Episode 69

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

Lilian woke up in her childhood bedroom, surprised that she had managed to sleep at all. She remembered being at the Fox and Octopus Inn the night before, talking everyone through today’s final plan. Sage Fenric’s big ceremony was set to take place tomorrow, so they only had one day to carry out the objective. There were many phases and elements and various contingencies put into place. Everyone had a role to play but Lilian was the star of the show as well as its director. She was the only one with real battle experience and knew from her time with Mr Attorcop, Mistress Eleyna and Solveig of the hundred that preparation was an essential ingredient of victory.

Lilian extracted herself from woollen blankets and fur pelts and went to get dressed. It was early, the sun had not quite appeared in the sky but there was still enough light to navigate her room. Fritha stirred at the foot of the bed. Lilian looked back at her and smiled. She was sorry to have to involve her once again in some nasty, violent business. But deep down she knew that the feinhound would do anything to protect her. She knew that because that’s exactly how she felt about Fritha. Lilian thought back to when they’d arrived back in Benlunar. She had expected to be here a few weeks at most. She had expected quiet nights at the inn and boring services at the Stave. The memory nearly made her laugh. If only she’d known.

The Fox and Octopus had been crowded last night. Word had gotten out that a resistance was being formed and so there were more than just the familiar faces to listen and offer help where they could. Lilian didn’t want anyone to directly intervene in anything violent. She gave herself those jobs. But the others would be there, close by, with strict instructions to run away should Fenric or any of the sisters get too close.

Lilian put on some woollen hose and a stitched shirt before turning back to her bed and bending down to extract the large bag from under it. Resting on top of the bag was her staff. It had been given to her by an old man in Freedos; it was carved into the shape of a gnarled tree with a moon nestled in its branches. It was a walking staff really, but it could be used as a weapon if the road proved dangerous. She ran her fingers across it, the polish was still in good condition and she could trace the little lines across the length of it with her fingers. She tested its weight, held it with tight fists and then set it to one side. Then she turned her attention to the bag. Undoing the strings she slowly revealed its contents. The shimmering metal caught the first rays of the sun through her bedroom curtain. It scattered them across the room like a hundred little fire lights. Slowly, Lilian brought out the feinhound helmet and the beaten metal breastplate. Then came the wrist and leg braces, each intricately decorated with carved flowers and beaten little beasts. The suit of armour had been made especially for her by her friend Genevive back in Freedos. A uniform fit for fighting tyranny. She had worn it to defeat Empress Sylvia and It was only apt that she wear it again today. The metal was beaten thinly to allow for increased movement and the ability to synchronise with Lilian’s invisibility.

Setting the armour beside her Lilian reached into the bag for a final time. Her hand gripped the cold metal of the final item. It was her tungsten switch. Gifted to her by a group of noble revolutionaries, the weapon was light and strong. It had no sharp edge, just a rounded length which thinned out at the tip to give the weapon a faster swing speed.

Lilian spent the next few minutes putting on the suit. She found the ritual of it calming. She had to adjust a few of the straps, she was still growing it seemed, but the bulk fit her form well and the helmet sat on her head like a tailored hat. The inside was padded with wool stuffed cloth for comfort and impact absorption. Once the lower jaw shaped chin strap was fastened Lilian picked up the tungsten switch and walked out of the room, to battle.

Once outside the metal of the armour quickly chilled. Lilian knew the cold would weaken the metal somewhat but the plates were only ever meant to protect from slashes anyway. A direct stab would pierce the metal, a fact she knew all too well from the mended hole in the back plate. The thought triggered the memory of her fight with Nicholas Telson and she was going over the mistakes she had made there while watching Fritha run on ahead. The feinhound was in her element, running from tree to tree sniffing at anything that caught her attention.

Suddenly she stopped and stared into the forest. Fritha had paused mid-step and so looked like a pointer who’d just spotted a rabbit in the brush. Lilian followed her gaze and caught sight of some blades shifting on top of a ridge. Lilian instinctively reached for her weapon. Her feet moved into a defensive stance and she was ready to run round and surprise her enemy when she saw a head pop up from behind the ridge with a cheeky giggle.

Lilian breathed a sigh of relief. Then she smiled, waved and motioned for little Emma Glade to come down to see her. The girl scampered over the edge and slid down the road bank to meet her. Emma’s eyes widened at the site of Lilian’s armour. She was so distracted by the intricacy of the designs that she failed to notice Fritha sneaking up on her to give her a big wet lick on her cheek. She giggled again and pushed the feinhound off her.

“What… are… you… doing… here?” Lilian spoke to herself as she signed the words. Emma might not be able to hear her voice but the movement of the lips helped with the signs. She watched the little girl gesture a reply. Lilian caught the words help and Fenric. Emma was signing quickly and so Lilian motioned for her to slow down. Emma rolled her eyes, frustrated again by Lilian’s slowness in picking up her language. Lilian watched her answer the question and went through the words in her mind.

Saw Fenric today. The sisters are getting ready. They know you. They know you are going there.

Lilian nodded and thanked Emma for the information. In truth she had expected this. Benlunar was a small place and Fenric was bound to have someone watching the Fox and Octopus. Word of their meeting will have reached the grove. Lilian didn’t mind though. Surprising your enemy is a valid tactic but not when you’re fighting public perception. The sisters were one thing, but Lilian would be fighting for her reputation as well today, Fenric’s followers would have to see that she was there to help them and sneaking up and knocking someone out didn’t exactly make you look like a hero.

Just then a question came to her. She motioned the words for biggest sister and weapon followed by the sign that indicated that she was asking a question. Emma looked confused at first but Lilian quickly realised that she was searching her memory for an answer. She mimed something long and thin with a large ball at the end of it. Lilian understood it to be some kind of mace. She thanked Emma very much, hugged her and told her to go home, she then promised to come and see her when she was finished. Emma’s face fell. Lilian suspected she was going to offer to help in the fight but one look at Lilian’s face and her serious expression put that idea right out of the little girl’s head. Instead, Emma rushed in for another hug before signing the words, “please, keep your promise.” Then, she turned on her heel and ran home.

Lilian and Fritha continued their journey into town. The snow had frozen in the night and so she had to watch her step as she made her way up the winding path to town. She could have cut across the slopes, but the snow was still deep and she had arranged to meet some friends in town. Seeing Benlunar rear up ahead of her as she wound her way up the hill brought back a nervousness that donning her armour had temporarily dampened. She knew deep down that they were just buildings, but they represented so much more than the wood they were made from. That corner was where she’d drunk blackberry fire for the first time. The house belonged to Kilde’s uncle who was known for teaching sheep how to do tricks. More memories appeared to her around every corner and even though some made her sad, she couldn’t help but smile at most. They were not just memories of buildings, but of kind and special people. That’s what today was about. Saving that spirit and allowing it to continue long into the future so that more people can experience it. Lilian was no fool, she understood that places changed, but what Sage Fenric wanted was not some evolution built in incrementally positive mutations. It was more like the burning of a field, an erasure that forced a complete reset. What came after might even be positive for some, but it would not be built on Benlunar’s foundations.

As she rounded a large drift of snow she caught sight of Serena and Peter waiting for her in the pre-arranged place. When they saw Lilian both of them smiled and came to meet her.

“My goodness!” said Serena, “you look incredible Lilian.”

Lilian smiled and looked down at her armour set, “Thank you. Hopefully it will protect me from the worst of it.”

“Naah,” replied Peter, “It’s all for show. They won’t even get close enough to hit you.” Lilian knew he was trying to comfort her and she smiled at the joke but it still felt a touch like gallows humour.

“I’ll be stationed on the path to town waiting for everyone,” said Serena. Lilian nodded and looked at Peter.

“And I’ll be at that fallen tree waiting to assist,” Lilian was about to say something else but Peter cut her off, “and yes I’ll listen out for your signal, if I don’t hear it, I’m gone.”

Lilian smiled and Serena put a hand on her arm, “It’s alright, we’re all ready and everyone knows what to do. You won’t be alone.”

Lilian hugged them both and was about to wish them luck when Peter suddenly remembered something, “Oh! Here, take this.” He reached into a bag and pulled out a water skin, handing it over to her. Lilian found that it was hot to the touch. “It’s a tea, made from the star flowers around the mountain. Ortan makes it and it’s good for calming the nerves. Only drink it if you feel you need to though.”

Lilian thanked him, hung the skin from the back of her belt and continued on her journey. She would only meet one final person on her way to the grove. As she left the stone streets lined with empty houses on the west side of town she found the dirt and gravel path that would take her to the grove. There, tired and lumbering back up to town was a large man followed by an old and tired dog. When he saw Lilian, Ortan the trapper waved and only spoke when he got close.

“It’s done,” he said.

“How did it go?” she asked, referring to the task they’d set for him the night before. He must have worked through the night to achieve it.

The trapper shrugged, “good I think.” He unpinned a small green rag from his bag strap and showed it to Lilian, “Look out for these, and yes they are all coated, Silky was very helpful. You’ve got two on the south side, right between the birches. Three west as instructed and two more around those thorn bushes on the south east slope. Now I bid you good luck, I am going for a shower, get this smell of deer off of me. I will be back soon, try not to start before hearing the robin whistle.”

“Thank you Ortan,” said Lilian, “and you don’t have to come back, you’ve done enough.”

Ortan looked at Lilian through bushy brows and somewhere in the thicket of unkempt beard Lilian thought she detected a smile, “You’ve come a long way from saving foxes Lausanne’s daughter. I will help where I can.” With that he walked past her and continued towards town. His dog, Silky, lolloped along with him and wagged her tail when Lilian held out her hand for her to sniff. The first stage of the plan had all been put in place. Now all that was left was to execute the rest. Lilian and Fritha restarted their journey towards the grove, there was no alternative, there was no turning back.

All Lilian could hear was the crunching of snow beneath her boot and the steady thump of her nervous heart. The grove was withered by winter, leafless trees stood on frozen earth with the corpses of rotten fruit strewn at their bases like once wonderful warriors. The bulk of Benlunar lived here now. Sodden tents and shanty huts were littered about the place. It was like safety or beauty were not welcome here, or rather like they were needed elsewhere. The few early risers that were gathered around campfires looked up as Lilian and Fritha approached them. The brilliance of her armour shone like an affront to the drab and dreary lives that had been made here. It produced scowls and whispers and the twisting of necks. Lilian heard the words heathen, non-believer and even heretic. She brushed them off like flecks of ash.

From out of the amalgam of makeshift homes Lilian caught sight of a familiar face. She knew she would have seen it sooner or later and she was glad that it appeared now.

“Hello Mum,” she said, just loud enough for her mother to hear her, but not so loud as to wake the remaining sleepers. Polly Lausanne stepped through and over the ropes and tarpaulin and approached Lilian with a scared expression. She looked at her daughter, at the clothes she was wearing, at the weapon on her back and she remembered the sweet, silly child she used to be and feared the warrior woman she had become.

“Lilian,” she nearly whispered the name, “What… what are you doing? I’ve told you already I don’t want you to cause trouble I…”

Lilian cut her off, there had been time for reason and that time was over, “I need you to listen to me. Things are about to get dangerous. I would ask you to bring as many people as you can back to town. Brother Thomas will have safe spaces for you all to go.”

Polly Lausanne looked at her daughter with shocked and incredulous eyes, “This is supposed to be a safe place for us.”

“Well it isn’t,” Lilian snapped, “Sage Fenric is planning to hurt you, he’s planning to destroy the town.”

Lilian’s mother threw her hands up in the air, “Lilian!” She exclaimed, “All we do here is talk, pray and paint murals and occasionally sing songs or cook food together it’s,”

“It’s a lie!” Lilian was raising her voice now, she reminded herself to keep calm but her temper was running away from her, “Fenric is evil, mum. He killed my friend and he’s using that mural you’ve all been working on to summon a demon. I’m here to stop him. So please, mum, please listen to me and leave this place while it’s still safe. Fenric won’t hesitate to harm you if it means getting to me. Please Mum.”

Lilian hoped that her honesty would get through this time. That her pleading would shake her mother into realising the truth. But she was met with that same, stony face. She’d done all she could bar physically removing her and so Lilian took a step towards the caravans at the far end of the grove.

“Lilian,” her mother called out and Lilian turned back to listen, “if you go there now. If you cause trouble and bring violence to this place. Then I don’t want you coming back to our house. I… I won’t wish to see you. I’ll want you gone from Benlunar, or else I will go. Either way we will not have a relationship. We’ll be as strangers.”

Lilian’s heart froze. Her stomach dropped and her head filled with fear. But her mind was made up. She looked at her mother and realised that she had already become something of a stranger. Certainly not the loving, caring and happy woman she’d left behind when she went to Freedos with Mr Attorcop. Lilian stared at her unblinking, “So be it,” she said and turned back to the caravans.

When she reached the colourful caravans, the only structures raised high off the ground, she was informed by an older man that Fenric was not there. He and the sisters had gone to inspect the mural early. Lilian thanked him and quickened her pace. If Fenric and the sisters were working on the mural themselves then it might be closer to completion than she’d thought.

