Ross Lawhead (28 page)

“Another one?” Maccanish asked, moving around.

“This doesn't make sense . . . They look as if they been here for, oh, over a week. I don't . . .”

Alex peered deeper into the tunnel. His ears strained for a sound, his eyes for a movement. He caught a glimmer of something shiny piled a few feet beyond the second troll. He moved forward slowly, his feet crunching bone beneath him.

The shiny object was completely circular and reflective.

“What is it? What do you see?” asked Maccanish.

“It's CDs—dozens of them. All chucked together, just the discs.”

Alex turned his body, shifting the light he wore. “And the boxes are over here—DVD cases, album cases . . . discarded like spent nutshells. They just wanted the discs. I wonder . . .” He bent and prodded around in the pile and found other objects—necklaces, rings, metallic crisp wrappers, a few silver forks. Some of it was valuable, some of it was rubbish, but all of it was shiny.

“Oh no,” Alex said, horror descending on him.

“What?”

“I've made a mistake.” He sprang up and stared into the black emptiness of the tunnel before him. “Get out of here, quickly!” he hissed.

“What is it?”

“I'm not prepared for this,” he said, gripping his sword with both hands. He turned to Maccanish. “Did you not hear me? I said run!” he yelled, and turned just as the dragon came swooping towards him, screeching out of the darkness.

In the dim light, Alex caught only a brief flash of long, sharp, reptilian muzzle and an angry flash of red eyes before he was on the ground, winded and pinned beneath a dragon almost six feet in length.

As he fell, he instinctively brought his sword up in front of him. It hit between the beast's shoulder and arm but did not bite— merely glided along the tough, slick scales. As they both fell, the sword twisted out of his hand and clattered to the ground. Luckily, his left arm had been in front of him and was now between him and the creature. He pushed it upwards just in time to fend off the sharp beak that was coming down to meet his head. It struck the ground just beside Alex's right ear. It had been a weak effort on the dragon's part; otherwise he wouldn't have been so lucky.

The close quarters were proving difficult for the dragon, as it was not able to maneuver its long, bat-winged arms to either gouge at his sides or even take flight. Its legs, however, it could use, and he felt one massive, clawed foot gripping the inside of his thigh, the other trying unsuccessfully to gain purchase just above his hip, but succeeding very ably in tearing away layers of clothing, and then skin.

As the dragon brought its head back up, Alex found he had some breathing space. Almost quicker than he could think it, he brought both hands up and clutched at the monster's throat. His hands couldn't meet around it. His thumbs embedded themselves in the soft, leathery gullet and his fingers fought for purchase on cold scales, no bigger than robin's eggs, but slick and hard as marble.

Its arms still not being able to gain purchase in the cave, the dragon was unable to leverage itself in order to attack with its mouth.

It was a small advantage for Alex, but not one that afforded him escape or a clear way to defeat his attacker. Instead, he looked into the cold, red eyes in fear and horror as thin wisps of white smoke flowed from the dragon's mouth between its dagger-like teeth.

Alex felt his hands around the thing's neck grow warm, then hot. The white smoke was tinged with grey and black now.

Frantically, Alex kicked and writhed beneath the animal, which was easily twice his own weight. Strange, choking sounds came from the dragon's gullet, and Alex closed his eyes for what was going to happen next.

“Alex, lower your hands, now!” came a quick command.

Alex let go of the thing's throat and covered his head. Between his arms, he saw his sword whiz past him in an upward stroke and sink into the dragon's head, entering just below the jaw. The sword's tip looked to be lodged in the base of the brain, or in its spine.

The dragon did a back flip off of Alex and started thrashing against the walls like a floundering fish, first against one wall and then the other. Alex tried to raise himself and was knocked away from the dying creature by its powerful tail. He landed in the arms of Maccanish, who pulled him farther away.

The dragon flailed awhile longer and then calmed. It made motions as if it was trying to wretch, but its mouth was shut firm.

Black blood and bile dripped from its wound and, with a final few spasms, it fell to the ground and lay dead.

Alex and Maccanish stood looking at it for a time.

“Dragons don't go in pairs, do they?” Maccanish asked eventually.

“No, never,” Alex replied. “Thank God.”

“Amen.”

2

Daniel awoke several times in the night. He was accustomed to sleeping in hard and uncomfortable places, and allowed himself to wake up fully enough to feed the fire a couple times, then settled back onto his leaf bed, pulled the cloak tighter, and went back to sleep.

But eventually his body had taken all the rest it had needed and he opened his eyes, wide awake.

And as far as he could tell, it was still the dead of night. What was it called when you crossed time zones and your body hadn't adjusted yet? Jet lag? What was this, then—world lag? How long would it take his body to adapt to forty-eight-hour days?

He tended to the fire again. There was a good pile of hot coals that he swept closer together. He fed more wood into it to get some flames going again and picked at some of the leftover fish he had cooked. He didn't eat too much since he wanted to save some for when he had to get going again, but there had been quite a lot.

Allowing himself to become mesmerised by the flames, he grew reflective. He dug around in his backpack for something that he always kept at the bottom of it, always wrapped in several plastic bags. He found it and unfolded it—a heavy, long piece of blue cloth that no longer fit him. He let his fingers caress the patterns. He lifted it to his nose, but it had lost its scent. But he didn't need to smell it to remember.

Very gradually, it became brighter and he felt that soon he would be able to make a move. He wrapped the uneaten fish in one of the plastic bags and stuck them in his backpack. Using his feet, he spread and stamped out the glowing embers of the fire, which he had allowed to die down. Then he turned to face the wood.

