All Things True Read online

  Chapter Nine

  The following day, they said their farewells to Starababa and set out on the journey to Harrowclave, despite Nastonik’s protests.

  “It is a very bad idea. I do not like this one bit,” he grumbled.

  Willow was withdrawn as she rode on Viril’s back, thinking on Starababa’s words from the night before. She knew Dad’s death hadn’t been her fault. An accident. A random act. There was nothing she could could’ve done to prevent it, but that didn’t stop the guilt from nesting in her gut, in the same way that the Lamia nested under Barrowdwell. Feelings don’t do what they’re told. She thought that she’d left her Dad’s ghost behind in the labyrinth at the end of the world, but he was still haunting her. Too many ghosts, she thought, and too much guilt and regret.

  What was she going to do with it all?

  She didn’t know – and hated not knowing.

  At what point had her life left behind the black-and-white simplicity of childhood?

  The day I found out I was sick, she thought, that’s when everything changed.

  When certainty is lost, we all make mistakes.

  She’d made a mistake when she first came to Tirlane in opening herself up to the Lamia. Now, the Black Spider of Barrowdwell could use all of her wounds against her. Every dark thought and nightmare she’d had was for that creature to pick over and use as a weapon. What would be worse when she finally faced the monster – being killed, or having her inner self slowly picked apart until she begged for death?

  Some things are worse than death, she thought, though I never thought that could be true.

  They came in sight of the Harrowclave plateau by late afternoon. The stillness in the air was quite eerie. Even the little life that was left in Tirlane seemed to be avoiding Harrowclave. It did not look much different from the last time Willow had seen it though she could feel a sense of something in the air – like there were many eyes watching them as they approached the standing stones.

  “There’s a lot of blood soaked in this ground. I do not think it wise to linger for long,” Nastonik said.

  “You can always go back if you want to,” Viril said.

  Nastonik huffed and grumbled in his throat.

  “We’ll be here as long as it takes,” Willow said.

  “Why are we here?” Nastonik asked.

  “For them.” Willow said.

  At the root of the path that led up to Harrowclave’s plateau, they had waited while the land blackened and burned around them; tireless and ever-patient, the warriors of the Stone Legion.

  “Them?” Nastonik asked, “What use are they?”

  “We’re going to need help from someone to get into Barrowdwell.”

  “You can’t be serious. There’s no way of waking them, if there’s anything left to awaken in there. My Da told us stories of the Legion but they were from long ago. The spirits that lived in those stones are dead and gone, Willow.”

  “Maybe they are, but I must try all the same.”

  Willow dismounted from Viril and went among the stone soldiers, placing her hand upon each one in turn, she whispered a single word – “Awake …”

  After she was done, Willow re-joined her companions and they all waited.

  Nothing happened.

  The Stone Legion remained still and lifeless.

  Viril and Nastonik looked at her.

  Willow’s face fell. She slumped to the ground and held her head in her hands.

  Did I do it wrong? Why aren’t they moving? Why would Starababa send me here for nothing to happen?

  “It is said it would take a will stronger than death to stir them from their sleep. I am sorry, Willow.” Viril placed a hand on her shoulder and she placed her own over his, feeling his warmth taking away the chill passing through her.

  “Henu said they were the protectors of Tirlane.”

  “Were being the word,” Nastonik said, “their time is long past. You might as well try to rouse the mountains themselves in our defence.”

  “I don’t know what to do now. At all.”

  “Sleep tonight and we can decide in the morning.” Viril said.

  It was starting to get dark around them.

  “Let’s move away from here,” Nastonik added, “hungry ghosts are all that dwell in this earth. I would not sleep on this piece of land for all the silver and gold there is.”

  Willow let Viril and Nastonik lead her away but could not stop herself from looking back at the unmoving figures of the Legion. She looked up at the clouds; waiting and hoping for them to clear and let her catch a glimpse of the stars.

  She needed to see Henu’s light above.

  “What do you seek for?” Viril ventured.

  “Not what but whom,” she said, “I look for a friend, Viril. I am sure he is there, watching over me but I would like to catch a glimpse myself, to know for sure that he’s still there. I need to know I’m doing the right thing.”

  “Little is sure,” Viril said, “and even less is certain. But still we go on looking, do we not?”

  “Yes, we do,” Willow said, “we have to.” Her eyes were no longer on the sky. She was looking towards the northern mountains and what awaited her there.

  At the gates of Barrowdwell, one shall fall and two shall go on. By the Lamia’s nest, another shall die and the last shall walk alone.

  She looked at Viril and Nastonik. Her friends and companions on this quest.

  Was their time to be cut short unnaturally like so many others before them?

  Best not to think of the No-man’s words now, and what they might mean.

  *

  Nastonik gathered enough sticks to light a small fire to keep them warm. They’d kept walking away from the plateau until he agreed they were far enough for comfort. Willow wondered at the sturdy Beorhan’s fear but didn’t question it for now.

  “You know we have a tradition back home that we tell stories around the fire when we’re out in the countryside with friends.” Willow said.

  “I can tell the tale of the Beorhans if you wish,” said Nastonik.

