Jadde - The Fragile Sanctuary (24 page)

The quarter-man had learnt
to communicate hunger and it now emitted a high pitched howl, demanding
sustenance. Strangely Malkrin thought the hunger cry made it more human – sounding
like a feral child. Its face contorted in an almost human grimace as the
Brightwater guards thrust two dead rabbits through the bars on the ends of
spears. A wooden bowl had been fastened to a cage bar and the guards poured
water into it. Malkrin stood nearby and observed the demon as it licked gore
from its fingers then held out its spindly hands demanding more. He wondered,
with its overlong armoured legs and muscular arms, whether if you removed its
carapace shell it would be almost human. Someone had sliced off the finger-knives
and the stumps had healed to look like recognisable fingers. Its dark face was
hairless and rugged to the point of looking like old leather with fangs that
protruded into groves that formed the chin. Its ears protruded from the head
shield of the carapace and twitched like a cats as it stared back at him. Then
it snarled and squatted to defecate. The stench was appalling and Malkrin
ordered the cage hauled to the edge of the clearing then sluiced with water
from the stream.

He set guard duty, sleeping
well then taking the last shift himself.  As a new day dawned with misty rain
they fed themselves and the demon. Then they moved off following the edge of
the gorge along the same path that he, Halle and Seara had followed months
before. Three days later they came to the
dense hawthorn scrub and bracken barrier
where previously he had taken a detour along an animal track. It would be too
narrow for the cart. The demon seemed to be aware of the problem and hissed an
evil laugh. Malkrin looked around for the continuation of the Wolf Tribe’s
ritual route but a barrier of layered rocks appeared to be the only break in
the surrounding scrub.

Sensing his consternation Bone-thrower came
over.

‘It is well hidden is it not?’ he smiled
warmly, proud of a secret knowledge.

‘
BalthWolf,
your people cannot have gone under the rocks or floated above for that is a
power available only to the ancients.’

‘Accompany me Malkrin and observe the
skills off my people.’

He thought of demanding an instant answer but
followed Bone-thrower to the rocks.

As they reached them,
BalthWolf
turned and laughed, ‘the natural
world is not all it seems.’ The shaman pushed on the edge of a huge upright slab
higher and broader than two warriors.

It pivoted around a hidden fulcrum and
BalthWolf gently pushed it into a chiselled recess in the rocks revealing a nine
foot wide path. Malkrin examined the pivot point; the rock was so well balanced
it had not even disturbed the surrounding grass. He was impressed and congratulated
BalthWolf as they strolled into the gap. He became aware of suppressed
sniggering and turned to see what the source of his companion’s mirth was. It
was himself, it appeared they all had shared the joke over his ignorance and
could hardly restrain themselves.

‘All right have your fun friends. I cannot
help being part of my people’s ignorance.’ They all howled with laughter and
BalthWolf admitted they had briefed Mondroth of the Celembrie who was the only
one who was also ignorant of the hidden entrance. Even the demon was aware that
Malkrin was the butt of the well meaning joke and snarled with an evil leer,
gesturing a shorn finger in an obscene gesture at him. In a wild and vicious fashion
it seemed to understand. Malkrin decided to see later if there was some level
he could communicate with it.

BalthWolf still smirked, ‘the pivot was
created by us many lifetimes ago to fool anyone that may follow. A ruse that
the storytellers say gave us the name ‘The Vanishing People’. Nowadays the Brightwater
know the shortcut as ‘The Magician’s Pivot’ and use it themselves with our
permission.’

‘It is an amazing thing, and it’s also very
interesting that your people have cooperated with the Brightwater for so long.’

‘For lifetimes we have traded with all the
people on our journey; yours are the only exception.’

Malkrin was not surprised; again it reinforced
his resolve to change things.

After a brief break they continued along a
track clear of rocks, they had been piled either side to form thick walls. Then
natural rock cliffs rose to make the path seem as if it followed a natural
gully. Some of the rocks had been intricately carved and BalthWolf explained
the God that each carving represented and the deity’s purpose to the Wolf
people.

The next night was spent against the towering
walls of an ancient ruin. Rectangular holes showed where once large windows had
framed magnificent views. Now the remains merely shielded the group from the
breeze whistling along the grassy plain. Beyond the ruin and toward sunset the
sparsely wooded plain revealed many grassy hillocks some with walls and high
chimneys protruding. Malkrin was saddened, convinced this had been a large
township once inhabited by many ancients. BalthWolf joined him as he finished a
contemplative meal. Malkrin asked about the deserted settlement.

‘My people leave offerings here to placate
the ghosts, but have never strayed from the sacred route to disturb Jadde’s ruins.’

Malkrin nodded in understanding, his
highsense still picked up lingering loss amongst the grass shrouded wreckage.

‘You have an interest in ancient remains,
so I suggest a detour for you and me tomorrow. It will allow our companions to
rest for the day and perform the offerings ritual. I shall take you to a valley
cursed by the ancients where sorrow and marvels reside together. Only a few of the
Wolf brethren even know of the place.’

Malkrin’s curiosity was instantly aroused. Could
they spare the time? He was tempted; it would be a chance to discover more
about the ancestors and perhaps another clue as to the whereabouts of Jadde.

 ‘I need more information to justify
breaking the urgent journey. What is the manner of this secret and is it so
necessary to delay our journey? The demons approach ever nearer to the
Brightwater lands.’

‘It is a mystery of the ancients, mostly
intact to this day.  As a youth I was told of it by my father who had strayed
there whilst hunting. He swore he had told no one but me as the place had an
evil feel to it. Now I tell you because I believe you can work out the meaning
of what we shall see.’

‘How long will the detour take?’

‘We must leave at first light, then arrive
at high sun and get back at first darkness.’

