean rumbling could be felt. The shelp stopped and looked around, frightened by the sound that shook the pebbles that bounced around its hooves. From the desert grasses at the fringe of the Marid, the other shelp bleated loudly but they could not be heard over the rumbling that continued to build.
And then the entire landscape of the desert plain was turned on it head. As far as the eyes could see, thousands of geysers erupted across the Marid. Although they varied in height, the smallest spout was at least 500 foot tall. As the morning light hit the desert, it transformed into a fantastic and dangerous steaming forest of water. There was no pattern to the relentless eruptions. All was anarchy out on the previously arid plain.
Trypp knelt down, peering over the edge of the cliff. The shelp had miraculously avoided the nearest spouts but was still a long way from the grasses where its agitated flock watched on helplessly.
Sefar put a hand on Trypp’s carapace. ‘Do not hope my friend. It will not make it.’
Suddenly the ground beneath them shifted and directly before them, a boiling wall of water filled their vision.
‘Get down!’ Sefar shouted, and everyone instinctively shielded themselves as the gigantic fountain shot up into the sky. The heat was incredible. A light breeze cast searing droplets of boiling water across the cliffs and the very air around the company sizzled as the fountain continued to rage.
And then it stopped momentarily. The heat. The sound. The nearest geyser had ceased its angry climb into the heavens. Trypp lifted his head and then pulled it in again as something dark fell from the sky. It landed with a resounding thud on the ground before him. He knew what it was before opening his eyes.
Caught in the geyser, the shelp had been boiled to death. Its skin had peeled off its body and all that was left was a steaming lump of pink meat.
‘The springs are only active in the day,’ Sefar informed them once they had retreated into the copse that had edged back from the brink of the cliff.
‘The thermic caress of the sun must cause some sort of tectonic reaction, opening up passages for the splenetic water spouts,’ suggested Mulupo.
‘But so much water?’ said Pylos as he looked across the hazy vista. ‘Where’s it all coming from?’
‘I can guess,’ Gerriod said. ‘Think of Caliban’s End – every moment of every day the waters of Lake Erras are sucked down into the Worldpool. That water’s got to go somewhere doesn’t it?’
‘But the Marid was bone dry this morning,’ Trypp noted.
‘It always is,’ said Sefar. ‘The Marid is a desert that is hot even at night. Its heat is so intense that the water from the spouts evaporates before it collects on the desert floor.’
Pylos stood up and leant against a wandering palm which shuffled a few feet away as if annoyed by the Helyan’s presence. Looking out across the vast space to the east, he asked, ‘How long will it take to cross it? I don’t want to be strolling through there when these things start shooting off around me.’
‘Yes!’ nodded Gerriod. ‘Has anyone crossed it before?’
‘One person I know has crossed it,’ Sefar replied.
‘Who?’ said a low voice from the deeper shadows in the middle of the copse. It was Maeldune. His tone suggested he didn’t think much about the route they were about to take.
Sefar put a thumb to his chest proudly. ‘Me.’
‘Why would you do such a thing?’ Gerriod said incredulously.
‘For a bet. With my brother. I was young and foolhardy. Saul was of the opinion that the Marid could not be crossed. I held a contrary view.’
‘You obviously won the wager,’ Remiel noted.
‘I made it with across with minutes to spare.’
‘Minutes!’ cried Gerriod. Daunted by the prospect of having to cross the Marid, the added pressure of the time limit was just too much for his nervous heart to bear. ‘You made it with minutes to spare?’
‘This is insane,’ added Maeldune. ‘We will die in the attempt.’
‘We are crossing the Marid, Maeldune,’ Pylos stated indefatigably. ‘If you don’t have the nerve, you can turn back now.’
Maeldune glowered at Pylos but said nothing more.
Sefar ignored the hostilities between Maeldune and Pylos. There were more important things to focus on. ‘We need to rest. We will need it for the crossing. I suggest sleeping for the remainder of the day.’
‘How can we do that when these infernal trees keep shifting about?’ Gerriod grunted. ‘If I fall asleep here in the shade, I’ll wake up under a burning sun the colour of a lobbsle!’
‘Then we’ll just have to make sure the trees stay put,’ Sefar said with a broad, knowing smile upon his face. He reached over his shoulder and pulled a flask of water from the supplies bag he had been carrying. He uncorked the flask and walked around to the base of each palm in the copse, tipping a few drops onto the roots of each tree as he passed. The roots reacted immediately, digging deeper into the sandy soil as if to stake a claim upon the land. ‘They only need a little water to be content,’ he explained. ‘They’ll stay put now, as should we.’
