The Fathomless Fire (38 page)

Rowen shook her head slowly.

“It all seems so hopeless,” she whispered bleakly. “The dragon, Whitewing Stonegrinder, he warned us that the Night King’s armies are marching on the Bourne. Malabron knows about Fable being the crossroads. The key to all stories. The Errantry won’t be enough to withstand him. Then he’ll have the raincabinet, and the past and the future and everything…”

Grandmother put her hand on Rowen’s.

“I see the future in you, and what I see fills me with hope. I am the past, I’ve done what I can. This, now, is your time, Rowen. The power you need to defend Fable is in you. Never doubt that. But you will not be alone in this task, for I’ve also made sure you would have allies. The folk of Story are coming to the Bourne. They are coming from lands far and near to Fable, to fight for it.”

“You called the Storyfolk? Or warned them. How?”

“Into as many stories as I could I wove a rumour, a legend, a prophecy, of a time when darkness would fall across the Realm and all free folk would rise to defend it. And now the darkness has come, and everywhere the legend is being remembered, the prophecy has been spoken again, only now as a dire warning. The folk of Story are awakening. Many of them are already on their way to Fable to stand with you and the Errantry in the hour of need.”

Rowen lowered her head. She felt as if her heart would tear in two. Her grandmother had done all of this for her, to help her, and now she had to tell her what she had chosen to do.

“I’m not staying in Fable,” she said. “I can’t, at least not now. I have to find Grandfather and bring him back. That comes first, before anything.”

Grandmother’s eyes filled with pain and fear.

“Rowen, no. You cannot go to the Shadow Realm. You don’t understand what awaits you there.”

“I do, Grandmother. I’m sorry, after all you’ve done for me, but I have to go.”

“Nicholas would not want you to do this.”

“But he’s alive. I know he is. He needs me and I’m going to find him. I won’t let …
him
take anyone else I love. I couldn’t bear it if I knew that Grandfather had become like those others … the ones I saw walking to the Shadow Realm.”

“Oh, my dear one, I know how much you want to bring your grandfather home, and I want that, too … but Malabron is still searching for you. Other than the raincabinet itself, you’re what he most desires to find and make his own. The moment you set foot in his realm, the moment you cross into his nightmare, he will know it. He will see you at once, and take you, and you cannot defend yourself against his power.”

“That’s what the thrawl told me, but I’ll find a way,” Rowen said, struggling against despair. “There must be a way.”

Grandmother gazed at her in silence for a long time, her face stricken with pain. At last she drew a deep breath, and bent to search in her basket of weaving tools.

“If you do this, then my heart will break,’ she said, “but I won’t stop you. All I can tell you is that you will have to find a hidden, secret way into his realm, or it will be over for you in a moment. And for that, you will need some help. A pathfinder, perhaps, like your friend, Will Lightfoot.”

“Will,” Rowen cried. “If only I could see him again before I go. But he’s so far away.”

Then she remembered the mirror shard and drew it out.

“Will gave me this,” she said. “Maybe I can use it to find him, like I used Grandfather’s staff to find his thread. But … he may still be searching for Shade. If he is, I can’t ask him to come with me.”

Grandmother took Rowen’s hand.

“The Weaving is not only a tapestry on a loom. It is in you, too. In all of us. But you have a gift few have, to sense the threads as they weave and unweave. Look inside yourself. Your friends are there, too. What do you see?”

Rowen went still and closed her eyes. She opened them a moment later. The truth had been there for a long time, but she hadn’t seen it.

“He’s found him,” she said. “Will is with Shade. They’re together … but they’re in danger.”

“You must find Will. I think only he can help you now. Ah, but wait, there is one more thing I have to give you. Something I’ve been preparing for a long time. How could I forget? I sent Riddle to your grandfather so that when he found me, he would take
this
back to you. But now I can give it to you myself.”

She reached into the basket at Rowen’s feet and lifted out a tiny golden ball, little bigger than her own thumb. She held it out in her palm and after a moment Rowen took it, felt how light it was in her hand, almost not there at all. Looking at it closely, she realized the ball was made of tightly coiled, finely-spun golden thread. She turned it over but could not see an end to the thread, if there was one.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Scarcely more than a thought as yet,” Grandmother said. “Or a breath. I spun it from what has been lost and forgotten. But it is strong, the strongest thread there is. Once you weave with it, the thread can never be broken.”

“But I’m not a weaver like you, Grandmother. What do I do with it? How do I use it?”

“You must find that out for yourself, Rowen. You will know what to do when you see what has been unwoven and needs to be mended.”

Rowen gazed at the ball of thread, mesmerized by its fine golden sheen. Then she slipped it into her pocket.

She stood, took a deep breath and looked away, out of the cottage door. The clearing was bright with quiet sunlight. It was so peaceful here, but inside her a storm of doubt and fear was raging.

“The raincabinet,” she said. “I left the door open. If that mage, Ammon Brax, finds it, he’ll find the Weaving. Grandfather said that mustn’t happen.”

“Then you must go back there, before you do anything else. Find a way to stop him, or hide the raincabinet from him.”

“I’ll try,” Rowen said.

Grandmother dropped her weaving comb into the basket and rose from her seat.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “Let’s join Riddle outside.”

Rowen glanced over at the hearthrug. The tiger was no longer there. She was about to say something, but Grandmother was already going out of the door. Rowen followed, and squinted as she came back out into the sunlit glade.

The tiger was there, standing at the edge of the woods, eyeing them askance as if wondering what had taken them so long.

“Go with Rowen,” Grandmother said to him.