Lilian picked her way through the worn pathway through the trees that surrounded the grove and followed the cliff wall round until she came to a second clearing. There were no trees here as the floor was mostly sheet rock that had been swept of snow and leaves. The space was large enough to fit the entire Fox and Octopus inn and maybe even its stables. Overlooking the area was a wall of stone that stretched high into the mountain. This was Benlunar’s north face and very few of the townsfolk ever bothered coming here. There was no chance of climbing it and nothing of interest or use could grow on the rock. Occasionally one might see a family of goats but the only thing adorning the cliff face today was a mural, two floors high and wide as the side of a building. Lilian looked up as she left the treeline. It depicted a green field and a blue sky. Dotted around the grass were colourful spring flowers and the sky was peppered with billowing, bright white clouds. Was this Fenric’s fables garden wondered Lilian. It was certainly beautiful, especially when compared to the grim winter skies above and the dead brown leaves and dirt under foot. In the middle of the field, a way off in the distance was a lone cow. Its head was raised and staring at the viewer, as if it had just been startled.

At the base of the cliff, surrounded by scattered buckets and brushes were four figures. Sage Fenric’s bright yellow cloak stood out from the cliff face like it was one of the flowers in the picture. His hood was up and he was walking towards Lilian to meet her. Just behind him, serious as a storm, were the sisters. Tourmaline was smiling, Hematite looked concerned and Spinel had that blank and curious expression on her face that always made Lilian feel uneasy. Like she was an antique pot being appraised for auction. Each of them wore the deep blue cloaks they had been wearing the day Lilian had first seen them in the Stave Church. It only occurred to her then that they were not just a uniform but they were effective battle wear. Try as she might, Lilian could not make out any weapons or armour they might have concealed beneath them.

The light clanking of Lilian’s armour echoed off the cliff wall as she stepped into the scene. Fenric held his arms out wide in greeting.

“Lilian,” he said, smiling his obsequious grin, “I’m so glad you came. My goodness, you look like a soldier. Surely we can resolve our differences without resorting to battle. Judging from our previous encounters I should think you would want the same thing.”

Lilian remained silent for a while. She focused on her breathing and tried to remain centred, she knew that Fenric would want to rile her up and she was not going to give him the satisfaction.

“Time’s up Fenric,” she called out, “I’ve given you every opportunity to leave. If you insist on staying then I shall be forced to remove you personally.”

Lilian's proclamation produced laughter from Fenric and Tourmaline, even Hematite’s face changed into a look of pity rather than concern. Spinel’s stare remained fixed and cold.

Once Fenric had stopped chuckling he stepped a few feet closer, “My dear child,” he said, “If you think a suit of armour and a stick are going to make me alter my plans then you’re even more naive than I thought.” His face grew suddenly serious, “I take it you remember our last encounter. We were lenient on you then, we will not be so forgiving this time around. Run along, Lilian Lausanne, we are busy.” He flicked his hand as if shooing away a clutch of chickens and then turned to go back to the mural.

Lilian took a deep breath. She had been able to stay calm until now but Fenric’s incessant infantilization was starting to take its toll. This meeting was never meant to be a long conversation and it appeared that talks were over. Lilian took a deep breath, reached down and touched Fritha’s neck and then started marching forwards.

Tourmaline matched Lilian’s pace and brushed past Sage Fenric as he retreated. Of course, thought Lilian, King Brava would send his army out first but his time would come eventually. Tourmaline sneered as she quickened her pace into a jog. Lilian reached behind her back for her tungsten switch and matched the bodyguard’s speed. The two would meet in the middle of the clearing. Tourmaline would not bring out her weapon until the last minute but if Lilian’s intelligence was correct then she would be ready for it. Out of the corner of her eye, Lilian caught sight of Hematite moving out and round to her right hand side. Spinel was harder to see but until Lilian caught sight of fur or jaws, she would pay the third sister no mind.

She and Tourmaline were running now, Fritha was keeping up beside Lilian, her coat darkening and her teeth growing longer and sharper with every step. When she was three steps away Tourmaline threw off her cloak and brought a heavy club out and round with her right hand. Lilian saw a ball of metal at the end of it with carefully crafted spikes welded into the mass. The attack was fast and had she not been prepared it would have caught her off guard and smashed into the side of her chest. But Lilian knew Tourmaline would be wielding a heavy weapon and so she ducked low and practically slid along the slippery stone floor. The club whooshed overhead and Lilian found herself directly beneath the eldest sister. She kicked up and out, catching her left leg with the sole of her foot. This, combined with the momentum of the club threw her off balance for just long enough for Lilian to stand and counter attack with her switch.

Time seemed to slow as the metal stick flicked through the air, its perfectly balanced handle sending the smaller tip hurtling ahead to connect with its target. In this case, Lilian was aiming for Tourmaline’s chin. She’d put her weight behind the attack, banking on Tourmaline having to focus on recovery after the kick. Any lesser fighter would have felt the cold steel impact their face like it was the shoe of a startled horse. But Tourmaline was no amateur. She threw herself off balance and out of the way, sacrificing sure footing to avoid injury. Lilian followed with another swipe and another, but both missed their mark by mere inches. Lilian did not judge her mistakes, or revel in her advantage. She remembered her lessons with Mr Attorcop and Mistress Eleyna and knew deep in her body that she was only as good as her next move.

Fritha joined the fight now, snapping at Tourmaline out from between Lilian’s legs, guarding her lower body from any incoming kicks. Together they closed in and punished Tourmaline for taking time to retreat in an attempt to gather herself. The tall woman, now clad in leather armour, a leather skirt and leg bracers, whipped nimbly out of the way of Lilian’s weapon. Heavy clubs were at a disadvantage when it came to speed but if their users could dodge for long enough then they only needed one hit to win a fight. Lilian was determined not to allow that hit to happen.

The sounds of clanking armour, weapon swipes, grunts and blocks echoed off the cliff face and into the morning air. Lilian had been preparing for this day for a long time and now it was finally here. She needed to breathe, to remember what she was fighting for and forget what defeat would cost her. But all the preparation in the world cannot save you from betrayal.

Episode 68

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

The demon’s words echoed off the blank walls of the library. Lilian heard them, but a deep and primal part of her did not want to believe what they said. Tauroc, the cow-headed demon king whom they had summoned just a few minutes ago, had just said that if Fenric summons him to a town, then his job is to destroy it. They knew that Fenric was having his followers paint a mural in the grove, they knew that there was a big upcoming ceremony which they had been warned to stay away from in just a few days. That was it. Lilian knew then that Tauroc was telling the truth. If they didn’t stop him then Fenric would destroy Benlunar and then move on to the next unsuspecting town.

“Why!?” Liilan could not contain herself. She blurted the question out like a child protesting its bed time.

Tauroc cocked his head in confusion, “you ask me why demons do what they do?”

“Fenric isn’t a demon,” Lilian protested, “he’s just a… a man. What could he possibly gain from all this?”

Tauroc laughed again. This time he clutched his stomach and threw his head back and cackled a guttural bellow that sent shivers down Lilian’s spine. Between breaths, he managed to eek out a phrase, “Meaning! Give us meaning. They’re always so desperate to understand. Humans are always trying to grasp the motivation behind badness. Thou think'st that if thou understandeth then thou might be able to forgive, or influence in some way.” The demon king then threw his head forward and rushed to Lilian in half a breath. A confounding speed that threw Lilian’s hair back as if a gust of wind had just blown through the locked door. The cow man stopped inches from her face to finish his proclamation, “Thou forgets little electi, evil exists. And evil hath no motivation.” The demon stood to his full height now, ignoring the jangling snarls of Fritha down on his left. “You wish to buy me out of my deal with Fenric, very well. I shall name my price.” The demon paused as if for dramatic effect, “I shall take one life, right now. Just one. You may choose.”

The room fell silent. An offer had been made and the summoners needed to either counter or accept it. Lilian’s stomach filled with anger, this demon knew what he was doing. He wanted to see if they would sacrifice one of their own in exchange for saving the entire town. It was a fair price, more than fair really. It was also cruel. Everyone looked at each other, weighing the offer against the friends and faces before them. Lilian kept stared at Tauroc, she could see the corners of his eyes crease as he smiled. Suddenly, a footstep to Lilian’s left drew her attention. Brother Thomas was stepping forward. He was pale and looked scared.

“This town,” he said, “gave me a new life. It forgave my sins and accepted me despite them. I should consider it a small price…”

Lilian could listen no longer. She twisted her head to look at him and snapped, “No. Brother Thomas. That’s not happening.”

The church brother looked at her with gentle eyes, “Lilian, it’s alright.” But once again, Lilian cut him off.

“Brother Thomas I love you but if you don’t stop talking I’m coming over there to thump you,” she turned her gaze back to Tauroc. The demon king was practically licking his lips, “You’re not getting a life today. You’re not getting one ever. You think you’ve won but all you’ve done is show your hand,” she began to walk slowly towards him. All fear was gone from her mind now, replaced by clarity and anger, “well let me show you mine. No deal. You think we’ve summoned you here to bribe you but all I wanted was to size you up, and you know what? I’m not that impressed.” Fritha drove the insult home with a well timed growl, Lilian did not stop, she was almost upon him now and was not put off by the fact that she only came up to his thigh. “So here’s a new offer. One pie. That’s it. That’s all you get and for that you leave us and Benlunar alone forever.”

Tauroc snorted a breath of hot air from out of his wide, black, blood crusted nostrils, “And if I refuse?” He bent down low so that his eyes were level with Lilian’s.

Lilian could smell the acrid stench seeping from the demon king’s skin. She did not blink, “if you refuse then the next time I see you, I’m going to kill you.”

No one in the room dared to breathe. Brother Thomas had slunk back into the shadows. Serena could feel her heart beat behind her eyes, Mrs Thoreson permitted herself a cautious smile and Peter and Doran were so transfixed on Lilian’s interaction they had to remind themselves to breathe out.

Only Tauroc moved. The cow man stood up to his full height as if to remind Lilian exactly what she was dealing with. His smile was gone but it was replaced by a fierce kind of excitement, “Here is one with spirit. Thou wouldst make a fine demon. Very well. If it is sport thou desires, my offer is rescinded. Your life. That is it, little girl. Give me your life in sacrifice or service and you can spare your precious town.”

Lilian did not give it a second’s thought, “Out. Get back into your pitiful painted world. I hope you enjoy it there, because once I’m through with you, you will be begging me to let you return.”

Tauroc closed his eyes in laughter. He then raised his clenched fists up to his head and looked down at Lilian. He made to bring them both down on her in one crushing blow but Lilian was done with their conversation, she kicked at a rune on the floor. One around the summoning circle that she had guided him towards. As soon as the rune was gone then the spell was broken. Tauroc vanished from the space in a cloud of powdered paint and malice.

Silence settled with the dust. Lilian found that she was breathing heavily. The demon had disappeared but the anger he’d caused still lingered. She breathed in deeply and tried to calm herself. It took a few breaths but eventually she felt like herself. Lilian turned to look at the rest of the group. Everyone’s face portrayed a different feeling. Together they looked like a painted frieze in some nobleman’s study. A picture of bewilderment, grief, anger and sadness. Only Brother Thomas was looking directly at Lilian and his expression was the worst of all. His was the face of one betrayed.

“Lilian,” he whispered, “what have you done?”

Lilian had expected some kind of accusation. You don’t doom a town to destruction without ruffling a few feathers. She clenched her jaw and fists. She considered apologising, but somehow that didn’t feel right.

Brother Thomas spoke again, “I was ready. I was happy to… if it meant saving everyone in Benlunar then I was happy to give…”

Lilian did not want him to finish the sentence and so she interrupted him before he could, “Benlunar wouldn’t be Benlunar without you, Thomas. One life, a hundred, it’s all the same if taken by force. You think Fenric would be satisfied with one life after he assumed he’d be taking all of them? Do you think demon’s like Tauroc go back to ignoring people once they’ve got what they were promised. No. Give one and the demon knows you’re capable of giving. He would be back again and again until we had nothing left to give.”

Mrs Thoreson shifted her weight and came closer to Lilian. Her recently aged body struggling against exhaustion, “Lilian is right. Demon’s do not give up so easily. He was toying with us.” Suddenly, surprisingly she smiled and turned and to address everyone, “My friends,” she said, “I know you’re tired, I know you’re sad. But we should be praising each other. We took a great victory here.”

Serena looked up at her with a raised eyebrow and quizzical expression, “victory? I’m sorry lady Thoreson, but… did you just see the same thing we did?”

Mrs Thoreson giggled, “I did, and I’m so impressed. We learned that Fenric’s weapon can be bought, their bond is weak. And even though he appeared strong, we still have a chance of beating him. All of you resisted temptation, you put your lives on the line for those you love, you stood up to tyranny and sent a demon king packing with rage in his heart.” She walked over to the window and threw open the curtain. Light flooded the room, but whether it was the light of morning or afternoon, none of them could tell. “I think we all deserve a big meal and a drink. Come, friends, we can make our plan once we are eating.”

During their dinner in Mrs Thoreson’s ostentatious dining room the group discovered from her family butler, Mr Stepson, that they had been in the library for five and a half days. Lilian’s stomach dropped when she heard it. Five days worth of training and preparations, lost. She thought back and wondered if refusing to show up for so long had been part of Tauroc’s plan. It would have cost him considerable effort to refuse the summons, which may have explained his hunger and weakness when he finally arrived. Lilian pushed some sprouts around her plate trying not to imagine what Tauroc would be like at full strength.