It was late afternoon and beyond the palms the sun pounded down on the land like a mallet. Even in the shade it was blistering hot.
For Gerriod, the day passed slowly. He doubted his ability to make the journey. The torturous trek through Khepera had taken a toll upon his body and all he wanted to do was sleep. His back ached terribly. His legs felt like they were about to crumble. He was also troubled by his left hand. It had been tingling for a few days and he found that he was scratching it more than a simple itch should demand. Now it just felt numb and that did not bode well.
Remiel Grayson sat down beside him. ‘Can’t sleep?’
Gerriod nodded. ‘I’m terrified I won’t make it across.’
Remiel clasped his hands together and sighed. ‘Let us hope that the gods smile upon us this night.’
After a moment’s awkward silence, Gerriod twisted his head around to face Remiel. It was clear he had a question to ask, but he was struggling to find the right words to express it. ‘Father Gideon, may I ask you something?’
‘Of course, but please… it’s just Gideon out here.’
‘I am curious… why are you here? I understand that you were chosen to represent Nessa but… why you?’
‘Perhaps the Chamberlain felt I had something to give. After all, I am not the only one on this expedition who isn’t a consul or a soldier.’
‘That is true, but I was chosen because I have lost my father to Caliban. Mulupo was selected because he has lost his entire race. And Trypp… well, who knows how many Sapphyrro have fallen since he left Skyfall Town.’
Remiel dwelt on the comment before answering. ‘Perhaps, Gerriod, perhaps I have lost someone too.’
Gerriod’s curiousity got the better of him. He had to ask. ‘Who have you lost Gideon?’
‘I lost a brother.’
Something in Gerriod’s memory flashed...
He was on a boat. The Melody. He saw a dark shape – the figure of a tall man with a cowl drawn over his head… reaching out to him. Hands were placed upon on his shoulders. He looked up. It was…
Gone. There was a blank space in his memories. A place in his mind where something once existed, but was now no longer there.
The sun was low in the west, hidden by the cliffs the company had descended. The water spouts had not ceased their activity for most of the day, but as if anticipating the departure of the sun, their eruptions became infrequent.
‘Here’s the plan,’ Sefar said with poorly suppressed excitement in his voice. ‘We travel fast and light. Anything we don’t need on the run we don’t take. That means weapons, food, and belongings. The Marid cools quickly so we start shortly after sundown. If we keep up a good pace and do not stop, we may make it. Any questions?’
‘I have one,’ Mulupo said, raising his hand like a child in school. ‘As we make our acronychal crossing of this calorifacient plain, how shall we know we are running in the correct direction?’
‘There’s a constellation called Heliope’s Necklace that will lead us across the Marid. If we run towards the middle star in the constellation, we will be heading due east. However, the first star in the necklace doesn’t appear until midnight so we have to make sure we run in a straight line until then. One degree either side and we’re done.’
‘We won’t lose our bearings. I’ll make sure of that.’ Gerriod said with grim determination. He had spent so much time sailing the vastness of Lake Erras that navigation by the stars was the last of his worries.
‘Then let’s get ready.’
Pylos placed his knives down on the grass at the edge of the desert. He then pulled out his sword and gazed at its dark, glistening blade. For a while, he seemed frozen in time but then a decision was made. ‘No,’ he said staunchly and sheathed the blade. He then turned to face the Marid, staring it down as if he were trying to intimidate an opponent on the battlefield.
‘Pylos, I did say we’d have to leave all our weapons behind,’ Sefar said trying not to sound critical of the Helyan.
‘You said to leave behind anything we don’t need. I need this. I’ll leave my knives but my sword will stay with me. I’m not going down into the Endless without a piece of shatterstone between me and the Ghul.’
Sefar asked the group to assemble on the very edge of the Marid. He seemed to be enjoying the leadership that had fallen to him for this part of the journey. He suggested to Maeldune and Mulupo to shed numerous garments that he deemed unnecessary for the run across the desert.
‘Sir, I am happy to divest myself of my waistcoat and become sartorially impoverished, but I must ask you to explain why you are still bedecked in your silken finery.’
It was a reasonable question to ask. Whilst his companions had taken off numerous items of clothes as suggested, Sefar still wore the long, flowing robes he had worn since departing from Cessair. ‘I plan to when the time comes.’
Pylos looked overhead at the darkening sky. ‘Hasn’t the time come now?’
Sefar grimaced and reluctantly dropped his robe. Silence fell over the group.
‘What are you staring at?’ said Sefar, clearly embarrassed by the attention he had just received.