‘A long day – it had better be worth the
effort.’

As dawn created colour from grey shadows
Malkrin and BalthWolf trotted along a level twisting path through foothills
leading toward an angular hill in the distance. The wide path was very smooth
underfoot but occasionally completely broken up where streams had flooded over
the centuries destroying the surface. At one of the rippling brooks the plant
strewn surface had recently cracked open and the water was visible flowing
beneath. Curiosity made Malkrin scramble down the bank to look at the crumbling
stone bridge that supported the track. Another lifetime and the bridge would be
no more. It was truly old and he guessed it was the work of their ancestors.

 Then the track wound through clumps of
conifer trees, some had disrupted the track surface, their trunks and roots protruded
from the crumbling slabs. He examined a jutting piece; it was the same ‘crete’
material that was used for the floors of some of the most ancient Seconchane
homes.

Midday saw the track run over a steep
winding slope and then down to a small hidden valley with conifers filling it
like a smothering of grass.

‘The valley hides from the sun and guards
its secret well.’ BalthWolf muttered.

They followed the road through the dense
trees and came to an ivy covered entrance – a gap in a large encompassing wall
made of crete. This had partially crumbled over the centuries but was still a
formidable barrier. From one length rusting anchor points protruded at an angle
decorated with strands of rust corroded wire and more ivy. Malkrin surmised the
wire had once stretched all along the top of the crete wall.

They passed through the entrance and the
hard track widened into an oval arena then quickly ended in sapling shrouded buildings,
most of which were now decayed frames. Behind the ruined abodes a cliff rose
vertically trapping the buildings beneath its formidable crags. BalthWolf took
him to one of the almost intact buildings with a weathered metal door sealing its
frontage. The massive panel was twelve feet wide and eight feet high and when
Malkrin tried it to see if it shifted on a pivot or fulcrum like the rock, his
hand went straight through the decaying metal.

‘Another door, this way,’ announced BalthWolf.

The two men entered through a smaller metal
door that squealed on ancient hinges and seized half open. Inside, light
filtered in through two windows that still retained cracked and filthy glass. In
the middle of the room four ornate carts stood in two rows of two. They sat on
the floor, each nestled on four small wheels. Under the wheels crumbled black shards
indicated they were once covered in an unknown substance. Each main compartment
astride the carts had mildew darkened glass. Within, Malkrin could see green
rotting fabric covered seats amidst a thick mass of spider webs. They had
certainly been ornate carriages fit for prestigious chiefs, he thought in
wonder.

‘Very heavy to haul,’ he commented to BalthWolf.
Then he saw a faded sign high up on the wall. It was the same writing as the
ancient volumes in the Brightwater library.

Derantvale Army Detention
Centre 34

Garage 1 - 2

It was meaningless, the ancients spoke his
language and yet they did not. He concentrated but still the words made no
sense.

‘I brought you in here first, to show you
the great carriages belonging to the important people who once lived here,’
said BalthWolf as they returned to the open air.

He pondered on the words ‘Detention Centre’
and a glimmer of the village’s purpose emerged. He looked at the two clusters
of skeletal ruins and imagined people restrained within and guards armed with
spears and clubs outside each encampment. He used his highsense to sample the
surroundings, and a blanket of hopelessness emerged from the buildings like a
thick evil fog. He quickly stopped probing.

BalthWolf took him to a large redbrick ruin
built almost against the rear cliff. It still had a tiled roof and BalthWolf
took him around the shadowed far wall, again to a jammed and rotten door. A
hole had been kicked through a bottom panel and they crawled in through it.
Malkrin thought they could have just kicked the whole door in, but detected the
miasma of restless spirits. The whole place seemed filled with them and BalthWolf
obviously had considerable respect for them.

Dim light filtered into a corridor with
entrances framed by mildew soaked doors in various stages of decay. They walked
past rooms to the far end where the walls and doors appeared drier and the
contents better preserved. The shadows contained piles of crumbled furniture,
some metal, some wood, and some a strange coloured but brittle material that
snapped when he gripped it. In one room a bleached skeleton lay settled in a large
high backed chair as if stopping for a snooze it had never awakened from. The
image was instantly dispelled as Malkrin noticed a rusty knife lodged in its
ribcage. Another room had two skeletons sprawling on the floor amidst smashed
furniture and piles of green mould that had once been something substantial. Guards
killed in a fight, he guessed.

BalthWolf entered the last room and pointed
to a piece of intact wooden furniture filled with drawers and adorned with a
strange box with a glass front sitting on top the flat surface.

Silently BalthWolf wrenched a swollen
drawer to reveal the contents: sheaves of bound paper.

The top sheet was entitled.

 Inmates – Entry. Male. Another was
entitled, Inmates – Entry. Female.

He had no time to work out the puzzle but
picked up a small shiny box with inset glass and buttons with numbers and
letters on, then shrugged at BalthWolf.

The
Bone-thrower
nodded and opened the lowest drawer and withdrew a shape wrapped in an oiled
cloth, unwound it and handed it to Malkrin.

‘This is a magician’s tool
of great importance. Even my father had no knowledge of it at first,’ he
whispered.

It was a gleaming angular
thing of strange design with a hollowed metal stump one end; the other was
shaped to be held. It had a carved bone grip inset into dark grey metal. Malkrin
wrapped his fingers around it and hefted it up to gain a better view. It was light
and felt well balanced.

‘
Careful
,’ hissed
BalthWolf, ‘it
produces thunder and raging wasps.’

Malkrin was surprised, it didn’t look as if
it could do anything other than sit in your hand and look decorative.

‘Watch,’ hissed BalthWolf, and took it from
Malkrin’s hand. Then pointed it at a wall and squeezed a small lever in front
of the grip.