By the time they had eaten, everyone seemed to be back to their old selves. Doran was regaling the room with a story he had heard from a traveller two years back, about a man who accidentally married three women in one day. Peter was beside himself with laughter and even Mrs Thoreson could not suppress her smile. Only Lilian could not bring herself to enjoy the tale. She could not eat, she could not smile, she could only worry. At one point she felt a hand squeeze hers and looked to her left to see Serena smiling at her. Lilian tried to smile back but gazing into the eyes of her friend only made her feel worse. What had she been thinking? She should have taken the deal. How could they hope to beat three trained assassins, a sorcerer and a demon king with only a few days to prepare?

Lilian found herself standing up. She might have mumbled some excuses but she could not be sure. The next thing she knew she was outside, taking quick, deep, heavy breaths of cold mountain air. She felt like something was sitting on her chest, she had no coat on but still felt hot and bothered. Spouts of breath left her mouth like she was some spluttering teapot. Fritha appeared next to her and licked her hand when she held it out. The familiar sensation calmed her a little but her mind was still filled with dreadful visions. She already blamed herself for letting Safe Fenric stay this long, now she was close to being responsible for the destruction of the town and the deaths of hundreds of its inhabitants.

Her legs sprang into action. It was like her body was trying to get away from her mind. Just walk, it said, keep walking, keep climbing and the thoughts will disappear. Run now, run away from the visions, from the worries. She felt the air rushing past her sweat stained forehead. Fritha was somewhere close by, running as well. Both girl and beast thudded their way through thick banks of snow, slipped on icy stones and clawed their body through the freezing air until they came to an abrupt stop.

A giant stone toad was before them. Small shelves of snow rested like cotton balls on its head and knees. Icicles hung playfully from its toes and Lilian could just about make out the water falling beneath the sheets of layered ice on the rock beneath it. She was hot, bothered and spouting large flumes of air out of her mouth with each gulping breath. She felt like the opposite to the giant toad in every conceivable way. He was big and at peace and she was so small and fighting all the time.

Fritha followed Lilian’s gaze and looked at the Padda stone with a cocked head and a quizzical look. She did not know what to make of it, only that it smelled strange. Not quite like stone, not quite like toads.

“Gorakja,” Lilian spoke between breaths. She used the Padda stone’s real name, the name Mr Attorcop had told her all those years ago when she’d seen him speak to the Padda stone after bottling the lunar essence. “Gorakja!” she repeated, shouting it this time as if raising her voice might somehow make the stone hear her. “He’s gone. Dead. I wasn’t there and I couldn’t help him. What’s worse is that I sent him there. I sent him to follow Sage Fenric and he killed him. Him and that beast Tauroc. They took my friend and I couldn’t do anything.” She could feel hot, heavy tears falling down her cheeks. By the time they reached her chin they were cold little marbles falling from her face and freezing before they hit the snow. “Now they’re coming for Benlunar. For my friends and my family. I’ve been training, fighting, running and learning all I can but… but…” The tears were coming in waves now, as if they’d been waiting to escape for some time. “But we can’t… we’re not strong enough. I am not strong enough. I don’t know why I’m here. I always come here when I feel lost.” Fritha had started to lick Lilian’s hand and paw at her leg. She did not like it when Lilian was distressed. The talking and the comfort from Fritha had reduced the tears to a runny nose, “I think I’ve come here to… to say good bye.”

“Tauroc offered me a deal. And if it looks as though the people of Benlunar are in real danger then… then I’m going to take it. I couldn’t be there for Cromwell, but I can be there for them. I can save Benlunar and I’ll give my life to serving a demon. I’d rather that than see my home destroyed. So…” Lilian looked at the closed eyes of the Padda stone, hoping to gain some peace from its expression, “I will fight, I will do my best. But this may be the last time I get to see you. I wanted to thank you for alerting Cromwell to my presence that night. I don’t know why you did it, but I’m so glad you did. He taught me so much. And now I’m going to put those skills to use. Goodbye Gorakja.”

And with those final words, she turned her back to the giant stone toad and walked back down the mountain.

The next few days saw everyone double their efforts. Serena managed to infiltrate Fenric’s grove again and kept an eye on the progress of the mural. She reported back each evening and did her best to learn about the motivations of everyone she met. Most stayed their because they enjoyed their new community. They had lived in Benlunar for most of their lives and felt the change of scenery and routine to be invigorating. Some were there to be with family, others were truly passionate about Sage Fenric and his teachings. Serena would spend the time walking back to Benlunar pondering about how best to change their minds. Not such an easy thing when neither facts or feelings seemed to matter to anyone. Whenever she dared to suggest that Fenric might be disingenuous in some way, the replies she got were quick and venomous. They had all given so much of their time and even their belongings to him and so how could he be anything other than trustworthy? The whole thing was truly maddening.

Peter spent his days mixing tinctures, poultices and potions. He knew that he had no great talent when it came to fighting or dealing with people. Plants were his world and he’d grown up learning everything he could about all of them. With every twist of the pestle he would hear his mother’s voice in his head, advising him as to proper measurements, methods and precautions. Benlunar in winter was not exactly a flora rich environment, but even in these cold and arid mountains there were natural things that those with the right knowledge could pick, brew, crush or mix into something useful or dangerous. On his first day he bottled pine sap, dried some sneezewort, picked some lotus tubers and generally collected anything and everything that could be put to use in battle or healing.

Doran and Brother Thomas met regularly with the remaining inhabitants of Benlunar. They came up with a shelter and evacuation plan, should things get dangerous over the next few days. It was decided that a direct attempt to warn the residents of the grove of impending danger might cause Fenric to trigger his takeover attempt early and rob them of valuable preparation time. The cellars of the Stave Church were cleared out and provisions were brought inside to give the occupants some sustenance during their time hiding from danger. Most importantly, Brother Thomas made sure to remove any artwork, tapestries or reliefs from the cellars so as to not give Tauroc a window into their hiding place.

Mrs Thoreson and Lilian practised fighting and gloaming. When her mind wasn’t focused on her fears, Lilian found that she could send out her golden light through her feet into the ground and take back the life force of what was there relatively quickly. The sudden and massive influx of power was still a shock to her body but when she focused on Fritha she was still able to guide that power into something useful. Becoming a sort of semi-feinhound person was hugely fun and if Lilian did not have an impending battle to save her town then she might have found herself doing it just for sheer enjoyment. She could slip easily in and out of invisibility, she could hear things just like she could when she first started gloaming only now that heightened sense was joined by another. Her sense of smell became so acute that it was all she could do to not sit down and sniff the air all day. Thankfully, she had Mrs Thoreson to snap her back to reality.

“You have fought these sisters twice now,” the old woman was walking behind Lilian while she was sitting on a rock and focusing on her breathing. They were on the stone shelf that Mr Attorcop had shown Lilian years ago when they’d first met and he was training her in his fighting style, “You must have gained some knowledge during your encounters. Think about them again, study them in your mind. What did you learn?”

Lilian thought back to her fight in the snow and to the brief bar brawl at the Fox and Octopus. She tried her best to remember each and every move as clearly as possible. She saw Tourmaline’s sickle linked chain speeding towards her with pinpoint accuracy. But more than that, she felt the cut in her leg when she was unable to dodge it. It was like this with the other sisters too. When she thought on Hematite’s strange potions she focused more on her own ineptitude than her opponent’s fighting style. When she thought of Spinel, the third and final sister, she felt only fear. The shapeshifter was the only one she had yet to face in real combat and she did not want to experience what her claws and talons were capable of.

Suddenly Lilian felt a sharp pain in the back of her head. Mrs Thoreson had slapped her.

“Ow!” Cried Lilian, “what was that for?”

“I see your face,” Mrs Thoreson was in front of her now, wagging and accusing finger at Lilian, “you’re twitching and struggling. Don’t focus on your faults, focus on their strengths.”

Lilian threw her hands up in frustration, Fritha, who had been snoozing nearby looked up at her with concerned eyes, “Ugh! I can’t! Every time I see them I just get so angry. Their smug faces, their glib voices and…” She stopped herself. She had been about to admit something and was embarrassed.

“And..?” Mrs Thoreson urged her to speak.

“And the fact that they’re better than me. That they can beat me easily. I’m not ready, I’m not strong enough I…” Lilian could feel the familiar heat of frustration growing under her collar.

Mrs Thoreson bent down to meet her eye level, “Lilian,” she said in her calmest, most reassuring tones, “I watched you just the other day threaten a demon. I’ve watched you master magic, run up mountains, swim in freezing waters and tame mythical creatures. I’m not saying fighting the sisters will be easy, it surely won’t, but if I’ve ever met anyone who can beat them, it’s you. And you will not be alone. Calm your mind, focus and see past your own flaws all the way to theirs.”

“But…” Lilian was about to protest and claim that they had no flaws but Mrs Thoreson stopped her.

“They are only human. They work well as a team, granted, but they are not devoid of weaknesses. If you wish to beat them, then you will first need to conquer your own doubts. Honestly my dear, what would Cromwell say?”

The mention of Mr Attorcop’s name felt as though Mrs Thoreson had slapped her again. Lilian thought for a moment and then smiled, “Miss Lausanne, you are going about this in an entirely backwards manner,” Lilian did her best impression of Mr Attorcop’s sombre and serious voice. They both laughed at the imitation and then fell silent while they pondered the reality of his death and how much easier this mission would be if he were there with them. Lilian fought back a tear and shook herself, “you’re right,” she looked at Mrs Thoreson and clenched her fists. “Cromwell would be ashamed of me. I can do this, because I have to do this. In fact…” remembering Cromwell Attorcop was starting to unlock things in Lilian’s mind, “the fact that they know they can beat me,” she said, “is a weakness.

It will put them off guard. Their arrogance is my advantage. Tourmaline will strike first, she’s the leader and she’ll want to take me out herself.”

“What of her sickle?” Asked Mrs Thoreson.

Lilian shook her head, “She won’t use it. She’s already beaten me with a sickle and sword, she’ll want to use something else. She’ll want to show me that she can win using any and every weapon in her arsenal. She’ll come back to the sickle once she starts to lose because she knows she can win with it.”

“But you can beat the chain and sickle.”

Lilian’s head wobbled as she considered the fight in her mind’s eye. Finally, she said, “yes. Yes I think I can. I need to shift my approach, adapt the Atarap style into a more fluid approach, to compensate for the weapon’s reach. Close the distance quickly.”

“And what of Hematite, the potion user?” Mrs Thoreson was testing her now, making her shadow box the three sisters all at once.

“She’s tricky,” Lilian responded.

“Why?

“Because I don’t know what her bottles are capable of. I’ll need you and Peter to focus on her. Avoid any projectiles and disable her hands and arms as best you can. Or her eyes, keep her from seeing and she’ll be unable to intervene. Keep your distance though, she can only reach as far as she can throw so you should be safe if you stay far away.”

“Ah,” Mrs Thoreson interjected again, “but there’s a third sister who will chase me. A shapeshifter.”

Lilian nodded and thought for a long time. While she was thinking Fritha padded over and decided to sit down next to her. Lilian absent mindedly placed her hand on Fritha’s chest and felt the big beast's chest rise and fall with each breath. Finally, Lilian said, “she’ll hide. I think it costs her a lot to transform, or else she would do it more often and for longer. I think she will hide and she will fight only when she has to. We’ll know we’re winning when she comes out. But she’ll be swift and deadly. Once we see her we probably won’t need to engage, just keep running, or hiding or dodging and she’ll get tired. Although, obviously, I can’t be sure.”

Lilian looked up at Mrs Thoreson who was beaming with pride. She took Lilian’s hand and squeezed it, “you’re ready.”

Episode 67

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

Later that evening, after Lilian had learned about the demon king Tauroc from her father, she left her home and headed for Mrs Thoreson’s place at the north end of town. Her and Fritha were the last to arrive. Mrs Thoreson, Serena, Peter, Brother Thomas and Doran were all there and busy preparing the space for the night’s activities. They were in the library and were moving furniture back against the wall so that there was more floor space. The various rugs and carpets were rolled up and moved as well to reveal a beautiful dark wood floor. Doran gazed at the space with trepidation, “I feel bad taking chalk to such a well kept floor.” He held a chalk rock in his right hand and was looking nervously down at the floor.

Mrs Thoreson laughed, “This floor belongs to me and so I say it’s alright. Besides, it’s not the state of the floor that worries me most.” Lilian walked into the space at that moment and gathered them all together.

“Sorry I’m late, I’ve just been talking with my father. I was telling him about how frustrating this whole experience has been, about how no one at the grove believes me about Sage Fenric. He said that I reminded him of Freddr Horbling.” At the mention of that name, everyone’s faces lit up a little and they shared hopeful looks. “He’d never told me the story but apparently it was quite a popular one when he was a boy.” She told them all the story as quickly as she could, making sure to cover all the important details. The story did not get interesting however until the end, “It’s not really about Horbling, it’s about the traveller. He employs a demon to stop Severen from interfering.”