It was Gerriod who spoke first. ‘Sefar, I don’t wish to be rude but, you… um… you have bird legs.’
The mariner was not being colourful. It was not his way to indulge in metaphor. Sticking out of Sefar’s breeches were thin yellow legs that ended in long talons, splayed out on the rocky ground like a fowl’s.
Pylos could not help but stare. At first his face showed nothing, but after long seconds, the corners of his mouth leaned upwards, his cheeks lifted and he snorted out a snigger that was a trigger for everyone else in the group. As the Marid’s water spouts fell silent as twilight covered the desert, the raucous sound of laughter rolled across the land.
‘I’m sorry Sefar. I think of all the times we fought marauding bands of Kheperans, how savage you seemed, but I doubt you would have had the same impression had I known what lay under your robes.’
‘Are you are all like that?’ Gerriod asked curiously. ‘It’s not just you is it?’
‘What?’ exclaimed Sefar indignantly. ‘Do you think I’m some freak?’
‘No but –’
‘Well, for your information, yes, we are all like this. That is, all the males. Female Kheperans have legs just like yours.’
‘But why keep it a secret?’ Pylos asked, still chuckling over the revelation.
‘Because of reactions just like this one. It’s embarrassing. It’s bad enough we have a damn horn sticking up from our heads, but –’
‘I actually like the horn,’ Pylos said as he threw an arm around Sefar’s broad shoulders. ‘I’ve even wondered what it would be like to have one of my own. It would be handy in a battle.’
‘Trust me – you don’t want the horn,’ Sefar said, managing a smile. He swung around to face the desert. ‘Now let’s get this done.’
And there they stood, on the edge of the Myr’s most inhospitable region, seven Myrrans all committed to the job they had to do – but not the same job. The shadow of night spread across the vast expanse of hot rock and steam.
They waited for Sefar’s signal.
‘Go!’
As one they stepped onto the Marid. Gerriod could feel the warmth of the rock seeping through the soles of his boots. He told himself that if all he had to worry about was warm feet, he would be alright.
Trypp was also surprised by the heat rising up from the ground but unlike Gerriod, he wore no boots on his feet. Fortunately, a thick layer of skin on the soles of his feet protected him from the heat. Whilst the desert floor radiated enough heat to keep the company uncomfortable, it was not enough to stop them in their tracks.
Within a few steps of the edge of the desert, the marching pace moved to a jog, and after a few more steps, they were running into the night as though they were chased by marroks.
They had not run 200 yards when a rumbling emanated from beneath their toes. Sefar screamed ‘Halt!’ and the company slid to a stop. Suddenly a great spout of steaming water broke the surface of the Marid not fifty feet in front of them.
‘Would you like to explain that Sefar?’ Gerriod hollered.
‘It just the Marid settling down. I forgot to tell you it did that.’
The geyser quickly disappeared and they moved off again.
Pylos was running shoulder to shoulder with Sefar. He turned to the Kheperan and grinned. ‘You forgot, did you? Is there anything else you forgot or is that it?’
Sefar smiled back. ‘There’s probably more. I’ll let you know when I remember them.’
Despite the danger, Trypp felt at peace out on the desert rock. He was not troubled by the pace of the run, so he could actually enjoy the silence of the land. Although the Marid was devoid of any distinguishing features apart from the fissures caused by the day’s eruptions, it was beautiful in its own way. Desolate and foreboding as it was, it was also strangely engaging. He wished he could just sit on the desert floor and embrace the haunting loneliness of the landscape. ‘Perhaps I shall return here one day,’ he said to himself. ‘If I survive.’ He would survive. He was not ready to let go of the beauty of the world just yet.
The stars began to swell in the eastern sky and out on the Marid, the stars were more brilliant than anywhere else in the Myr.
Gerriod’s lungs were screaming but he gritted his teeth. He did not look up. It took every ounce of energy he had just to put one foot in front of the other. He focussed on two things. The first of these were Sefar’s incredible feet. As the Kheperan ran, his talons scratched up small clouds of dust. Gerriod watched the dust balloon up into the air where it hung for a moment before dissipating. It was not that Gerriod was particularly interested in the dust – or Sefar’s feet – but he had decided that the only way he would avoid slowing down the company was to stay on the heels of the only one ever to have crossed the Marid. Occasionally his mind would wander and at these times Sefar’s feet would slip from view. It only took seconds but these lapses in concentration were quickly rectified by another image – that of an old mariner strung up on a monstrous crucifix living every sunless day a breath away from death. This image thrust Gerriod forward and soon the Kheperan’s talons dominated his view once more.
