Mist & Whispers (19 page)

She explained about the infected cut above Lorcan’s eye and he gave her a small dish of paste that resembled Tiger Balm. It must have stung when she applied it, Lorcan hissed through his pointed teeth.

‘Good luck tomorrow,’ he said as she wiped the remnants of paste onto her skirt. He looked worried.

‘Gavriel and his team are the best soldiers in this camp; they know what they are doing. And, Harrion is coming too, so I’m in good hands. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ She knew it wasn’t true. She knew that going into Thule was going to be a huge risk, especially after hearing about Reed, but she hated the idea of him worrying.

‘I’ll know if you’re not,’ he said. For a second, she’d forgotten about the connection; he could tell whenever she was in danger. She’d read a book once about empathy links, not taking it seriously at the time, but now she wondered, could this be what they shared? ‘Just try to keep out of trouble, yeah?’

Famous last words.

T
HE KING ROSE
early to see the team off at the spring, the furthest eastern point of camp.

The spring was serene by Virtfirth’s standards; crystal water trickling gently through rocks that ascended a mountain range. The greenery had long since died but the little cove felt safer than any part of the camp, and definitely more inviting once a bit of Royal magic heated the pool.

Whilst bathing, Anya daydreamed about what it might have looked like before. She imagined tropical flowers sprouting from the gaps in the rocks, silvery fish swimming sporadically beneath the fall, and the sounds of birds singing in the lush trees. The visions she created felt more tangible than the reality she was staring at now. A place where she’d have liked to swim and mess around and just
be
, completely carefree, her and her friends.

She imagined Michael sat on the rock with his usual grumpy face, her splashing him and him jumping in to retaliate. Steph stood under the fall, Tim’s cheeks flushing at the sight of her perfect body. She even imagined Lorcan joining them, finally free from his cell and free from the curse, able to enjoy himself like a normal seventeen year old.

Theone’s goodbye infiltrated her reverie, and she was jolted back to the bleak grey mountainside.

‘If these horses have wings, why aren’t we flying?’ Tim asked Gavriel just before they set off.

Anya’s ears immediately pricked up, her mind trailing back to the gigantic shadow on the Great Hill.

‘The skies have their own horrors, my friend. A black dragon circles the land, guarding Castle Lake. Now, these beautiful creatures might be sacred to us, but to him, they’re quite the delicacy... as are we, and he’ll sniff us out far easier if our scent isn’t masked by the trees or the mountain.’

Tim swallowed hard and loud, like a cartoon character gulping back a lump of Acme Fear.

‘
So
, if you see him,’ Gavriel smiled, ‘be sure to shout.’ He patted Tim on the back with a wink before mounting his own steed.

The look on Tim’s face spoke of regret
–
regret he’d even asked. ‘Right...’

THEY MOVED SWIFTLY
through the forest, making a brief stop at the Great Hill. It hadn’t changed. Everything was just as it had been before with Harrion; no growth, no breeze to unrest the fallen leaves and twigs from the path. Even the view was the same; the lake still without its old friend and suppressed by the shadow she knew to be its fire-breathing enemy.

Mist clung to the Kingdom like a disease, giving their quest an even deeper sense of urgency.

Anya caught Harrion fixed on the lake; his personal agenda visible in his eyes. She remembered the promise she’d made him that night; that they’d return together and keep looking for the castle. Anya didn’t make promises lightly, so the fact she hadn’t been able to see it through made her feel like a real let-down. The mystery of where she came from had taunted her from the moment she realised she was alone in the world, but if she could wish for anything right now, it would be that this mystery
–
the one clutching Virtfirth by the throat – would finally be laid to rest.

They carried on through the forest and up onto the mountain side, making great time. There were no winds to contend with, just heavy, frozen air that nipped at the back of their throats. She hated the taste of the air there, and the closer to Thule they got, the worse it became. It tasted old. Hopeless. Dead.

Village after village passed them by, the measure of destruction increasing with each one that lay broken and abandoned. With the landscape drained of its colour, the only reminder left of Virtfirth’s past beauty was the river that wound through the mountains and into the east.

Gavriel rode up front, flanked by Cael and Harrion and followed closely by Macken, Strand and Briar. It was any man’s bet what Basra and Bear were up to, and this time Agro was involving himself in the brothers’ wagers, in the tail of the convoy. Wolfond, hung back alone, his eyes keeping close watch in a hundred different directions.

The Four kept close together on this journey, the riddle being the hot topic of conversation. When they reached a valley in the mountains known as Toldess Pass, Gavriel found a perfect place for them to take rest and eat: a farm house still intact.

Everything they’d seen of the Kingdom was the same; cold, empty, frozen scenes, without any of the usual signs of age. The farm house was no different. There were no spiders spinning webs, no mice taking refuge, no storms weathering wear. It was as if someone had found Virtfirth’s pause button and had forgotten to come back and press play.

As it turned out, Agro was quite the cook. He was the sort of man Anya would have dubbed a
petrol-head
, had he come from her world. His head was clean shaven, his brawn sculpted with as much care as a sixteenth century statue, and his energy levels for a man living off mushrooms were unfathomable. From what she could make of him, his dish was adrenaline, served with a combination of deadly risk and speed. Battling monsters and balancing on the edge of death’s door was what made him feel connected to the living world, so when his mushroom broth surpassed the talents of Joliver, the Four were wholly impressed. They even licked their bowls dry before handing them back.