At that point Doran grumbled something about old stories and the way they portrayed travellers but Lilian kept going, not wishing to be distracted, “The demon we’re dealing with apparently is the only one strong enough to stop a god, it was trapped many years ago but it can’t be killed. It’s portrayed as a bull or a cow in pictures and stories.” Lilian had a hard time imagining a cow being particularly scary but then she remembered something one of the mercenaries from the hundred she’d employed two years ago had said. The soldier called Solveig had the helmet of a cow and asked Lilian if she knew how many people cows killed every year. Lilian had been shocked by the answer.

“What’s its name?” asked Serena, “Maybe we’ve heard of it.”

Lilian looked at the group and repeated the demon’s name, “Tauroc,” she said. She watched three faces fall at that moment. Mrs Thoreson, Brother Thomas and Doran all looked as though someone had just told them their dinner had been burned.

“Tauroc?” Peter repeated, “Never heard of it.”

Lilian looked at Brother Thomas who, judging by the colour of his face, seemed to be the most disturbed of the three older people.

“I… Well… I mean he’s not real though. So…” Brother Thomas stuttered and mumbled his way through a reply. He seemed to Lilian like he was getting further away and she noticed that his feet were walking back slightly. Strangely, he didn’t seem to be aware of what he was doing.

“I’m afraid demon’s are very real Brother Thomas,” said Mrs Thoreson, “Even Tauroc.” She began to look around with new eyes, “We should get everything out of here, ward the doors and windows, shut the curtains and lock the doors. Quickly now.” The group set to work. Brother Thomas seemed glad of the distraction but his face had not quite regained its original colour by the time they finished. During all of this Doran and Mrs Thoreson set about marking the floor and walls with chalk. They drew reference from several books and came to more than one argument as to which sigils they should be using. After an hour and a half the room was completely empty and the walls and floor looked like a thousand spinning tops with chalk bottoms had been let loose. Lilian examined the sigils in awe. Doran was clearly not just a talented story teller, but an artist as well. He had a deft hand and an eye for detail.

“Careful,” he said, seeing Lilian was about to touch one of the chalk markings on the wall, “even one broken line could spell disaster. Last thing we want is this Tauroc to think he can walk out of here.”

Peter was admiring the patterns in the centre of the dark floor, “so, these will keep him in this room?”

“That’s the idea,” replied Mrs Thoreson, “But the keeping is not going to be our biggest problem. Doran has done a fine job with these but what we must do now is work out how to summon him here. This could take quite some time. Maybe several days.”

Lilian’s stomach dropped, “Days?” she exclaimed, “But…”

Mrs Thoreson shot her look that quashed her small rebellion in an instant, “I know,” she said, “We do not have days. But I believe that this is the best way to tackle this. Draw Tauroc out and ask him what kind of bargain he has with Fenric. Then we find a way to match or best it, pushing Fenric out of the deal. Are we in agreement?”

It was clear to Lilian that Mrs Thoreson was tired and had run out of patience. No one said anything out loud, they just nodded at her when she looked at them. Brother Thomas took a few seconds longer to nod than the rest of them, but in the end, he confirmed that it was indeed their best plan to date.

“So what happens next?” Asked Serena, keen and ready to start.

“Next we read this passage from this book,” she pointed to the book in her hand which was bound with dark leather and judging from the yellowed pages, clearly very old. Not for the first time that evening Lilian wondered how Mrs Thoreson came to know so much about demons, but then she realised that she was herself learning those exact skills at that very moment. “It lasts for about two pages and should be said at least once every ten minutes,” Mrs Thoreson continued, “it does not always have to be the same person so we can take shifts. Brother Thomas and Peter, would you kindly fetch us some food and water from the kitchen. Lilian, I want you to watch me make the first few readings, you’re taking over after me. Mr Doran, check the sigils again.” She took a second then to pause and look about the space. She reminded Lilian in that moment of a cliff diver, analysing the height and trajectory of the fall before taking the leap. “This is not going to be fun, or easy. If at any point you wish to walk away or you see something you really do not like, the rest of us will not judge you. But once we start, we do not stop. Not for anything. At least one must remain. Opening a door to the demon world means that anything can get through, we must act as callers, wardens and judges and we do not stop until we get what we want. A demon will sense our urgency and keep us waiting. They will sense our fear and play tricks on us. They will know we need them and they will do everything they can to make us pay for that need. We are stronger and better than them as long as we stick together. Do we understand?”

Once again, everyone nodded. But this time, that agreement came less readily. After a few nervous looks, the group set to work.

The first five hours went by without any sign of activity. By the third hour everyone had learned the incantation by heart. The summoning words were in an old and forgotten language and made a sort of poem that did not rhyme and that made little sense when directly translated. They made sure to always have two people awake and on watch for every third of an hour. One person would recite and the other would make sure each word was said correctly. The last thing they wanted was to go ten minutes having said a wrong or mispronounced word. Lilian did not know what would happen if that came to pass but seeing as they were dealing with demons, she was in no hurry to find out. They slept and ate in shifts and passed the awake time playing silent word games in a corner of the room.

After six hours had passed Lilian went to the window and looked out across the empty road. It was Doran’s turn to recite the words and he was being observed by Brother Thomas. Mrs Thoreson came over to the window to stand by Lilian. Lilian’s eyes narrowed at the view. There was something strange about it.

“It’s still so dark, surely the Sun is going to rise any minute now,” she said in a low voice.

Mrs Thoreson shook her head, “Doubtful,” she said, “we’re between worlds now. We will not see the sun again for some time.”

Mrs Thoreson went to relieve Doran and Lilian went back to staring out of the window. She had assumed that since they hadn’t seen anything strange that the summoning wasn’t working yet. But the darkness outside had a strange quality to it. The spell had started without her noticing.

At the ninth hour people’s patience started to wear thin. Serena snapped at Doran accusing him of stealing a bun she had made. When he denied the allegation Serena was forced to conclude that the bun may never have existed. More things started going missing and at one point in a haze of fatigue Lilian could have sworn she saw pictures forming in the patterns on the wallpaper. Every time someone lost there temper, or became incredible hungry after having only just eaten, or claimed to see lights in the top corners of the room Mrs Thoreson would bring them all back to reality with a stern word or a harsh look.

“Pay it no attention,” became her favourite phrase and she said it often. Lilian heard it so much that was prepared to shout at Mrs Thoreson to shut her mouth the next time she said it. But the old woman was prepared for her and as soon as Lilian got up from her seat on the floor and stomped over to where Mrs Thoreson was standing the town elder turned to stare at her and whispered emphatically, “Pay it no attention.” Lilian heard the words as if for the first time and shook herself out of her angered state and went over to where Fritha was sleeping on the floor.

Lilian lost count of the hours. It had not been a day, but it felt like it had been a week. Everyone was tired and irritable and the sound of the poem felt like listening to a child playing a broken fiddle. Just when she was becoming convinced that nothing would ever happen, Lilian stood up in shock, surprised by a memory and a thought combined. Serena looked up at her from the floor.

“Paintings,” said Lilian.

“What?” Serena asked, just as bewildered as the rest of them. Even Peter who’s turn it was to recite the words glanced over at her with a look of confusion.

“Paintings. It’s trapped in paintings. That’s why there were so many in the church, that’s why Fenric is having everyone paint a mural, Tauroc is living in paintings.” Without another word or explanation she ran out of the room and headed straight for the dining room. She knew there were a few works of art in there and she was looking for one she could easily lift off the wall. The rest of the house was just as dark as the library and she had to strain her eyes to find a painting of a house in the country. The small red brick building was in the midground and surrounded by trees. Lilian had no idea if her theory would work but this painting seemed as good as any to test it out.

She ran back to the library and leaned the painting up against the far wall, surrounded by a semicircle of Doran’s sigils. She turned back to the group who were looking at her as though she had just brought in a rabid animal, “Just trust me, it can’t hurt, can it?” She directed the question to Mrs Thoreson who shrugged. Everyone went back to their various business and games and Peter redoubled his efforts in repeating the poem correctly.

Lilian stared at the painting. She ate occasionally and she repeated the poem correctly when it was her turn, but for the most part she did not take her eyes off of the pictured scene. She began to feel like she knew every brick in that house, every leaf that made up the trees around it. It was a good painting and she could see why Mrs Thoreson would have it hanging in her home. She particularly liked the mist enveloping the distant mountains. But try as she might to see something there, nothing about it changed.

“I think it was a good idea,” said Serena. It was a couple of hours after the painting had been brought into the room and she had just played her third winning hand in Four Ladies against Lilian. “Like you say, it’s worth a try. That’s another game for me. You’re normally better than this.”

“Hm? Oh sorry,” said Lilian, “I’m just distracted.” Lilian looked back down at the floor where the cards lay scattered and couldn’t believe how she’d missed Serena’s ten in her last hand.

“I understand. I think everyone is a bit… distracted. It’s been an odd night. If it has just been a night. Still, if this is what it takes for me to beat you at four ladies then maybe we should summon demons more often.”

“Hmm,” Lilian answered absent mindedly, not really acknowledging the joke.

Serena turned back to the painting, “What if we tried a different pain…” Suddenly, she stopped talking. Lilian was still examining her losing hand and so failed to notice, “Were those cows always there?”

Lilian looked up and saw Serena staring fixedly at the painting at the other end of the room. It took her a couple of seconds to register what she had said but as soon as her mind cleared she whipped round to stare at the painting. There were cows there. In the field. Little dots of brown and white just down past the house. Lilian looked at them with wide eyes. Had they always been there? Surely yes. She just hadn’t noticed them. She counted four of them. There were four cows in the painting. She said the words to herself in her mind so that she could be sure of them if she ever doubted herself again. There were four cows in the painting. There were four cows. There… Lilian rubbed her eyes trying desperately to chase the sleep from her heavy eyelids. Looking back at the painting she counted the cows again. Five. There were five cows in the painting. Just like there had always been.

MUSIC - summoning the demon king

No. Something wasn’t right. She remembered six cows, not five. Where had the last cow gone? Or had it been three? Were the number of cows increasing or decreasing? Lilian stood up. By now the others had heard what Serena had said and were trying to do their own cow calculations. Mrs Thoreson was repeating the words but even she was keeping her eyes on the painting in the far end of the room.

Lilian’s mind was becoming increasingly foggy. She knew that the cows were important, but she could no longer remember why. Why was everyone just staring at these two cows? They weren’t moving. They were big and well painted and had always been in the foreground of the painting. Why had she brought this painting of a cow into the library anyway? Ah yes, she remembered, they were summoning something. A demon. So why did they need this painting of a large brown cow? Was it a cow? Or a bull? She couldn’t tell from the angle it was painted. It was just a large bull’s head, staring at them all from inside the frame. Lilian had been looking at this painting for hours now as if she was expecting the bull to blink or something. Why was she not looking away? Why not go back to the game of cards. Something was happening but she could not think what. Lilian’s heart began to beat quickly, everyone in the room was suddenly transfixed by this stupid painting of a solemn looking bull. Brother Thomas was walking closer to it, Lilian wanted to join him. She didn’t want the church Brother to obscure her view of it. It was such a beautiful painting after all, it would be a shame not to be able to see it. Lilian became suddenly aware of the amount of noise in the room. Was it raining outside? It sounded like the windows were being thrashed with lashing of the heaviest rain. It was a sound like the ocean, like a blaring white noise. Lilian nearly put her hands up to block her ears; it was so raucous. She could no longer hear Mrs Thoreson repeating the words. How long had it been raining like this? Lilian glanced at the window. As soon as the outside world came into view, the sound stopped.

There was no rain or water on the window panes. And beyond them the street was bleak and quiet. Lilian was glad of the quiet. The noise had been bothering her even though she could not tell when it had begun. She looked back at the painting. It was the painting of a farmhouse in the middle distance, surrounded by trees. In the background were some misty mountains. Everything was quiet and Lilian felt calm.

The breath came from behind her. From behind all of them. Lilian could tell from the deepness of the sound that it was coming from something with large lungs. Fear began to creep slowly into her body. Normally she would expect Fritha to make her fear sensing sound, but the feinhound was busy growling at something behind her. Lilian felt a bead of cold sweat begin to fall down her forehead from her hairline. Slowly, she turned around.

Somehow it had gotten into the room. She had not seen it enter, she had not heard its steps. But it was there, at the far end of the library, shovelling the last few pieces of a pie that it had found near the back. At first, Lilian thought it was a man, a large man no doubt. At least eight feet tall with a back as wide as the side of a small house. Each muscle stood out defined and strong. Its arms were like tree trunks, with deft and dexterous fingers, men’s fingers, at the ends of them. It wore no shirt, but its lower half was covered with a wrapping, a patterned green and blue material fastened by a large pin on its waist. What stopped Lilian thinking of it as just a large man, was its head. Sitting squarely on top of its massive shoulders was the head of a bull. White with brown patches, horned and horrible. Its big lips slapped their way around the pie and Lilian could see its long tongue work its way out of its mouth to eagerly taste the contents of its hand. It was relaxed, paying no attention to the people surrounding it and even though it shot Fritha an occasional look with one of its big brown eyes the feinhound did not seem to bother it.

Presently, It spoke, “Good pies these, have thee more?” Its voice was low and gruff. It looked from Serena to Peter, to Lilian. It snorted and repeated the question, “Have thee more?” Lilian snapped out of her daze and was about to speak, about to offer it another when Mrs Thoreson stepped forward.