Pylos just stared straight ahead. He was battle-hardened and did not doubt his ability to meet the challenge of the Marid, but he was a warrior, not an athlete, and he felt each step almost as much as Gerriod. But as a warrior, his resolve was forged in steel and he stared straight ahead like a good soldier should.
Mulupo’s pace was erratic, much like the Spriggan himself. When the ran began, he sprinted ahead, like a domesticated snorse set free from its harness. But then he dropped back as his thoughts rolled on to other things. Every now and then, he would gallop ahead only to fade to the rear of the company in a pattern that would have exhausted anyone else in the group.
Maeldune was struggling. Years of political life meant he was poorly prepared for such an arduous journey. His face was awash with sweat though it was a cloudless night. As he ran he spoke to himself. His words were unintelligible but their tone was not. There was much anger in his mutterings. It seemed he was chiding himself. He regularly flicked a glance up at the horizon to see whether anything had changed. Upon seeing it hadn’t, he would curse the situation and return to the litany of private thoughts that he articulated in harsh-sounding whispers.
By contrast, Remiel was not finding the run difficult at all. He frequently cast his head around to see how the others were faring. His gaze occasionally lingered upon Gerriod.
Thirty years had passed since Remiel had betrayed his brother, betrayed Gamelyn Blake and betrayed the red-headed cabin boy who had grown up to be a decent man in spite of the hand that had been dealt him. Not for the first time on the mission, Remiel pondered whether he should tell the mariner the truth – that he was the man whose actions had condemned Gamelyn to the Endless – but the enormity of the confession was more than he could bear.
Sefar’s eyes anxiously roamed the skies to the south-east and north-east. ‘We should be seeing Heliope’s Necklace by now. It should be dead ahead. I’m worried we’ve veered south.’
Gerriod lifted his eyes from their downcast position and briefly scanned the sky. He did not look for a specific constellation or guiding star. A fleeting glance was all he needed to confirm what his instincts knew. ‘No, we’re heading due east. We’re right on course.’
Pylos had absolute faith in the mariner. He knew that Gerriod was not the type to speak up unless he knew he was correct. ‘Let’s keep going then.’
‘Wait! Wait!’ cried Maeldune. Over the last five leagues he had dropped back considerably. He was limping as he ran. His pale complexion had been usurped by a ruddy colour that highlighted just how close to exhaustion he was. As he approached the waiting group, he was breathing so hard, they all expected he would collapse any second.
‘Very well,’ Pylos said reluctantly. ‘Let us break for water so Minister Maeldune can get his breath back.’
Though they were all excruciatingly aware of what would happen to them if they did not reach the other side of the Marid by daybreak, no one argued against the prospect of taking a drink.
Pylos moved aside to confer with Sefar and Remiel. ‘He’s not going to make it.’
Remiel looked over to where Maeldune was stooped over with his hands upon his knees. He had taken a drink but quickly vomited it back out. The pool of liquid sizzled upon the hot ground like an egg upon a frypan. ‘I agree.’
‘We have to leave him,’ Pylos said bluntly. ‘It’s nothing personal but he’ll kill us all if we don’t.’
‘Nothing personal, General? Are you sure about that?’
Pylos swivelled around to see Trypp’s large eyes peering back at him. The Sapphyrran would not agree to leaving anyone behind and Pylos knew it. ‘We don’t have any other options,’ Pylos said in response to the look he was getting.
‘We could carry him,’ Trypp proposed. Before Pylos could reject the idea, Trypp continued. ‘Between you, me, Remiel and Sefar, we could manage it. He is tall, but I doubt he weighs more than we could bear.’
Pylos wanted to tell Trypp that Maeldune was undeserving of such support, but it would have been pointless. The Sapphyrran was so kind-hearted, he would have carried Caliban himself across the Marid.
The idea was put to Maeldune who surprisingly agreed to it without a moment’s hesitation. Pylos thought that the self-important minister would not have allowed himself to be demeaned by such charity, but that was not the case. The race across the desert had either changed Maeldune – broken his spirit – or the Acoran had larger plans and was far too dispassionate and calculating to let personal pride interfere with his designs.
A short time before midnight, Heliope’s Necklace appeared above the horizon and Gerriod was right – they were facing due east.
‘We just might make this,’ Gerriod said with more optimism than he had shown in weeks.
‘Perhaps,’ said Sefar who was worried about the time. He had no point of reference but he felt they were not as far along as they should be.
Though he did not voice his concerns to the others, Pylos could tell that Sefar’s confidence was waning. ‘Do you think we’re going to come up short?’ he whispered.