  “I’d love to hear it,” Willow said, “I know almost nothing about your people.”

  “Well, it begins with the Giants, who are our kinsfolk in many ways. We were their finest creation and the beginning of the pride that became their downfall. Many things had the Giants wrought to honour and grace Tirlane but these were all sculpted and insensate. We were their first creations to live, walk and breathe as they did. We were small compared to them but born of the stone as were they. They named us Beorhans for we were as cousins in their eyes rather than children. Something that might well have happened without their hands. As they were Wardens of the North, we were given the Western Hills to mine, tunnel and call our home, so we renamed them Beorhn’s Hills, after the first of our kind.

  “The fall of the Giants was a great tragedy for us. For we were not strong enough in magick to retake Barrowdwell and purge it of the Lamia and her cursed offspring. We watched helpless as did the rest of Tirlane. But there were those of us who thought they saw a way to redeem of our kinsfolk. The Beorhans took up their quest to unearth the Worldstone that balances all things true against the Archtree’s endless fertility.

  “We dug deep, we dug long, and we dug far, far away from the light of the surface. We did not find the Worldstone but there were precious jewels as well as veins of gold, silver and iron in the rocks. Our wealth grew until it was rumoured that the bedrock of Beorhn’s Hills was no longer stone but our vast treasure-hoard. We said nothing to dispel these rumours. We should have been more wise. The Giants had created us and thus imbued something of themselves into our nature. We did not know this, but we should have. For as the jewels and gold amassed, turning our halls and underground palaces into kingdoms of brilliance, the souls of my folk darkened. Their love of the material became all.

  “It is strange for a people created because the insensate had begun to bore our creators that we should start to revert in some ways to
our original state. The Giants taught us the secret of fashioning more of our own kind from the stone. Our kinsfolk never saw themselves as gods who sought to be worshipped. They were content for us to shape our own destiny. It is a sad truth that it should so mirror their own. Though my folk still dwell in their halls and palaces, I fear the Lamia and her No-men left us in peace because we had become so stilled by the love of money and precious things. My kin care little for one another. They isolate themselves and wander alone admiring the beauty they once had a hand in shaping but have not the wit or will to continue to fashion more exquisite creations.”

  “So how are you here, out in the world?”

  “I am young after the ways of my kind. One of the lastborn before the elders forgot how to make more of my kind. I am but five hundred years of age and a wanderer by nature. There are a handful of us who prefer the water and the wild to the stone and the shadow. That is why I came above ground with my friends. They’re gone. All of them. You said you saw it?”

  Willow and Viril glanced at one another.

  “Was it quick?”

  They didn’t answer him.

  “It doesn’t matter. The elders would say they got what they deserved for seeking adventure and escape in such a perilous time.”

  “Then the elders are fools,” Willow said, “it’s better to go out into the world as yourself than skulk away as a hidden shadow. I am glad to know you, Nastonik.”

  “And I you, Willow Grey, for I might not be here without your aid. I have met a legend of my people in the flesh.”

  “And you wouldn’t have been able to if you had listened to your elders.”

  Nastonik smiled.

  The three friends laid down to sleep. Soon enough, Nastonik was snoring heavily and Willow could make out Viril’s light breathing. After they had been asleep for about an hour, she got to her feet and stole back up to Harrowclave.

  She approached the Stone Legion; their rocky hides glowed as if they were made of moonlight. A thought and a shadow had made her come here for nothing. Their eyes were unseeing. Their ears were unhearing. Their limbs would never move and wield their enchanted weapons again. And, without them, she had no hope of cracking open the gates to Barrowdwell. Tears pricked her eyes, “What am I to do now?”

  She looked up to the plateau where the stones of Harrowclave stood. After looking back to her slumbering companions for a moment, she began to climb the path towards them. She had no thule to defend herself but, in some ways, she didn’t care. Without the Stone Legion, there was no hope of defeating the Lamia.

  The ground grew icier underfoot as she climbed higher and the wind blew cold around her though there was no sign of hoarfrost or snow about – only the standing stones, which seemed to be shining with a nocturnal light of their own.

  Willow reached the plateau and approached the stones, where she met him for the first time. She walked around the stones and ran her hands over their cracked, moss-patched surfaces. Passing between them, she entered the circle where she turned and turned around with her eyes closed. She opened her eyes – and there was Nualan.

  He seemed more proud and majestic than she remembered.

  “Hello, Willow.”

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “I am here because you are here. You came back to Tirlane when you did not have to. You could have taken the way home that was offered at the end of your voyage.”

  “I couldn’t do it.” She said. “I don’t know why.”

  “I do, because you have a good heart and you couldn’t leave Tirlane to die.”

  “How can you be here though?”

  “As the Beorhan rightly observed, Harrowclave has not been the same since the Lamia slaughtered my drove. She cast a cruel spell upon us as is her wont. Our souls are bound to Harrowclave and cannot move on to the next realm while she lives.”

  “You need me to set you free?”

  “We do. And you know how this will be done.”

  Willow sighed, “With the Lamia’s death. I will do it, I think.”

  Nualan nodded.