“You can have another later, and more besides. You’ve taken one without asking already but I’m willing to let that go if you help us.”

Tauroc, the demon king, looked over at her as if noticing her for the first time. Lilian watched its wide brow twist into a scowl.

“I smell more. I’ll take more,” it uttered the words like a threat.

Mrs Thoreson stepped forwards and her tone became harsh, “You’ll take what is given and be thankful.”

The demon stared at the old woman and she stared back defiant. For a brief moment Lilian thought they might break out into a fight but after a few tense seconds Tauroc rolled its big eyes, “Very well,” it conceded. Then quickly its right hand shot out towards Mrs Thoreson as if it was trying to strangle her from ten feet away. Mrs Thoreson seemed gripped by an invisible force. Lilian thought she was in pain and she was seconds away from intervening when the strangest thing happened. Tauroc whipped its hand back and in that second Mrs Thoreson transformed. The deep lines and wrinkles in her face fell away. She stood up more straight, her clothes became baggy as she lost weight all within a moment. It was as if the demon had snatched a cloth that had been covering her. Lilian was looking at a young Mrs Thoreson, no more than thirty years old.

“There,” said Tauroc, “now where is that second meal?” it went back to sniffing the air and looking about the room. Lilian could not take her eyes of Mrs Thoreson.

“Foolish imp,” the now young woman said, “I did not ask for this.”

“Thou did not have to, it is what you all wish for. I give it gladly. Fifty years for some food. I’ve given less for more.”

Mrs Thoreson stomped her foot and began to shout, “Give me back my years, this instant or we shall cast you back into the painting and burn it, we shall burn your church, burn your books and I shall be spending these fifty years making sure no one ever speaks your name again. Give me back my years.”

Tauroc paused. Lilian caught sight of his big lip curl into a snide smile. He shrugged and flicked his fingers back at Mrs Thoreson. Her age fell back upon her. Her cheeks were dragged down, her waist filled her dress and the skin on her hands loosened to the point that Lilian was familiar with. It was as if a lifetime of experience had been draped over her body. Lilian could feel her hand begin to shake. She had seen her share of power in her life, but this was something else. Fritha, sensing fear came over to stand beside her. The size and weight of the feinhound leaning against her did bring some comfort and Lilian was able to focus again.

Presently the demon king stood up. At his full height his ears almost touched the ceiling. The bulk of him took up so much space Lilian was glad they'd removed all the furniture. He looked down at all of them individually and curled his lip again.

"Quite the gathering here. Pride, vanity, fear and guilt. What are we celebrating?"

This last question was directed at Lilian who summoned all her bravery and stepped forward. For some reason, she was reminded of her first meeting with Bried and her gang. Her and Mr Attorcop had gone to see the head of Freedos' crime syndicate in the hopes of finding information. They had needed to extract information without letting on what they really wanted. As soon as a demon senses what you really want, it's sure to come with a price.

"So this is Sage Fenric's puppet? I must say, I thought I would be more impressed." She directed this statement casually to Peter who was looking at her as though she'd lost her mind. Tauroc glared at her. Lilian could tell by the tension of the muscles in his neck that she'd hit a nerve. Good, she thought, anger leads to mistakes.

"Fenric? That fool worships me as a God. If there were puppetry, twould be he with strings on his back.”

Lilian scoffed, “Save us the theatrics. We already know the nature of your relationship and what it is he has you running around doing.”

Tauroc raised a furry eyebrow, “Well then, if thou hast it all figured, why summon me here? I am not famous for my wit at parties.” The demon king laughed, a low and grunting chuckle that shook several loose panels on the wall.

Lilian did not want to paint herself into a corner, but she knew that eventually they would get down to brass tax, “you’re here on our calling and you will be banished when we’ve done with you. Tell us now, what is Fenric’s price? And are you willing to have it matched?”

The atmosphere in the room became very close. Tauroc large eyes flicked between Lilian and the rest of the congregation. He was probably not used to being ordered around by a young woman. It was as though he was expecting someone else to interrupt, for the group to fall down fighting. But they were steadfast and Tauroc was after all a demon, and demon’s are not to be trusted.

“Matched?” the demon repeated, “neigh young one, I may be duplicitous but even the demon king has some standard. I may yet be persuaded but my price for betrayal is double than that for my service.”

Lilian pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, “We shall see,” she said softly. A piece of advice Mr Attorcop had once given her flashed in her head, ‘no deal is always better than a bad deal’. If worse came to worst she would banish the demon and take the loss. They already had the suspicion that Fenric had employed Tauroc confirmed, now it was just about making the most out of the interaction.

Presently, the demon in the room seemed to become momentarily distracted. He glanced towards the window for just a second. Lilian sensed the distraction. “Are we keeping you from something?” She asked.

Tauroc looked back at the window, “what is this place?” he asked, and then walked to the window and gazed out at the strange, dark version of Benlunar.

“This is our home,” replied Lilian, “this is why you’re here. Fenric has come and plans to use you in its undoing. We’re going to stop that from happening.” Lilian had expected her words to have more of an effect. But the demon king just kept staring out into the darkness.

“Strange,” he muttered, “something out there. I sense it.”

“It’s our home, our community,” Brother Thomas suddenly spoke up, finding courage from within the depths of his faith, “the love here is what you sense, it gives us strength, strength to deal with the likes of Fenric and you demon.” He practically spat the last word. Lilian was glad to see him overcome his fear, but worried that their guest might be growing tired of being disrespected.

Tauroc looked at him out of the corner of his eye, as if a cat in the corner of the room had just woken up and stretched, “Perhaps,” he whispered. Then, his body shifted and he turned back to Lilian, deeming her to be the serious one. He rolled his boulder shoulders and flicked his ears about like he was batting away flies. “Thou,” he said, walking towards Lilian, “Timeo-canis electi. Thou talkst of deals, then let’s have it.” The cow man walked back towards Lilian, sending shock waves through the wooden floor with every step. “I tire of talk. If Fenric is here then your town is good as dead. He does the bulk of the work, I just give him some power to convince or trick the influential. If you’re all fighting him, then you’ve more power than you think. If he summons me, I’m bound to do his bidding, but it is a rare occurrence.”

Lilian tried to take this all in and strategise, but it was a lot all at once. She tried to formulate a clever response but was too desperate to ask the question she’d been burning to ask from the start. She fell to temptation, “What?” She said, “What does Fenric get you to do if he summons you to a town?”

The demon king’s bovine features twisted into a flat toothed smile, “Destroy it.”

Episode 66

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

It is a commonly known fact that when you are waiting for several things to happen and you’ve already waited quite some time, and then you wait a little while longer suddenly everything you’ve been waiting for happens all at once. It is unknown whether the gods or fate do this intentionally, as if giving you everything you want all at once is meant to teach you some cosmic lesson about greed or something. Or if desire itself works like a sort of dam, piling things behind a wall of time until it becomes overwhelmed and everything spills over and then it is you who becomes overwhelmed. For Lilian Lausanne this moment came four days after her encounter with the twisted sisters in The Fox and Octopus. She had spent that time adhering to Mrs Thoreson’s strict training regimen which consisted of running up hills, bathing in freezing water and practising gloaming. Mrs Thoreson was a more patient instructor than Mr Attorcop but this meant that she tended to take the long way round when explaining or demonstrating complicated things. Her mastery of gloaming was unquestionable and Lilian badgered her endlessly for more demonstrations, but most of the time she refused.

“If I keep showing you my method, then you will be influenced too much by me. You must find your own way. Try again!” Lilian felt as though she had hit a wall and had to remind herself that she had come quite far in the short time she’d been working with Mrs Thoreson. She no longer fainted when she reabsorbed the golden light of gloaming, she could slip quickly and easily into a state of focus that filled her body with strength and her mind with sensory information. She had tried to access the lunar essence in her wrist only once and although she had succeeded in making it glow she did not fully become the night being she had been in the palace when fighting Nicholas Telson.

At around midday on that day she became frustrated. This was happening quite regularly now and each time it did she would feel the time until Sage Fenric’s big event slipping away which would make her feel even worse. She had managed to reabsorb the golden light and accessed her focused state but she could only maintain it for a few minutes before having to shout the remaining energy out of her body.

“What are you expecting to happen?” Asked Mrs Thoreson.

“I don’t know!” Replied Lilian, “Something different, something big!” She threw her arms in the air and walked away from the Padda Stone pond where she had been practising. She heaved a heavy sigh and dropped to a crouch. Her head was pounding and she felt like a failure.

“Lilian,” Mrs Thoreson walked over to her and lowered her voice, “Do you remember what I said a few days ago about choice? You are filling up your body with power but you are expecting it to decide what to do with it on its own? What do you need? What do you want?”

Lilian thought on the question for the umpteenth time that week. She shook her head, “I need power, I need focus, stealth and the ability to fight quickly. I need to be able to protect my town and my friends.”

Mrs Thoreson nodded, “Power, focus and loyalty. Good. And what do you think of when you think of these qualities? What do you associate with them in your mind?”

Lilian took a moment to think. Her mind gave her a quick idea but it felt strange or silly somehow. So she searched some more and thought about her friends, about Kilde, even about Mr Attorcop. But for some reason, none of them seemed to embody all those qualities as much as her initial thought.

“Go on,” Mrs Thoreson encouraged her.

Lilian overcame her shyness and her fear of sounding stupid and admitted her initial thought, “I suppose,” she began, “when I think about those things, about strength and loyalty, I think about Fritha.” She glanced over at the feinhound who was resting on a large rock nearby, her eyes were closed and Lilian watched her stomach rhythmically rise and fall. She smiled. The strange beast had come into her life just near here, just a few yards away where she and Mr Attorcop watched her swim towards them from across the pond. From that moment on she had been by her side. Exploring, hiding and even fighting with her. Lilian had watched the feinhound take on enemies that outnumbered her many times. She’d shared victories and losses, nursing her back to health when Telson and his men had come after her in Freedos. Fritha had always been there and she had always inspired her.

Mrs Thoreson nodded, sagely, “good,” she said, “now, try again and when you have the light back in you, think of Fritha and let the light take her shape.”

Lilian stood up and took a deep breath.

She went back over to the water’s edge, but this time instead of staring out over the ponds, she turned to the right and moved her body to face Fritha. She took the same stance she always took, an adapted Atarap ready stance, her right foot in front and her left foot back taking slightly more of her weight. She raised her hands slightly, closed her fingers and twisted her palms down. She found this helped her to guide the light that she let out from the soles of her feet. She grounded herself in the rock and mud, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. In just a couple of seconds she was back in focus with her heart’s golden light shining brightly in the dark space of gloaming. She guided it down and out into the ground through her feet and watched it consume and take on the energy of all the various minerals and roots around her. Her practise had got her to the point where she could displace an area of light roughly the size of a large dinner plate out around the base of her feet. She watched it explore the earth like ink spilled on a pebble beach. When she was satisfied with how much she would be able to take back without feinting, a little more each time, she relaxed and watched it zip quickly back into her body. Just before it was all gone from the ground, at the very last moment before she had to focus on not letting the power overwhelm her, Lilian opened her eyes and looked directly at Fritha. She was also sure to have the feinhound front and centre in her mind while she attempted to control and withstand the massive rush of power entering her stomach, chest, head and every limb, finger and toe. Fritha must have sensed the attention because at that moment, she woke up, raised her head and looked directly back at Lilian. The two friends shared eye contact for a few seconds. And then, just at the point where the gloaming light would normally become unmanageable Lilian began to experience something different.

The power in her body did not make her sick or like she couldn’t breathe. Instead it began to spread all over her body like a comforting warmth, as if she was lowering herself into a perfectly judged bath. Not too hot but nowhere near cold. Lilian felt that she could breathe easily and freely and that she even found herself enjoying the warm sensation. She let it spread all over her and knew somehow at the back of her mind that it was trying to change her. She did not fight the change, she let the warmth into her muscle fibres, in the pores of her skin and the follicles that made up her hair. Slowly, the dull cloudy day began to transform all around her. The sounds and smells of the mountain became sharp. She could hear a bird flapping its wings at the top of a tree, she could smell a mole sleeping underground nearby. It was a little like the times before in Freedos when she had explored the city at night after practising gloaming, but this time it was so much more powerful, and within her control. If something was too loud her ears would automatically shift away from it without her having to focus on dampening the sound. If something smelled interesting she could turn her nose to it and breathe in deeply. She looked at Mrs Thoreson and did just this. She could smell what the old woman had eaten that morning, there were some crumbs on her shirt that stood out like bright stains against the musty dust smell of her clothes. She could smell other things too, like where Mrs Thoreson had been walking, what she had stepped in on the way here and… and… Lilian breathed in some more, there were knew smells here, smells that she could not even describe using references from her own experience. It smelled the way pride felt. But that was too strange, one could not smell emotions surely.

Suddenly, Lilian stepped forward, wanting to gain more information and something else caught her attention. Her steps were light and quick. And when she looked down the ground seemed to be further away from her than normal. Had she grown taller just now? Lilian nearly gasped then as her eyes fell on her hands. They were… different. Her fingers would longer and her nails were dark and sharp. What arrested her most was her skin. It seemed to be covered in some kind of fur. The strands glistened when they caught the light and cycled between various colours. Lilian watched the back of her hand go from azure blue to dark black and then jade green all within a few moments. She rushed over to the edge of the pond and looked down into the water at her own reflection.