Sefar did not answer with anything more than a nod.
Pylos swung his head around to the company who were beginning to spread out. Gerriod remained closest, followed by Remiel. Behind them ran Trypp carrying Maeldune and some distance behind them, Mulupo brought up the rear.
‘Come on!’ Pylos called but they were all running as fast as they could. He could not expect them to give more.
As the night drew on, the company maintained a solid pace, but the landscape before them had not changed significantly. The cliffs on the far side of the desert had not yet appeared though the sky in the east was slowly growing lighter.
No-one had spoken for hours. It did not seem anyone would speak until the sprint across the Marid was done. Pain had silenced them.
‘We’re not going to make it,’ Pylos whispered to himself.
‘Put me down,’ said Maeldune.
Pylos had been so absorbed in dealing with his pain, he had forgotten he had been carrying Maeldune on his back. The Acoran’s voice in his ear startled him and the shock to the system felt like adrenalin in Pylos’ veins.
‘Gladly.’
They said nothing more than that. Maeldune ran off at a pace that Pylos could not match. Maeldune had rested for several hours and was now fresh. By contrast, the rest of the company were spent.
Sefar did not know what emotions to feel as he watched the Acoran sprint past him. It would have been easy to hate him, but exhaustion was consuming his system and emotions such as hate and loathing seemed to taxing to even consider.
The eastern cliffs came into view shortly before morning. The company stopped when they saw them and tried to measure their distance against the time they thought they had before the sun graced the Marid.
It was Gerriod who spoke first. ‘We’ve run out of time, haven’t we?’ He was heart-broken. In order to push himself across the Marid, the mariner had concentrated so hard on the mental image of his father upon the cross, waiting for his son to rescue him, he was emotionally drained and in no condition to cope with the prospect of failure. He fell to his knees, ignoring the pain of the ground burning the skin under his trousers.
‘It’s not over,’ Pylos said, but everything apart from his words suggested otherwise.
‘Where’s Maeldune?’ asked Trypp who had noticed the Acoran’s absence for the first time.
‘He ran on ahead,’ Pylos snarled.
‘Then let us catch him,’ Remiel said. He walked around and slapped his companions on their shoulders, trying to stir in them whatever energy still lay inside. ‘There is far too much at stake here for us to fail because we didn’t run fast enough. I realise you are all drained but that’s nothing compared to what Caliban will do to the world should he triumph.’
Gerriod looked up at Remiel amazed by his vitality. ‘Why aren’t you exhausted like the rest of us?’ he gasped. ‘You’re just a priest.’
Remiel smiled. ‘Gerriod, I am exhausted but I can see the end. Let us run like fury and madness, and reach the other side. Let us show Caliban exactly what he faces.’
And so they ran, faster than they had that night. They were racing the sun. They had driven themselves to a point where pain had lost its meaning. It was just a part of them; they had lungs, they had limbs, they had pain. It did not matter anymore how much they hurt. All they had to do was run. All thoughts ceased. All emotions disappeared. They weren’t even conscious of the light of dawn approaching.
But then the sun broke away from the horizon and everything changed.
‘No!’ screamed Sefar as the Marid became awash in searing light.
They had failed. Despite their best efforts, the company was still two leagues short of the eastern edge of the desert. Death was only moments away.
A subterranean rumble could be felt under their feet. There was no point running any more. They were trapped. The prelude to the violent overture of the sun-springs had begun.
‘Follow me!’ shouted Remiel.
‘What’s the point?’ Gerriod screamed back. ‘We’re all going to die.’
The rumbling grew louder. Soon they would not even hear one another’s screams.
‘Trust me!’ Remiel bellowed. ‘We can get through this.’
Suddenly the ground before them split apart. With speed beyond that of any other man, Remiel threw out a hand at the splitting desert floor. As the boiling water burst from the fissure, it changed. At first, it seemed to turn to ice, but a second glance revealed that it had actually turned into crystal.
Everyone but Pylos looked at Remiel in amazement.
‘You… you’re Morgai!’ Sefar gasped.
‘Yes. My name is Remiel Grayson.’
Gerriod’s face twisted up as anger poured out of his heart. ‘You… Caliban’s brother?’
Another geyser erupted from behind them and Remiel shot out his hand. He was slower this time and the water spout was at least 200 hundred feet high by the time he turned it into crystal.
‘I am Caliban’s brother,’ he said softly to Gerriod, ‘and we have much to discuss, but now is not the time. We need to get out of here and I need to focus on keeping us alive. Do you understand?’