The tiger’s lithe feline shape began to dissolve and come apart into sinuous flames. Then each flickering tongue of fire sped off in a different direction and swiftly vanished in the bright sunlight. Rowen wondered why Riddle had disappeared, then she saw that one of the flames had remained, hovering near her. As she watched, it settled at her feet, growing and unfolding into his familiar tawny wildcat shape.

“Riddle is still here,” the cat said. “Riddle will …
I
will go with Rowen on her journey.”

“Thank you.”

Rowen turned to her grandmother. They threw their arms around each other, and tears came again for both of them.

“How I wish I could keep you safe with me, my dear one,” Grandmother whispered.

“If the Night King isn’t defeated… ” Rowen began fearfully, “if everything is swallowed up, even the past, what will happen to this place? What will happen to you?”

“The Weaving cannot be utterly destroyed, even if it is woven only with darkness for a time. Something of me will always be here, Rowen, working at the loom.”

T
HE DOOR OF THEIR ROOM
slammed shut and Will threw himself against it, hammering on it with his fists. Then he heard the lock click, and he backed away and sank down slowly on one of the beds. Balor stood staring at the door, then began to pace back and forth.

“What in all the Realm is Finn thinking?” he muttered after a long silence. “Why would he join that madman?”

“They’re going to kill Shade,” Will said, shaking his head.

Balor halted and scowled.

“No they’re not,” he said. “We’ll stop them.”

The wildman staggered forward as the stone floor shook underneath them. Dust drifted from the walls. They could hear the tread of many hurrying feet in the corridor outside.

“We must get out of here…” Balor growled, then his eyes brightened. “I have an idea. Will, hide under one of the beds. I’m going to make the guards open the door.”

“How?”

“Wait and see. This will work, I’m sure of it.”

Will shook his head doubtfully, but did as the wildman asked. He dropped to the floor and crawled under one of the beds. When Will was out of sight, Balor strode up to the door and pounded on it.

“Hey, you out there!” he roared in a voice that seemed to shake the very walls and made Will flinch in spite of himself. “I’m starving to death in here and I’ve decided I’m going to eat the boy. After all, I’m…” He took a deep breath. “I’m an
ogre
, and that’s what ogres do. Just thought I’d let you know, because you’ll have to answer to the Sky Lord’s brother for locking me in here with his friend.”

A few moments later the lock rattled and the door creaked slowly open. Two guards stood in the doorway, both holding lightning staves levelled at Balor.

“Where is the boy?” one of them asked, his face turning pale. “Did you…?”

“There he goes!” Balor shouted. “Catch him before he gets away!”

Both guards turned and the wildman lunged at them. He brought one down with a fist to the jaw and took off out of the door after the other, who had dashed away with a shout. Will slid out from underneath the bed and climbed to his feet, just as Balor returned, dragging the other guard, limp and senseless, by his arms.

“It actually worked,” Balor said. “The fever iron must dull their wits. They’ll both have splitting headaches when they wake up, but we’ll be long gone.”

“We must find Shade. He’s somewhere down in the lowest part of the fortress.”

“But we don’t know where exactly.”

“I know but we have to get to him before they…” Will broke off. “If we can hide him somewhere, maybe we can find Finn and he can convince his brother to let Shade go.”

“I think Finn’s brother is beyond convincing of anything. But what choice is there? Ah, just a moment.”

Balor picked up one of the guards’ staves.

“This might be useful.”

They set off down the corridor, reached a narrow flight of stairs and descended. At the bottom they came to a meeting of three wider corridors. Balor sniffed the air.

“Straight on, I think,” he said.

They kept going, stopping whenever they heard voices or sounds. The corridor led to another descending flight of stairs that Balor said they should take, but halfway down a bald, burly man, armed and cloaked, suddenly appeared before them, climbing upwards. He had no lightning stave, but when he saw them he drew his sword and advanced slowly.

“You are not supposed to be down here,” he said warningly.

Balor stepped forward and pointed the lightning stave at the man, who lunged out of the way.

Nothing happened. The man stared at Balor and the lightning stave.

“Oh, never mind,” Balor said, and he dropped the stave and charged at the man, slamming him against the wall before he could recover and raise his weapon. The man slid to the floor, unconscious, and Balor stepped over him, picking up the stave.

“Nothing like the traditional methods,” he said, and he led the way down the stairs. At the bottom there was another meeting of corridors, each of which plunged steeply downwards. From one of them came a stinging smoke and the ringing of hammers on metal. While they hesitated here for a moment two dwarves appeared from the smoky passage, younger than Nonn but just as gaunt and grim-faced, carrying between them a leather sling filled with blades and axes. At the sight of Balor they dropped the sling and backed away down the passage.

“Come on,” Balor said, leading Will to one of the other descending passages.

At the bottom they came to a long, narrow chamber lined with iron cages, most of which were open, and empty.

“They’ve already taken the wolves,” Will said. “But where did they…”

Just then they heard a commotion in an adjoining chamber. It sounded like the crack of a whip, followed by a low, warning growl.

Will darted for the other chamber, and came through the door to see three short, stocky Stormriders with thick leather gloves and masks, surrounding Shade, who was backing with a limp into one corner. The chamber stank of dung and rotting meat. Two of the keepers had whips and one was lifting a net with barbed knots. A fourth keeper stood nearby, brandishing some kind of spear with a tip that tapered to a needle-thin point.

“Get away from him!” Will shouted. The four keepers turned at the sound. Before they could do more than stare in shock, Balor barged into the room and raised the lightning stave on high.

A crackling tendril of white light erupted from it, its searing brightness filling the chamber and blinding Will. When it had passed, three of the keepers lay on the floor, groaning, their clothing burnt and smoking. The one with the spear had vanished. Balor stood staring at the lightning stave with a dumbfounded look on his face. It was clear he had no idea why the stave had worked this time.