“Seven heavens…” she whispered.

She heard Mrs Thoreson chuckle behind her, “Indeed!” she said, coming closer. Even Fritha got up from her nap to come and have a look at what Lilian had become.

“I look like Fritha,” Lilian could not help but say the fact out loud. The eyes staring back at her from the pond were bright yellow with dark, slitted pupils. Her nose and jaw had descended a little and her ears were markedly more pointy. The fur was all over her face as well which was by far the most alarming new feature. Looking at herself in the water’s surface she realised that she was no longer all human, but not one hundred percent animal. She was somewhere in between. She felt a pang of sadness when she found herself wishing that she could show this to Mr Attorcop. Putting those feelings aside for a moment she turned back to Mrs Thoreson.

“This feels incredible. I can smell everything, and the sounds all around me are crystal clear.” She began hopping from one foot to another, “and I’ve got all this energy! I want to run and jump and swim and smell and hide and kick and…”

Mrs Thoreson interrupted her, “So go!” Lilian took a second to gather herself and then, she was off.

She ran up the stones on the side of the Padda Stone kicking off her shoes, which had become inexplicably small, as she went. Her newly clawed feet gripped the slippery stones perfectly and she felt no trepidation as she scaled the rocks. She reached the top pond within a few moments and looked back at Fritha running up the hill to join her. Together they sprang into motion, racing up the mountain and through the snow like icicles down a drain pipe. Lilian felt the wind whip through her hair, stopped to smell a pine tree which shone like candlelight, dove into a plunge pool under a waterfall nearby and barely felt any colder than she did on dry land. Cold was not even something she considered now, her body temperature regulated easily by her fur covered skin. Finally she hopped from rock to rock down the river and jumped onto the head of the Padda Stone. There, looking out over the landscape with Benlunar in the foreground and the valley stretching out into infinity Lilian took a deep breath and shouted. It was a loud and long shout, more like a howl really. It was not quite an animal’s howl, she still had her human voice, but she didn’t care. This feeling, this new body it was all so much. For the first time in weeks, she felt very happy and what’s more, she felt hopeful. And that good feeling would continue when she climbed back down to where Mrs Thoreson was and saw Serena and Peter there waiting for her with some very interesting news.

“Lilian!” Peter exclaimed when he saw her, “you look… different.”

Lilian laughed, “Ha! Yes you could say that. I feel different too. I feel strong and quick and…” Lilian’s dark nose suddenly twitched and her attention fell upon the hessian bag by Serena’s side, “ooh,” she said, “have you got pastries?”

Serena glanced down at her side, “oh, yes! We just picked some up from a baker in town. He seemed very happy to see us, probably glad of the business. But wait…” she shook her head, as if just remembering the real reason she was here. By now Fritha had smelt the pastries too and was busy trying to stick her nose in the bag. “No Fritha, not for you,” said Serena before adding, “Lilian, I’m sorry to interrupt your morning and your training but we’ve got some news.”

“No need to be sorry,” Mrs Thoreson walked towards them from near the Padda Stone carrying Lilian’s shoes, “as you can see, Lilian has made some excellent progress today.”

Lilian smiled at her and then closed her eyes, took a deep breath and relaxed her muscles. The image of a waterfall sprang into her mind and she watched the power leave her body and return to the air and earth around her. She began to feel chilly again and when she opened her eyes and looked at her hands, she saw that they were back to her normal, small hands with her dirty fingernails and pale skin. She smiled and went to put on her shoes. She thought that returning to normal would feel bad, like she had lost something or lost access to the hidden world of sounds and smells around her, but she actually enjoyed being back to her normal self. It was like putting on a pair of old boots after trying on a fancy leather dress shoe. And it felt good knowing that she had access to that world anytime she wanted.

“There we go,” said Lilian, slipping on her second shoe, “now, what did you want to tell me?”

Serena and Peter shared a look, a look of barely contained excitement, Peter motioned for Serena to speak, “Lilian,” she said, “I think I may have solved the riddle.”

Half an hour later they were back in the Fox and Octopus. Lilian had insisted on getting out of the snow and going to find Doran and Brother Thomas before hearing what Serena had to say. Mrs Thoreson had decided to join them which was a rare treat and once everyone had ordered drinks and food the six of them fell silent and listened to what Serena had to say.

“Think of Tellis in Dermador. Treyant in Custer and then remember Horbling. It’s strong but loves a bargain. Then all that’s left is Brava’s army. It all started when I considered everything we know about the characters and stories from the riddle,” Serena reflexively reached up to touch her shoulder, Lilian had almost forgotten that the scars were still there. “That’s nothing unusual,” she continued, “I’ve been doing that for days. What was different this time was thinking about them in the particular order that Cromwell wrote them down. It’s like you said Lilian, it’s a set of instructions. So that’s how I treated it.” Serena reached down and pulled out a piece of parchment from her hessian bag. She then got out an ink well and a crow feather quill and began to sketch out a plan. “The first story we need to consider is about Marian Tellis. Hers is a tale about the sculpture she makes coming to life. I kept wracking my brains for signs of sculptures or statues we might have seen or heard about from Sage Fenric’s grove. But when I went there the other day I couldn’t find anything of the sort. So then I thought, well, what if it’s not just sculptures, what if it’s just art in general.” Serena scribbled the words, ‘art’ and ‘life’ on the parchment. “This would make a lot more sense as we saw a huge amount of artwork in that strange underground church. So…” Serena drew an arrow out from the words and then wrote the word ‘servant’. “The next section is about the play The Gilded Mirror where a Lady and a servant swap places. The head of the house is called Lady Agatha but Mr Attorcop did not write her name. He said ‘Treyant in Custer’ instead. So he wants to consider the servant.” She underlined the word on the page and then continued. “The next story we haven’t figured out yet, the one about Horbling.” She put a question mark on the page and then moved on, “but we know the ‘it’ probably refers to whatever it is that Fenric is serving. Well, we don’t know that for sure but we can assume, seeing as he says ‘it’s strong’ and we know that whatever we’re dealing with is probably very powerful. Finally we’ve got Brava’s army. We know that that story is about a king who surrounds himself by powerful warriors.” She looked up from the page where she had written the word ‘bodyguards’ and smiled at Lilian, “sound familiar?”

Lilian did not need to think hard, “he’s talking about the sisters.”

Serena and Peter nodded, “But it’s good news,” added Peter, “tell her what you worked out,” he looked at Serena with such a proud look she might as well just have given birth to their first child. Serena blushed at the attention.

“Well I was just playing with the order of things really and I noticed that it all seems a little backwards. Think about it, when you go to storm a castle or confront an enemy, you would assume you fight the soldiers or in this case, bodyguards first right?” Lilian nodded, “Well then why put them last in the riddle? I think, that whatever it is we think is the problem, isn’t the real problem.” Lilian was starting to get confused.

Thankfully Doran was the one to ask the question, “I’m sorry Serena, you’ve lost me. Our problem isn’t a problem?”

“No. Well, yes. Hang on. Look, we all think this big scary thing that Fenric is working for is going to be our main issue. We’re solving riddles, learning everything we can and running in circles trying to find out what it is and how to defeat it. But what if that’s not the massive problem we think it is? Look,” she referred everyone back to the parchment in front of her. “The art comes to life. But the servant and Lady, or the master, swap places. It’s strong but loves a bargain, so we offer it a bargain and then all that’s left is the bodyguards. Lilian,” she looked at Lilian with a serious expression and finally delivered the news she had been waiting on, “I don’t think we have to defeat this thing. I just think we need to offer it a better deal than Fenric is. It lives in art, we know that. So we might be able to find it there and speak to it. Once we give it something it wants, it won’t be a problem. Then we just have to beat the sisters, which I know won’t be easy, but it sure beats killing a demigod or a demon or something.”

Lilian leaned back in her chair and considered everything she’d just heard. True she would rather fight human beings than whatever this thing was, but something wasn’t sitting right with her. “But what could we offer it? I don’t want to work for the thing that killed Mr Attorcop.”

Now Serena looked really excited, “That’s just it!” she exclaimed, “you don’t have to, none of us do. Look,” she pointed at her second piece of writing, at the word servant, “I don’t think Sage Fenric is working for it either. I think it’s working for him!”

Lilian considered this for quite some time. Everyone did, in fact. They all stared at their cups and half finished meals and tried to mentally poke holes in Serena’s theory. But the more they thought on it, the more it made sense.

“It links with Brava too,” Brother Thomas piped up and everyone looked at him, “think about it. The story of King Brava is about a man who makes himself seem stronger than he is. All Brava had to do was hire the best soldiers and eventually no one would be able to challenge him for the throne. Think about Fenric, everything he’s said and done. The people he chooses to surround himself with. It’s all an act. He’s always pointing away from himself. ‘Think of a wish, think of the garden, look at your life, look at the people who don’t believe. He’s there, but it’s never about him. And so when it comes time to show some real power, what would make more sense than to contract a demon or something? Tell everyone it’s the boss when really it’s just doing what it’s been told to do.”

“The possessions!” Everyone jumped in unison as Peter shouted the words, seeming just as surprised by them as everyone else. “Sorry,” he added, “but Serena,” he turned to his partner, “don’t you remember, when we were following Sage Fenric, he had all that stuff with him? And when we got into the church there were loads of things, like he’d been bringing stuff there for years. I assumed they were tributes of some kind but what if they’re not, what if they’re part of the bargain? Things that people love or need or something. Fenric gets to employ a demon but he has to make that horrible pilgrimage two or three times a year and give it a bunch of useless junk. When you flip the roles,” he tapped the word ‘servant’ on the paper, “it makes a lot more sense.”

Lilian’s right hand went to her side and absentmindedly stroked Fritha’s head. She found this helped to calm her and allowed her to process information more easily. After mulling it all over for a few seconds, she looked up and realised that everyone was looking at her. She felt Mr Attorcop’s absence then most of all. There was no one to make a plan, no one to gather this information and put it all to use. It would be up to her. She made a promise to herslef then, she would not let everyone down.

“I think you’re right. It’s a lot to go on and more than we’ve had in ages. Thank you Serena, and thank you everyone for all your help and hard work. If our thinking is correct, and I’m pretty sure it is,” she smiled at Serena who grinned proudly back at her, “then we need to summon a demon.”

“I know that Mr Attorcop worked with them sometimes. Whenever he spoke about them, he mentioned bargains. It’s how they live, it’s what sustains them I think. And look,” now it was her turn to tap the paper, “he repeats it here. It’s strong, but loves a bargain. If we can find a way to speak to this thing, probably through some kind of artwork, then we can learn what Fenric is giving it, and then… well… I’m not sure. But my guess is we’ll have to give it something even better. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Now Doran shifted in his chair. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet these past few minutes so Lilian was anxious to hear his thoughts, “I can’t say I’ve ever actually done it…” he let the statement hand in the air as if hoping someone else was going to jump in and save him from the task. “But I’ve seen it done once and I am familiar with the basic sigils.” Lilian beamed at him, “I’m not making any promises mind!” he warned her, seeing the look on her face, “it’s a complicated business and not without its fair share of dangers.”

Mrs Thoreson nodded and added to the warning, “I never like that Cromwell went to Demons for help. They cannot be trusted and using them to solve your problems feels too…” she searched her mind for the right word, “easy. But I can provide a safe place in my house and I can oversee the procedure.”

Lilian took a deep breath and drummed on the table with her fingers, “right! Well then, let’s meet at yours after sun down Mrs Thoreson. Everyone go and get some rest, I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

Lilian went home after their meeting and for the first time in many days she walked with hope in her steps. Her progress with gloaming was undeniable, they had finally solved most of Mr Attorcop’s message and they had an actual plan as to how to defeat Sage Fenric. The part about defeating Brava’s army, which they guessed Mr Attorcop was using to refer to any strong people who Fenric surrounded himself with, was weighing on her mind a little but she decided to give hope a try this evening rather than continually leaning on despair.

When she got back to her parent’s house she saw that there was candle lamp light coming from the kitchen window. She opened the back door to find her father eating a bowl of lamb shank stew. Lilian’s stomach growled at the smell of it and she gladly accepted a bowl when he offered it. Fritha had some meat tipped into a bowl for her and the three of them enjoyed a meal in semi silence. At one point during the eating, Lilian noticed the large bag packed and placed in the entrance hall.

“What’s that for?” she asked her father.

He faltered a little and hesitated before replying, “Lilian, please don’t get angry…” he stopped mid sentence and Lilian immediately guessed what was happening.

“You’re going to join her aren’t you?” he did not reply. Lilian felt a pang of shame when she thought about his response. Was she really becoming such a predictably angry person? Strangely though, she did not feel angry. Perhaps it was the delicious meal, or the fact that they were making progress, but when she realised what was happening, she felt more sad than angry. “It’s okay,” she said, “I understand.”

Her father looked up at her through bushy eyebrows, “you do?”