Gerriod didn’t respond. He just stared back at Remiel with eyes burning with hate.
They started running for the eastern fringe. Remiel led the way, transmogrifying any geyser that threatened them. Most were turned to crystal before they had broke from the ground but as the eruptions grew more frequent, more and more escaped his attention. They ran in a straight line for safety of the cliffs, and the route they took began to resemble an avenue, lined with long crystal columns carved into impossibly elegant shapes.
The ground beneath their feet continue to heat up and so they ran harder to reach the edge of the unforgiving wasteland. Although sanctuary lay within sight, Pylos felt as if he were running through a bog. His mind told his legs to move faster, but his limbs refused to cooperate. Hours of carrying Maeldune on his back had taxed him to the limit and for a brief second he entertained the thought of lying down on the burning ground rather than running the last league to safety.
He was not alone. Every man with him considered the same thought. Every man except for Remiel. His stride was long and confident. He threw out his arms whenever a spring appeared and turned the hostile force of nature into a thing of beauty. He paved their way in a fashion beyond imagining. As unexpected as his revelation was to everyone but Pylos, it couldn’t have come at a better time. Although some associated the name of Remiel Grayson with the tragedies that had befallen the Myr, on this cloudless night out on the Marid, he was a saviour.
On the grasses lining the Marid, nothing moved. The five men lay as still as stone on the ground. Their panting had ceased but not one of them could summon up the energy to rise.
Gerriod lay looking up at the deep blue sky wondering what his next move should be.
‘Because of what he did to me. Gerriod, Remiel Grayson had a chance to save me, but it also meant saving Caliban. It was he who ultimately condemned me to this wretched realm..’
It was not the first time he has dwelt upon his father’s words. Thoughts of vengeance had always accompanied his recollection of his last conversation with his father, but now vengeance seemed so small a response to the actions that had influenced and destroyed so many lives.
‘You have questions to ask of me?’
‘Yes.’
Remiel led Gerriod aside to a spot under the cliffs where their conversation could not be heard by the others. His face looked ashen. ‘Gerriod, before you say anything, as meaningless and hypocritical as it may seem, let me apologise for all you have endured these years. I have done you great wrong and there is nothing I can do or say to rectify that, but you must know what I did, I did for the good of the Myr. Or so I thought.’
Gerriod’s face did nothing to indicate whether he accepted the apology or not. His eyes bored into Remiel’s. ‘If you had a chance to relive that day upon The Melody, would you still do what you did back then? Would you cast my father loose?’
Remiel frowned. As much as he had rehearsed the conversation they were having, he had not expected that question. It was a reasonable question to ask, but he had to think deeply before answering it.
‘Well?’ said Gerriod after a minute had passed.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No. Knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t do the same. I wouldn’t have poisoned my brother. I wouldn’t have sent him away. I would have talked to him about what the seer foretold.’
‘What about my father?’
‘Now that I have met you, I can honestly say that I wouldn’t wish harm upon anyone you cared about.’
It was a disarming answer and Gerriod could not think of anything to say in response to it. He stood up and walked away. He spent the next hour sitting on a rock, watching the massive water spouts reach up into the sky. In his head he replayed every word Remiel Grayson had just said. He had more to ask and more to say, but he needed time to digest everything. In the back of his mind he knew that his greatest hope in rescuing his father lay with the very man who had sent him to his fate.
A westerly breeze was blowing and it sent a hot mist from the Marid across the fringes of its eastern border. Sefar suggested that the company climb the bluff lining the desert and head inland to sleep off their weariness. He knew of a shady place not far from the edge of the cliff where they could sleep until the day’s heat had passed. They quickly agreed to the plan and after two hours of toiling up a steep path, they soon found themselves lying peacefully in the shade of a grove of kor-kor trees.
Sefar was the first to wake. He was still tired and could have slept for another six hours but his muscles ached and he needed to stretch them. The sun was low in the sky but the water spouts across the Marid were still in full fury. From its position in the west, the sun shone through the geysers and the effect was breathtaking. The Kheperan looked out across the incredible wasteland with pride. He had conquered it twice, although the second crossing would have been a disaster without the priest’s help.
The priest. Father Gideon was Caliban Grayson’s brother. It was an astounding revelation, so amazing that he was not sure how he felt about it. He knew he should have experienced anger over the deception, but he did not hate Remiel Grayson – he was a good man who had made mistakes. It would be easy to lay upon him the blame for all Caliban’s crimes, but that was not how a Kheperan thought. Ultimately each man is accountable for his own actions and it was neither right nor fair to ascribe to Remiel the horrors that had been committed by his twin.