“Forest, for all that you gave me last night I thank you without exception—but, Now that it's morning and getting quite light Please show me the path to the wood-burner's hut.”

And then, uncertain what to do next, since no path instantly appeared at his feet, he left the clearing. He counted his footsteps and hadn't reached one hundred before he found himself on a small ledge above a beaten dirt path. Shaking his head and laughing in spite of himself, he set his shoulders and resolved himself to a long trek.

He kept his pace steady, but stopped and rested after a couple hours. There was a rock by the roadside and he settled himself onto it. The birds were flitting through the trees opposite him, pausing every once in a while on a thin branch. He didn't know much about birds. These were small, brown, and there seemed to be a lot of them. They would twist their heads and look at him, give a little peep of exclamation, and then flutter away to another branch to look at him from another angle.

He contemplated the strangeness of being in another place that was so different, and so similar to his own world.

He walked on, losing track of the hours, losing track of himself in the forest. When he grew hungry, he asked the forest for food and he would come across a bush full of berries or a clump of large white mushrooms. When he got thirsty and his water container was empty, he asked for water and would walk until a small spring or stream crossed his path. What he couldn't understand was whether the forest was creating these things for him on request or if they existed already and was just moving them into his path. Or if it was all just a coincidence.

The light was starting to get dimmer, and Daniel wondered if he would have to stop and make camp for another night when he noticed the sharp tang of burning wood in the air. As he continued along the path, it grew stronger, eventually getting to the point where his eyes stung slightly.

Anticipation grew within him as he noticed thick white smoke wafting through the trees up ahead. He must be getting close. Slowing his pace, he continued around a bend in the road, and then he was there.

Before him was a sight that was strange to his eyes—a large dirt mound, as wide as a house and about two stories in height. It was cylindrical but tapered towards the top where an open hole billowed smoke.

Standing near the large structure, leaning on a spade, was a tall, gnarled man who was nearly as knotted and twisted as the trees encircling the clearing. He had thick, corded forearms and large-knuckled hands. His hair was grey and his face was tanned and weathered. He wore a shirt and leggings of coarse green cloth and his shoes were carved out of wood.

Daniel edged nearer, stopping a good few yards off. “Hello,” he said hoarsely.

The old man didn't turn right away, but when he did, it was only to cast a disinterested eye in his direction.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Are you the wood-burner?”

The other did not respond immediately. “You speak a strange tongue,” the man said after a time.

“I'm not from here.”

The elf's eyes flicked up and down him. “You are one of the heavy people,” he stated.

Daniel looked down at himself apologetically. He didn't know how to reply to this.

“Make yourself useful,” the man said abruptly. “Go and close the south flue. Take the pole over there.” He gestured to a small rack of tools set into a tree.

Daniel went over and selected a stick about his height that had a crude bronze hook inserted into one end. Then he walked around the large structure—which was giving off a fair amount of heat—until he found a small metal door sticking out of the baked mud. Inside a vertical stack of logs could be seen burning with a bright yellow glow.

He used the pole to nudge the flue closed. There was a latch that he lifted and let fall with a
clack
. Then he walked back and replaced the hook on the rack. He returned to stand near the woodburner and joined him in looking at the furnace in what he hoped was companionable silence.

“Kay Marrey sent me here,” Daniel said after a suitable interval. He didn't get a reply or even as much as a twitch from the man. “He's one of the Elves in Exile.”

“I know who Marrey is,” the man said slowly, evenly. “Young, excitable. Always running hither and thither.” He made a to-and-fro motion with one of his hands. “Where are you from?”

“I—don't know what to call it, but it's another world entirely.

Can you help me get back?”

“In some weeks there is a market where many tradesmen and travelers congregate. No doubt someone will point you the right way. Travel between worlds used to be very common, after all.”

“Is there any way I could find one sooner?”

The tall person shook his head. “It would take you longer to track one down. Best let them come here. Are you fit? Can you lift, chop, carry, climb?”

“I am as you see me,” Daniel responded, holding his arms out slightly. “And I will lift, chop, and carry as much and for as long as I am able. Climb, I'm not so sure, but I'll give it a go.”

“May be possible to get a second mound up, then, before the trade.” The man straightened to what must have been eight feet in height. “We'll see. I use what the forest gives me, and it's given me you, so we'll put you to work, won't we?”

3

Freya came out of her sleep slowly, gradually becoming aware that she was slumped forward on a table. She hoisted herself upwards and looked around. She was in her office, sitting at her desk that was littered with page after page of complex numerical equations, all of them in her own handwriting. That was odd; she thought she was . . . somewhere else. It had become so easy for her to throw herself into her work, and she went so deep into it that sometimes she literally forgot where she was.

She sighed. When did she become a mathematician?

A large book lay open in front of her, propped against the windowsill. On the two facing pages were tables of letters and numbers listed in pairs, triplets, and quadruplets—in total about a hundred rows and a dozen columns. It was headed AKV STRINGS—NOMINATIVE.

There was a smaller but much older book also open in front of her that contained very small type. The right-hand page was in Greek and the left-hand page was in English. Her eyes went to the first paragraph and read:

Now, (the) wisdom belonging to afterthought, which is an aeon, thought a thought derived from herself, (from) the thinking of the invisible spirit, and (from) prior acquaintance. She wanted to show forth within herself an image without the spirit's [will]; and her consort did not consent. And (she wished to do so) without his pondering: for the person of her maleness did not join in the consent; for she had not discovered that being which was in harmony with her . . .