Lilian shrugged, “you miss her. I miss her too. I don’t like Sage Fenric or what he’s doing, but I know that mum needs support from us. I’m supporting her too, but I just can’t be with her. Dad, I’m going to expose Sage Fenric and drive him out of Benlunar. Mum and the others might hate me for it, but I don’t care. He’s planning to drain them of everything, to turn Benlunar into an empty ghost town and he’s enlisted some horrible demon to help him do it. He’s dangerous. He killed Mr Attorcop and he won’t hesitate to kill again if it means getting what he wants. You can’t trust him but… but mum needs us. She needs you. So, I think you should go.”

Her father’s eyes widened in astonishment, “he is really, so dangerous?”

Lilian nodded while spooning another portion of stew into her mouth, “Very!” she said with a mouthful of potato. “He goes from town to town and turns people into mindless idiots. They neglect their towns, their families, their own appetites and then he leaves.”

“Why?” her father asked.

Lilian could only shrug, “who knows! I have no idea and I don’t care. All I care about is stopping him. I’ve been warning everyone this whole time but no one believes me. It’s maddening.”

Lilian’s father watched his daughter eat with a new found understanding of her plight. He did not trust Sage Fenric but he had not feared him, not until now. He reached out and put his hand on Lilian’s arm. She looked at it and then up at him. “That must be very hard for you.”

All of a sudden, Lilian felt tears welling up under her eyes. She was not sad though, more relieved. She nodded, “it is! I keep warning everyone, I warned Mum, I warned the others but no one listens. They all believe his tricks and words and just go along with whatever he says. I grew up here. I know I’ve been away but this is my home. When they chose to go to the grove after I warned them I…” the lump in her throat had grown too big for words to get past it. She breathed deeply and tried to calm down. Her father’s hand squeezed her arm and she felt comforted.

“I can see why that was difficult. You’re amazing Lilian. I always knew you were strong but I never would want you to carry so much. People not believing you when you are right, that is particularly hard. You must feel like Horbling in the trial.”

Lilian nodded, “What’s worse is that when I tried to go and get Mum…” Lilian froze mid sentence, “wait, what did you say?”

“I said that must be hard,” her father repeated.

“No,” answered Lilian, “after that. Who’s trial?”

“Horbling. Freddr Horbling,” he repeated and then, seeing Lilian’s confused expression, continued, “you know the story?” Lilian shook her head and bade him tell it. “Freddr is accused of stealing goats and selling them to a traveller. He is put on trial but no one believes that he is innocent. He prays to Severen, the god, to help him but he does not. Freddr then curses Severen for the rest of his days and becomes a horrible, bitter man even after he is freed.”

Lilian’s mind was racing. What did this story have to do with Sage Fenric, how did it fit into Mr Attorcop’s riddle. Her father became confused by her silence, “Have I never told you this story?”

Lilian shook her head. She needed more information, “So, it’s about injustice? About Freddr’s deal with Severen?”

Her father shrugged and went back to his bowl, “my father said it was about not trusting the gods to solve your problems. But I don’t think that is true.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Lilian, now on the edge of her seat, her bowl of broth long forgotten.

“Well,” her father continued, “I think it’s more about the traveller. Many people forget his part of the story. You see, it was the traveller who stole the goats and he accuses Freddr to throw the town off his scent. Then when he hears Freddr praying to Severan for help, he enlists the only creature powerful enough to stop a god.”

Lilian’s heart was beating through her chest, “what creature? Who did he ask to stop Severan from helping Freddr?”

Lilian’s father looked up at her with a solemn and serious expression, “The demon that resembles a bull, the worst of them all, the one they trapped after he wreaked havoc on the heavens. The bovine king, Tauroc.”

Episode 65

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

At the Fox and Octopus inn at the end of the afternoon in Benlunar, Lilian Lausanne has lost her cool. One of Sage Fenric’s bodyguards, the eldest of the three sisters, was baiting her with insults and provocations. Lilian knew what was happening and yet she could not help herself. After Tourmaline, the provocateur in question, accused Lilian of failing to save Benlunar, Lilian was pushed beyond her limit and her body acted practically of its own accord. Her fighter’s instinct kicked in and her weeks of training in Zandt pushed all logical thought aside and forced her arms up and outwards, shoving Tourmaline backwards. Tourmaline stumbled backwards but righted herself quickly all the while wearing the sneering smile of someone that had just been proven right. Lilian shifted her weight and body forwards into a battle stance, reached out with her right arm and grabbed Doran’s pewter mug that was still on the table beside her and lunged forward.

“Lilian no!” Serena shouted in protest but Lilian pretended not to hear her. In a modified third stance, second movement Lilian brought the pewter mug up and round, spinning her body and releasing it at the right moment so that it flew towards Tourmaline’s head. The twisted sister was ready though and her sword came up to block it, sending it crashing to the floor with a clatter. Lilian had anticipated this and had meant for it to be a distraction. Her right foot shot out and caught Tourmaline on the hip. She stumbled again but caught herself before she fell to the floor. She was back by the door now and so Lilian faked another kick causing Tourmaline to bring her arms down, Lilian took advantage of this by shoving her again this time putting enough force into her upper body to push Tourmaline back and through the door. The two body guards she had brought along were less than useless and just stood there gawking at Lilian. It wasn’t until later that Lilian realised they were there more as witnesses than as fighters. Lilian had blood thumping in her ears and somewhere in the distance she could faintly hear Liny shouting something about not inside or put that down but Lilian was deaf to everything outside of her next move. As Tourmaline burst backwards out of the door she was briefly framed by bright light before Lilian’s eyes could get used to the sun and snow. As soon as everything came back into focus though Lilian pushed forward. Tourmaline had regained her balance and was readying herself for a counter attack.

It was at that moment however that Lilian felt the knife at her throat. Her body froze and her anger transformed into fear. She could feel the steel freezing the skin on her throat and knew that one false move would see it dragged sidewards. She looked left and down. The smallest sister, the silent one called Spinel was there staring up at her from a low stance with a murderous look in her eye. Lilian could hear footsteps approaching from her right and risked a look in that direction. The third and final sister, Hematite was there smiling and holding a small bottle in her hand. She was positioned by the door of the inn so that no one inside would be able to see her. But Lilian could see her and she watched as she brought a finger to lips and mimed throwing the bottle inside followed by a childish mimic of an explosion.

Finally Lilian looked ahead, Tourmaline stood triumphant. She sheathed her sword and walked calmly over to Lilian.

“Seriously flame girl,” she said, “stay away. Last chance,” Then she held Lilian’s gaze for a few seconds. Long enough for Lilian to fully realise the seriousness of her tone and the danger of her situation. These three women had bested her again. The invitation was a ruse, they had come to threaten her. Probably after spying on her training or hearing some rumour about her desire to thwart Sage Fenric. Lilian wondered then why they didn’t just kill her. They could do it of course, and they could explain it away as self defence, they could bribe and threaten anyone who contradicted them. It would take time, but it could be done. And then the realisation filled her with more shame than her defeat ever could. To them, she was literally not worth the effort.

The knife came away and the sisters began heading back to the camp. Lilian could not bring herself to watch them walk away. She just listened to the sounds of the snow crunching under their boots. A lump formed in her throat. She felt sad and ashamed and she did not want to turn around and face her friends. They would be angry with her, like she was angry at herself. She wanted to run away, up the hill to the Padda Stone to weep. But suddenly she felt a hand fall on her shoulder. She flinched before realising that it was Peter.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Lilian could barely look him in the eye. She fought the urge to run but Peter must have sensed her instinct because his grip on her shoulder became firm and he guided her back into the relative darkness of the inn. Lilian’s face was hot and she could hear a hundred voices in her head, each one shouting something worse and more hateful than the last. She knew that Liny would be furious, that Serena would be disappointed and that Doran would probably be judging her for her lack of… well… judgement. Finally she decided to look up at her friends and face the music.

To her surprise, none of them looked particularly angry. Judging by the looks on their faces, they seemed more worried than anything else. In an effort to preempt their anger, Lilian decided to apologise.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a weak and whispered voice. Serena came out from behind the table and lifted Lilian’s chin so that their eyes met.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

Lilian shook her head, a little confused at the question. She expected the tirade of anger and hateful words to come now that she had admitted she was uninjured. But it never came. Instead, they began to rearrange the furniture and pick up any mugs or cups that had been knocked over during the tussle. They did this mostly in silence, like dogs licking wounds. The inn had previously felt like such a safe place, but the sisters had crossed that line now and everyone was feeling the effects of the intrusion. Lilian felt the worst though, she knew that if she hadn’t reacted then the inn would not have become a scene of violence. She felt responsible. Finally, Liny brought them all hot mugs of tea and she touched Lilian’s shoulder with a gentle hand as she smiled and walked back to the kitchen. Lilian could not wait any longer. She could no longer bear the anticipation.

“I said I was sorry, okay, you can all shout at me now. You don’t have to keep being nice to me, I’m not going to punch anyone.”

The group stared back at her in confusion.

“Why would we want to shout at you?” Asked Serena.

“Because I lost my cool, because I did exactly the opposite of what you told me to do and lost again! They could have hurt me, they could have hurt you and I failed to…” her words were catching in her throat. Lilian suddenly realised that her breath was quick and shallow, she could feel a tingling sensation in her hands and the fury and anger and shame were back tenfold. She almost wanted them to shout at her, getting some reaction from them that she could expect or predict. But they just stood there, looking worried and sorry. Like they were pitying her. Lilian felt that that was almost worse. Finally, Doran spoke.

“Lilian, to judge you for losing your cool at a time like this would make us all hypocrites. So you lost your temper, big deal. You didn’t hurt anyone and no one was hurt by them. I say we chalk it up to the weather and go on with solving the riddle.”

Lilian didn’t know what to say, “so…” she started, “you’re not angry with me?” they all scoffed.

“What kind of friends would that make us huh?” said Peter, grinning ear to ear.

“I think I’d rather you were,” Lilian added, “now it just feels like I’m being pitied.” At that comment they began to laugh.

“Pity!” Serena exclaimed, “that’s a laugh. If I ever lose my temper and try to fight three trained soldiers twice my height and age then remind me to ask everyone to pity me.”

Doran giggled and shook his head, “angry you might be, Lilian, but pitiful you most certainly are not.”

Lilian smiled. What had she done to deserve friends like these? Finally, she nodded.

“You’re right, I am angry,” she said, as she retook her seat and began to sip the tea that Liny had left her. Just then, Fritha appeared by her side as if from nowhere. She had turned invisible when the fight began, most likely because she was not foolish enough to think she could win. Her big yellow eyes focused on Lilian and she let out a loud, low gong-like sound. Lilian knew what it meant and she laughed to herself.

“What’s that?” asked Peter.

“Fritha,” said Lilian, stroking the big animal’s soft head, “she knows me better than I know myself. That sound means fear. I say I’m angry but she knows I’m scared.”

“Of course you’re scared!” It was early the next morning and Mrs Thoreson was skimming stones across the Padda Stone ponds. Fritha was beside her, following each pebble with rapt attention looking as though she was ready to plunge into the water to go and retrieve one at Mrs Thoreson’s command. Lilian was standing nearby, stretching and warming up her body with some simple exercises that Mistress Eleyna had taught her in Zandt. She had just explained everything that had happened at The Fox and Octopus and Mrs Thoreson was giving her interpretation. “You’re scared because you don’t think you can beat them.” Lilian felt another stab of shame in her stomach. Mrs Thoreson turned around and smiled reassuringly, “but you can, you know.” Lilian looked at Mrs Thoreson and her forehead wrinkled with worry and doubt. Mrs Thoreson stepped closer, “You can, Lilian. You have all the skills and the training, you just need to bring it all together, like a puzzle. The picture is muddled but it is there, hidden in the pieces.” Seeing that Lilian was still not convinced Mrs Thoreson searched her surroundings for a better metaphor. “See this insect,” she pointed to a bug who was busy crawling along some earth near her feet. Lilian looked down to see its legs flicking and scrambling its way over the cold and soggy ground. Fritha came over to see what everyone was looking at. “This insect is so small it does not even register Fritha as a danger. Fritha might as well be in another world. But if Fritha wanted to, she could crush it, eat it, flick it away and change the course of its life with almost no effort whatsoever.” Mrs Thoreson stepped over the bug and went over to Lilian. She held out her hands and grabbed Lilian’s shoulders like she was about to shake some sense into her, but instead she leaned close and spoke confidently, “you think you’re the insect,” she said, “but you’re Fritha. The gloaming, the essence, the fighting, the love you have for your people, for your friends, for Benlunar, these make you a giant in a world of insects. A Goddess!” she exclaimed and this time she did actually shake Lilian a little.

Lilian smiled bashfully and replied, “Or a demon?”

Mrs Thoreson smiled back, a cheeky knowing smile, “Or a demon, yes,” she said, “demon’s are strong but they are driven by their weaknesses. By things they are beholden to. You can be so much more than that. Now, take a deep breath, our training schedule just doubled.”