Sefar thought about the fact that they had been accompanied by one of the Morgai. It made sense. He had suspected Pylos of being Morgai but the thing that had led him to such a suspicion – the Helyan’s recovery from the poison-tipped spiked ball he had been struck by when fleeing Murdertown – must have been as a result of Remiel’s actions. There were other signs he failed to notice. Their survival at the Scarlet Rock Theatre was one. Remiel had shielded him from Argas’ blows, saved his life, and yet in the chaos that ensued, he had failed to question how. And then there was the miraculous turn of events in the middle of the Nessan Sea. The bright light that had finished off the Ghul – it had been Remiel Grayson’s doing.
As Sefar looked out across the scorching desert, he realised that Remiel had saved his life at least three times. In recognition of this, he would not deny the Morgai his right to atonement. He would march proudly by his side all the way to Caliban’s doorstep. Remiel had kept them alive and that was not something he could ignore – life was far too precious.
It was at that moment he felt Maeldune’s knife slide across his neck.
Sefar’s chest became soaked in blood in less time than it took for him to turn around and see the smiling face of his assassin. Maeldune had not wasted his opportunity. He had cut deeply.
‘I’m so glad I held onto that knife,’ the Acoran said flippantly.
Sefar sank to his knees. His hands clutched futilely at his throat trying to stem the flow of blood. He was dying and he could not even scream out to the others and warn them of the villain that lay in their midst once more.
Mulupo was thirsty and for the first time in his adult life he yearned for water rather than wine. His tongue flickered across his parched lips and he groaned softly to himself. Against Pylos’ advice he had drunk all his water and now his waking thoughts were centered upon quenching his thirst.
He opened his eyes and rolled over to find Sefar no longer by his side. The Kheperan had left his flask of water where he had slept and Mulupo decided that Sefar wouldn’t mind if he took a drink or two. He quietly uncorked the flask and poured its contents down his throat. With a guilty but contented sigh, he wiped his mouth and looked about for Sefar.
The Kheperan could not be seen. ‘He’s gone back to the cliffs,’ Mulupo thought to himself. It was a logical conclusion. Sefar’s attachment to the Marid had been apparent from the moment they arrived at the desert’s western fringe and it seemed likely to Mulupo that he would look upon it one last time whilst he waited for the rest of the company to wake.
The Spriggan made his way through the boulders that lined the escarpment. He would have called out for Sefar but he did not want to wake his sleeping companions.
The spray of the geysers floating through the air told Mulupo that he was close to the cliff’s edge. He rounded a boulder to witness one of the most shocking and callous acts he had ever seen.
Sefar was lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Maeldune stood above him, delicately wiping his knife as he placed a booted foot upon the Kheperan. He then pushed forward with his foot and the limp body of Sefar Hadith rolled over the edge of the cliff.
Rage filled Mulupo’s head and heart. He ran forward and launched himself at Maeldune.
‘Pylos!’
The Spriggan’s cry for help wrenched Pylos from a heavy sleep. Within moments he was on his feet.
‘Get up!’ the Helyan screamed at his companions. ‘It’s Mulupo. Something’s wrong.’
When they reached the cliff’s edge, Maeldune was waiting for them. He had gained the upper hand in his struggle with Mulupo. He held the Spriggan by the throat and lifted him up so that Mulupo’s hooves kicked futilely in the air. He then swung his arm back so that Mulupo was suspended over the precipice behind him.
Maeldune gazed coldly at Pylos. ‘Your suspicions were correct General. I am not to be trusted.’
‘Give him to me.’
Maeldune laughed. ‘It seems that my wife is not the only thing I have that you desire, General.’
‘You don’t deserve your wife Maeldune. You don’t deserve anything but a painful death.’
‘I’m sure you can arrange that Pylos.’
Pylos unsheathed his blade and stepped forward. Maeldune shook his arm, threatening to drop Mulupo to the floor of the Marid, hundreds of feet below.
Remiel stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Pylos’ arm. ‘We’ve suspected your lack of loyalty for some time, Maeldune.’
‘Loyalty is a confused idea. It all depends upon perspective. From your brother’s perspective, I have shown nothing but loyalty. Do you see my point? Sooner or later you have to betray someone – isn’t that right Grayson?’
‘But to blindly follow the orders of someone so consumed by –’
‘Blindly follow?’ Maeldune yelled with surprising ferocity. ‘Do you take me for a lackey? You fool! I was there from the start. Whilst you were doting on your father, Caliban and I were delving into mysteries that your tiny minds could not comprehend. It was I who studied the ancient texts with your brother and learned the secrets of the Endless. What you see happening before you was as much by my hand as it was by Caliban’s.’