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  “Who can say?” Nualan said, “in all the worlds and the worlds within worlds, perhaps we may meet one another again, in some form. I hope that we do and that we know who we are when that happens.”

  “I hope so too,” Willow said.

  Nualan’s ghost began to fade.

  “Wait, can you tell me something. How can I wake the Stone Legion up?”

  “Who says they are not awake already?”

  “But they’re not moving.”

  “Give them time, Willow. Stone is slower to rouse than flesh and blood but, be assured, they will be there when you most need them.”

  “Please, don’t go.”

  “Please, do not forget us,” Nualan said, “and what must be done for us to rest in peace.”

  “I won’t forget you, ever. I promise.”

  With that, he was gone.

  And she was left alone between the standing stones, in tears.

  Chapter Ten

  “Are you well, Willow?” Viril asked.

  It was the next morning and she had not slept after her encounter at Harrowclave. She nodded without speaking. The Stone Legion was still unmoving and gave no sign they were alive. She would have to trust in what Nualan’s shade had said and hope that he was not a deception woven by the Lamia.

  Sometimes, blind trust is all that is left to hang onto.

  “It’s time to go,” Willow said, getting to her feet.

  “Where to?” Viril asked, “I mean, without the Legion, should we go on?”

  “The Lamia’s knows I’m here. If we stay in one place for too long, we’ll be found and taken to her as prisoners. I don’t want that, do you?”

  “Where do we go then?”

  “To the Summerdowns.” Willow said.

  “It is no longer what it once was.” Nastonik said with sadness in his voice.

  “Have you been there?”

  “No, but I think every creature in Tirlane felt it when the Lamia set it on fire.”

  Willow took a deep breath. “I will see it all the same before we march on Barrowdwell.”

  “We should not let the hours and days slip by on fool’s errands.” Nastonik said.

  “We go to the Summerdowns,” Willow said. “I must see if the Wisps have survived.”

  *

  The Summerdowns were as the Beorhan said; grass was shrivelled yellow, baring the earth in places, which itself was loose from the burning and gradually turning into grey dust. The stone bones of the world were becoming visible through it and grated harshly underfoot as they walked. They walked hard for a day and night to get there with a few hours of snatched rest here and there. Willow barely ate and her sleep was disturbed by dreams of darkness and a whining cry that she couldn’t quite recognise.

  Willow knelt on the barren ground and pressed her hands against it. It all felt cold and dead. “There’s nothing,” she said, “the Wisps, the Kindlings, the Life that was here. It’s gone away.”

  “It burned for a long time,” Nastonik said, “even under the hills, we heard the sound made by the Wisps as they died. It was a terrible thing to hear.”

  Viril turned away. Willow could tell he was weeping.

  Nastonik went on, “The No-men came here first and poisoned the ground, so the Wisps could no longer take succour from it. As the days waned, one by one, they dissolved into smoke. We all saw it. The Wisps tried to leave the Summerdowns and take root elsewhere, but the land here was blessed and without it, they were doomed to fade and become nothing. The final stroke was when the No-men set it all ablaze. The Wisps are gone now. Soon enough, they’ll be forgotten.”

  “No,” said Willow, “I remember them. I remember their voice, their fire, and their song.”

  Willow dug her fingers down into the dry earth until the skin cracked and the tips started to bleed. She took the withered grass in her hands, taking care not t
o uproot it, and grasped it hard. She closed her eyes and whispered under her breath, “I know you’re still here. Come back. This is my land, my earth, not hers. I cast out her poison. I renounce her and make my own blood-claim. Rise back up like the fire I remember and burn again like the stars above.”

  A breeze rustled by and died down followed by the quiet resettling itself.

  Willow shook her head and scraped her hands through the earth again, digging deeper into its soil, down until she found a seam of brown loam, untouched by the Lamia’s fire. She took the fresh soil in her hands, got to her feet and cast it across the ground before her. It pattered to earth like rain.

  Rise back up like the bright fires I remember.

  It began as a whisper of light that sang from grass blade to grass blade; catching up with itself, it gathered speed and spread until all of the Summerdowns began to quiver and scintillate with rhythms of firefly-light.

  There were tears in Willow’s eyes at the sight.

  A fire blazed across the Summerdowns again, but this was not one of destruction. It was life and rebirth. The Wisps finding their way back to the land they had been cast out from.

  Viril drew up beside her and she could feel him close to her. He took her by the hand. “Kirrick was wrong to doubt you and Nualan was right to believe,” he said, “now I can see why he did what he did for you.”

  Nastonik took her other hand, “You are the Dimwielder that the elders spoke of. You bring light and life where before there was only darkness and death.”

  “Nualan did what he did against my bidding.” Willow said, “I would not have the blood of your people seen as a worthy sacrifice, Viril. It was a horror, that night, and one the Lamia must pay for. But for now, the Wisps are here. Let’s dance with them. There is fire and warmth like Tirlane has not seen for a long time.”

  And they danced with the Wisps until they could no dance no more.

  When they awoke the next morning, the Wisps were gone but the Summerdowns were restored. It was lush and green and verdant, which only made the contrast with the plains of Tirlane starker as a clear line could be seen marking where the spell of the Lamia had been broken and where it held true.