After they’d eaten, Gavriel told everyone they had a half-hour rest before getting back on the road, so the Four decided to use their time discussing the riddle some more. They found a quiet little room with a big, cosy chair, knitted blankets and a fireplace, all surrounded by shelves of books. It had a quirky kind of feel to it and reminded them of Scott’s. Michael lit a fire, finally making some use of the boy-scout skills that had been irrelevant in Little Wolf Green, and then sat down in front of it next to Anya.

She had Michael’s pen lodged in her knotted curls and his notebook on her lap, flipping through the pages of his latest scrawls. There were rows and rows of letters and words, some crossed through, some marked with tiny numbers. There were arrows crossing from one letter to another and snaking through a mixture of odd words. Formulae inked in corners and then scribbled over, pages covered in algebraic equations and chunks of writing about the nth term
–
complete nonsense to Anya when she was studying them at school let alone now, exhausted by constant hunger. ‘What is all this?’

‘Just my workings. I’ve been trying to figure out what the numbers mean, trying to find patterns.’

‘You’ve not got anything definite yet, then?’

‘I’m trying my best. All this is very taxing, you know,’ he said, folding his arms and looking rather abashed.

‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Michael, honestly. I’m just tired and my brain isn’t good with numbers when I’m fully awake. It’s pretty much mush right now.’

‘I know you’re not good with numbers, Anya. I still remember the little things like that.’

An awkward silence. She couldn’t decide if she was irritated by his comment, or flattered, but at least for once he sounded sincere.

‘You know,’ Tim began, ‘I can’t for the life of me work out why the Weaver refers to the females as
peacocks
too; it should be
peahens
.’

‘It’s only a story,’ Michael said. ‘I don’t really think it matters.’

Tim tilted his head silently, his lips and brow arching as if to say
fair point
.

‘Can I have a look?’ Steph asked, peering over from the rocking chair she and Tim were cuddled up in.

Anya handed her the notebook.

‘It might go over your head a little,’ Michael said absently. Anya gave him a stern nudge and quickly he added, ‘I mean that in a nice way, obviously.’

Steph brushed his comment away, seeming neither offended nor upset. They were all getting quite used to Michael’s uncanny ability to sour a phrase. She turned the pages slowly, looking down at them as if it were written in a foreign language. ‘It does seem sort of complicated.’

‘Riddles usually are,’ Michael assured her.

Tim had read through
The Princess and the Peacock
so many times that he and the book seemed to have become one, only appearing without each other during training. He was reading it again as Steph sat on his lap with Michael’s notes. ‘I’ve been trying to work out if the clues of the riddle link to the actual narrative of the story somehow, but so far all the thoughts I have on it aren’t even worth mentioning. Things like “
203 found in twenty
” – I thought perhaps it had something to do with the part where Allura sends Cellastar to gather ingredients for the potion she tries to give Marcellus, but it seems she only visits thirteen villages and its vague on how many ingredients there are in total.’

The fire was so warm, Anya’s eyes became heavy as she reread the riddle for the thousandth time, in an almost dream-like state, and her head came to rest on Michael’s shoulder. She felt his arm slip around her but she didn’t reject him. The mixed feelings of guilt for landing them in this predicament and the fear of failing the prophecy
–
failing the people
–
had her feeling down. She needed the comfort, and even when they were at their most hostile she knew he would always be there for her.

‘Michael?’ Steph said in that half-curious-half-knowing kind of way. ‘Have you only been looking at these numbers as page numbers?’

He didn’t move his head as he replied, having almost drifted away in the moment’s peace. ‘Well, what other numbers are there?’

Steph didn’t answer. Instead, she took the Weaver’s book from Tim and turned its pages until she seemed to find the place she wanted. Then she began counting, silently and to herself.

‘The word “
the”
is used in chapter twenty 203 times. Do you think these numbers are like, chapter numbers, instead of page numbers?’

‘Oh my God, Steph, that’s brilliant!’ Anya cried, fatigue replaced by exuberance.

‘Oh my God, I feel so stupid,’ Michael said out loud, covering his eyes with his hands and shaking his head. ‘Of course! The chapters weren’t numbered, just named – I didn’t even think of it.’

‘Well, with that in mind,’ Tim said, his brain visibly firing up like a busted machine after a good kick-start. ‘“
The start of one”,
Michael already would have that part right, seeing as page one is also the start of chapter one. As “
the”
is a word as opposed to a letter, let’s assume the rest of the instructions in the riddle also point to a word – the first would be “
Resting
”. Agreed?’

Michael, Steph and Anya all agreed and using their new, much simpler theory, they got to work solving the rest of the riddle. They spoke like newly released prisoners, with a new lease of life and fresh hope for the future.

‘And the second; “
the start of Many”
– still not sure about that one.’

‘The third is
“the”
.’

‘“
Four is twined with four in eight”
– I bet that means the fourth word we are looking for is the same as the fourth word in chapter eight.’

Steph raced through the pages to where chapter eight began. ‘That would make it
“sleeping”
.’

Anya pulled the pen from the tangles of her hair and began scrawling down the words. Michael leaned in to watch her write, keeping that bit of closeness they’d shared still very much in the moment. She could smell him, a hint of musk, much like old paper, against a lighter, honeyed scent. For a breath, she experienced something like déjà vu, feeling as if it were just any old Saturday back at the bookshop, before she began working there, before she and Michael had broken up, before Iain had died. That familiar, homely smell sent her emotions awry and a breath later, when she’d snapped out of it, she found her eyes welling.

Part of her ached for just one more day back in her old life. Back when things were simple. ‘
Resting
– something
–
the sleeping...
’she said abruptly, trying to push her muddled thoughts to the back of her mind.

‘I wonder,’ Tim said, taking the book back from Steph and turning the pages. ‘The Queen of Fora
–
’