Remiel looked like he had just been struck in the face. ‘You’re… you’re his friend.’
‘I have known Caliban for almost thirty-five years. I was there the day his child was born. I was with him weeks before you shipped him off to Sanctuary.’
Remiel could hardly breathe he was so shocked. ‘Caliban has a child?’
‘Yes and you left her without a father.’
On the other side of the chamber Remiel Grayson leaned forward, staring intently at Lokasenna’s face. It was not the distinctive dark brown birthmark that lay across her left eye like a patch. It was something else. He couldn’t nail it down but there was something compelling about her features, something familiar, as if he had met her before but could not put his finger on where.
The tall Sessymirian he had seen in the Cloud Chamber, the one with the birthmark. It was her. She was Caliban’s daughter. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was convinced of it.
‘All this time Caliban has been confined to the Endless, who did you think was orchestrating all that occurred on the surface? It was I who decided upon the memberships of the companies that have been sent on this futile quest. And know this – they are destined to failure, just as you are.’
It was Pylos who understood the significance of Maeldune’s claim. ‘You’ve placed one of your own in each of the companies.’
‘Yes. Each company has been blessed by the presence of someone who is sensitive to Caliban’s plight.’
Pylos was enraged. ‘Your own wife is on one of those squads. Would you have her slaughtered as well?’
Maeldune raised an eyebrow. ‘How do you know she isn’t on my side?’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘I don’t care what you believe Pylos. You are inconsequential. You lack the intellect for this conflict.’
‘You chose the wrong side Maeldune. The Ghul are weak. We will purge them from the world and –’
A snigger left Maeldune’s thin lips. ‘Perhaps you are referring to the Ghul’s vulnerability to shatterstone. You fool! Did you think I would let your message about the shatterstone get out? Your sword may be sharp Pylos, but you are dull. That poor wretch you freed from the stocks in Murdertown now lies decomposing in a stable.’
Remiel stepped between Pylos and Maeldune. ‘Enough! You will put Mulupo down.’
‘Unfortunately Grayson, mind control doesn’t seem to be one of your Morgai talents. Why would I put him down? He’s they only thing that is stopping you all from killing me.’
Mulupo strained against the hand around his throat. ‘He… killed… Sefar!’
The horror of the realization hit them hard. For a second, no-one said anything. And then Pylos unsheathed his sword.
‘Another step Pylos and the Spriggan gets tossed over the cliff and the plague of Spriggans that has infested our world is finally ended. You’re fast but are you fast enough to get to me before I let him go?’
Pylos immediately backed down.
‘Good boy!’ Maeldune sneered. ‘Now listen carefully. At nightfall we will be met by the squad of Ghul I have requested to join us here. You seek passage into the Endless? You shall have it. The Ghul will accompany us all the way to Caliban and the Grayson twins shall be reunited. Of course, I cannot give the rest of you any guarantees as to your treatment at the hands of the Ghul once Caliban has seen you, but at the very least, you will be given an audience with this poor man you have set out to kill.’
Mulupo struggled in Maeldune fierce grip. He was not trying to free himself. He was trying to speak. ‘Don’t…’
‘Silence!’ Maeldune shook Mulupo like a rag doll. He turned back to face the others. ‘You will wait back at the camp for the arrival of the Ghul. I will stay here with the Spriggan. Should any of you come within 100 yards of us, he shall be slaughtered.’
Mulupo’s eyes widened in terror. He was not scared of dying. Rather, it was the pivotal position Maeldune had placed him in that filled him with dread. He knew what his companions would do. They were honourable. Too honourable. They would acquiesce to Maeldune’s demands to avoid another casualty. In a capitalistic sense, it was a poor bargain. They had nothing to gain by agreeing to Maeldune’s demands. He was not prepared to be a part of such an unprofitable arrangement.
He twisted his body around and lifted his legs as high as he could. He then thrust out with his hooves and kicked Maeldune in the temple. Maeldune reacted just as Mulupo knew he would – he let go.
Pylos was on Maeldune before the Acoran had any sense of what had happened. But he was far too late to stop Mulupo from falling over the edge.
Trypp rushed to the brink of the cliff to see Mulupo’s limb body sliding down a section of the cliff wall before disappearing behind an outcrop of rock.
Maeldune shuddered under Pylos’ embrace. His smug expression faded as he looked down to see the shatterstone sword Pylos had thrust through his chest. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came out. The dead don’t speak.