Down in Benlunar, Serena was in Mrs Thoreson’s library. She found it to be an incredible resource of rare books. Every time she looked at a new shelf she found herself wanting to read at least two or three of the titles there. But she had her reading task for the day and she needed to finish that before she could start anything new. She was getting on well with The Model Ship. She might not recommend it to everyone but it had an archaic charm that would suit some readers and she happened to be one of them. It was also a pleasant experience to read a book and have your mind ping at the slightest mention of one of its minor characters. With the stakes so high, reading had never been more thrilling. Mariana Tellis was an interesting character, a sculptor by trade; her plot mainly focused on the creation of a single piece. It was the statue of a man, inspired by someone she met on a trip a few years before the book is set. It’s clear to the reader that she fell in love with him but Tellis is oblivious to that. She thinks of him more as a spirit or a muse that she is desperate to recreate in marble. She tries several times but is never happy with the result. Towards the end of the book she shuts herself away in a workshop just outside a quarry and does nothing but work on the sculpture all day. Serena suspected it was a thinly veiled metaphor at how the author viewed his own process of writing the book but just as her story starts to get dull, something very strange happens to Marian Tellis. It was mid afternoon when Serena came to the passage, as the events unfolded the world around her began to disappear in a way that only a good book can make it. Mariana fiendishly focuses on the carving of a single finger and begins to get frustrated when the finger keeps flinching away from her chisel. She is so preoccupied with the task that she fails to realise that the statue has come alive and is teasing her. Serena expected a sort of love story to unfold over the next few pages, but instead, creator and creation embark on a long walk around the quarry and discuss their place in the world. It’s left ambiguous as to whether or not Mariana Tellis does indeed just go mad in a hut in the middle of nowhere, but Serena enjoyed the twist and found the conversation between Tellis and her creation to be interesting and intellectually stimulating. What it did not do however was tell her how to beat Sage Fenric or the strange entity he served.

Peter had spent the morning trying to figure out how best he could help Lilian and therefore Benlunar. His journeys over and across the mountains had revealed a huge amount of familiar flora and fauna and some that were not so familiar. He had decided to start categorising everything in a journal so that he could quickly refer to everything he needed. He drew a small sketch of the plant and then listed its location, colour and known properties. Presently he was heading back to town with a few sprigs in his bag alongside his journal. He had become particularly interested in a plant he’d discovered on the south side of the peak over the valley from Benlunar. It had taken him most of the morning to get there but he was glad that he’d made the trip as this particular plant was new and beautiful. It could be found in bunches under and around big boulders. The flowers were white and shaped like little stars. In the centre of the white petals was a bed of pale yellow pollen. At first Peter had mistaken them for daisies or snow drops but they were spring flowers and these were growing in the middle of winter. They seemed to thrive in the cold and Peter had to risk slipping and tumbling down the snowy mountain to pick a handful. He loved their shape and their colour but most of all he loved their smell. They smelled like a mixture of vanilla and pepper, a sweet sort of spice that stung the nose but brought the smeller back for more again and again due to the candied aspect. Peter walked back to Benlunar with a few flowers in his bag as well as one in his hand that he squeezed and smelled at regular intervals.

When he got back to town he showed the flower to a few of the people he ran into but even though some of them recognised it they could not tell him much about its properties or whether or not it had any uses in cooking or medicine. One woman gave him directions to a hut on the south side of town where a trapper lived who might be able to give him more answers. Once he’d followed her directions he came across a quaint sort of cabin. It was a simple and functional structure with very little decoration apart from several furs hanging from the porch roof and a raised flower bed with what looked like a small herb garden growing inside of it. Peter got a shock when he approached the front door and an enormous dog suddenly flew out of the shack and ran towards him barking at the top of its lungs. For a split second Peter thought he might lose a leg but he quickly saw that this dog was old and not aggressive, it was just doing its job of keeping guard. Two or three barks later a man stuck his head out of the door and shouted,

“Silky, hysj, Kom hit!” the big black dog looked back at the man, shot Peter a final glance and then lolloped back into the cabin leaving Peter and the man looking at each other in silence. He was large, bearded and covered head to toe in fur lined clothes. Even his hat looked like it had been alive about an hour ago. His face was lined but not unfriendly, just tired and clearly wishing to be left alone.

“Sorry to intrude,” said Peter, “I was wondering if you could tell me more about a flower that I’ve found.” The trapper looked at Peter as if he had just done a little dance and then jumped over a toadstool. Peter realised that more context might be necessary, “I’m trying to document the flora in the area and I’ve never seen this before, someone in town said you might know more about it.” He reached into his bag and pulled out one of the star flowers and held it up to show the trapper. The man narrowed his eyes before stepping out onto his porch. The wood creaked under the weight of him and as he closed the gap between Peter and the cabin Peter felt a small pang of fear as this bear of a man came closer. But once he took the flower deftly from Peter’s fingers and held it up to his eyes Peter could see that like his dog, this man probably looked more dangerous than he was.

“Where did you get this one?” he asked.

Peter turned and pointed east, “from the next hill over. It grows around rocks, there were quite a few.”

The trapper nodded, “it grows on Benlunar too, but please avoid picking too much. It’s rare and the flowers need to last until early Spring.”

“Of course,” agreed Peter, “They’re very beautiful. And their smell is very distinctive. Do you know any more about them?”

Peter recognised a fellow naturalist when he met one. This man was clearly not used to enjoying the company of other people but even the most reclusive of souls cannot resist the chance to share a passion. Peter saw a little light behind the old trapper’s eyes ignite. He shivered a little and beckoned Peter towards him.

“You’d best come in.”

A couple of minutes later they were both sitting around the trapper’s stove inside his cabin. The space was warm and cosy. The walls were adorned with antlers, furs or tools for trapping animals and navigating tricky terrain. Peter noticed a pair of snowshoes hanging by the window and wished he’d had them while he’d been trekking across the surrounding peaks. Silky the dog, previously so full of bluster, was now lying calmly across Peter’s feet grateful for the odd belly rub.

“We refer to it as a star flower,” the trapper, who had introduced himself as Ortan, was holding the little flower between his thumb and forefinger and examining its little petals, “although I’m sure the city folk would have a more complicated name for it in some dead language.”

Peter was not sure if that was a jab at him but he decided to ignore it. “Do you use if for anything?” he said, “healing or flavouring food perhaps?” Ortan was sitting on a large armchair by the stove, from this distance and darkness he looked to Peter like a beard with eyes or some forest man from a children’s warning story. He shot Peter a strange look, as if he was suspicious of his motives. Peter felt the need to clarify, “I only ask because most plants, especially in arid regions have been adapted to some kind of use.” This was true, communities that live in deserts or mountains are known for extracting ever possible use out of the plants and animals that surround them. Ortan the trapper did not look pacified by Peter’s answer.

“Not much use,” he said glancing back down at the flower, “I would not eat it. If the goats avoid it then so should we.” Peter smiled, surely this was a joke. But Ortan did not chuckle or wink. “There is one aspect which has been found to be… unique. But it takes knowledge and preparation for it to be safe,” once again he shot Peter with a distrustful look, “I have not seen you in Benlunar before.” To a layman this might seem as if Ortan was just making conversation. But Peter knew better. He knew that Ortan was sizing him up, testing to see if he could be trusted with this particular piece of local knowledge. And so he shared his story. About who he was, how he got his fascination for plants from his mother and what their business was in Freedos. He hoped this would reassure Ortan that he was no stranger to the dangers posed by plants and weeds. He then spoke of Lilian, about their trip to Zandt and how they came to know Mr Attorcop and how his death had brought him and Serena to Benlunar. Peter wanted to distance himself as much as possible from Sage Fenric who he could tell Ortan did not trust. The only time he moved during the telling was when Peter mentioned the strange underground church and Sage Fenric’s weird business there. By the end of the story, Silky was fast asleep and the light was retreating down the valley. Ortan, a man nearly devoid of readable signals, seemed satisfied with the tale. After a pause for thought he turned to Peter and said,

“I know the girl. Lilian. Her parents are good people. Good builders. She has been chosen by a feinhound I believe?”

This was apparently a question but Peter was not sure how to answer it. He nodded, “Fritha, yes. Quite an incredible creature. And good natured.”

The great man looked out of the dusty window pain beside him and then back to the delicate flower in his hands, “the stories tell of great troubles that come with feinhounds. Some even say that the animals are evil or dangerous. But I know animals. They are not evil, they cannot be. They follow their needs and their nature. It us who interpret their actions to be evil based on our own twisted concepts of good and bad.” He looked back at Peter and began to stroke his greying beard with his free hand, “I hunt wolves. But I do not blame or hate them for killing sheep.” Then he began to stir, sitting up to his full height and leaning forward conspiratorially towards Peter, “this man Fenric,” he said, “he is no wolf. Even if he does live with a formskifter she is no animal. They are people, and they are evil.”

Ortan stood up then and Peter worried for a second that he might raise his fist at him, but instead he crossed beside Peter’s chair and went to the area of the cabin where he clearly prepared his meals and fetched a small, stone mortar and pestle. He brought a copper kettle, heavy with water over to the stove and set it down. He then put the pestle on the table between his chair and Peter’s and threw the little star flower into it. Then he wordlessly held out his hand. Peter took his cue and reached into his little bag for the rest of the star flowers he had collected. The trapper took them and threw them into the pestle with the first one and then went to get a few more dried herbs from some tins nearby. Peter recognised the smell of thyme and lavender but there were a few others that were pinched and placed too quickly for him to know them. He thought about asking but did not want to disturb Ortan who seemed to be getting into a rhythm. He began to crush the flowers and herbs with the mortar in a steady, circular motion. Occasionally he would stop to add the smallest trickle of boiling water from the kettle and then he would go back to crushing and stirring. He repeated this process five or six times before bringing his nose close to the pestle, breathing in deeply and pronouncing whatever it was to be ready. Peter could smell the mixture all the way from where he was sitting. The star flower’s unique scent had been intensified by the crushing and the steam from the hot water. What was left was a thick, greeny brown paste that Ortan scooped out of the pestle with a spoon and ladled carefully into a small tin cup. Then he placed a piece of wax paper, the kind you might use to keep cheese from hardening, over the top of the cup and tied it down with a piece of string. Finally, he turned around and handed the cup to Peter with these words: “Fighting evil must be hard on the nerves. Give this to Miss Lausanne as a tea when she needs to focus. It will show her the way.”

Peter took the cup and smiled, “Thank you,” he said, “can I come back to you for more if she needs it?”

Ortan shook his head, “No. Too much and it becomes bad for you.” He looked around the room searching his mind and space for a suitable metaphor, “imagine you are trying to find a castle, but you don’t know what it looks like or how to get there. This,” he pointed to the tin cup in Peter’s hand, “this is like a perfect painting of the castle. Not the castle itself. It will show you what you’re looking for but you still have to make the journey.” Peter nodded in what he hoped looked like understanding, even though he was in reality quite confused. Ortan however seemed to be done with the matter. He shook Peter’s hand, wished him good luck and then followed him to the door where they parted ways.

Walking through the darkening snowscape Peter reflected on the interaction like it was some kind of dream. Something about the fumes generated from the boiling water mixed with the flower made him feel confused. But it was not an anxious confusion. In fact, for the first time since he’d stumbled into the Drygemarsh he felt very little anxiety. For the first time in days Peter Sturgeon was perfectly calm.

Across town, a little way out into the wilderness in the grove where Sage Fenric and his followers were camped, something was developing. The mural that Sage Fenric had commissioned his acolytes to paint was well under way. A grid had been mapped with chalk onto the side of a great rock, the top of which required wooden scaffolding to reach. Two or three people were assigned to a specific section of the grid and given a picture of what that square would look like and what colours should be used. Therefore no one person, aside from Sage Fenric, knew what the finished picture would look like. Lilian’s mother was one of these artists and was happy to take her time in finishing her designated square. She had done similar things with murals all over Benlunar, but had never attempted one without knowing the end result. It gave the project a feeling of mystery which she and the other townsfolk enjoyed. Some would occupy themselves with just their own square, others would step back occasionally and try to figure out what the final picture would be. Polly Lausanne did not want anything spoiled for her but on the third day of working on the piece her artistic curiosity got the better of her. She’d forgotten some lead paint back at the camp, perhaps she’d done so on purpose, perhaps it was indeed an innocent accident. Either way, she took the opportunity to look back and try and piece together the finished image in her mind. With all this talk of gardens, combined with the green, yellow and blue paints she’d been using on her square, she assumed the mural would depict some kind of beautiful pastoral image of a field in spring or a babbling brook. When she got a good luck at the half finished picture though, her heart skipped a beat. Her suspicion had not been far from the truth. A large part of the mural was taken up with the surrounding depiction of a field dotted with blue, yellow and red flowers. But that was not what bothered Polly. The thing she found disturbing was the central subject of the mural. It was hard to discern, given that it was not quite finished, but she could swear that they were busy painting a giant picture of a cow.

Episode 64

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

“My friends. I cannot thank you enough for your patience and your faith. While our community here may still be at risk from the naysayers and holdouts in the town, what we’re making here is something truly special. You are, all of you, worthy of the garden, worthy of peace and paradise you seek. Our faith has defended us from dangerous beasts, from academic attacks and from the very elements themselves. Today I wish to ask for another act of faith, one that will bring each of us closer together, and all of us closer to the garden. Today marks the start of a great work of art. All of us will work together to produce a mural, an image of the garden. To work on such a piece, will bring the garden to the front of our minds and from there, I assure all of you, that it is only a wish and a step away. You have all given so much, you have all achieved so much. I do not think there is one person here who can say they are not better off and happier in this community than they were believing the lies and half truths of the Stave doctrine. Thank you, for your efforts. We will all be together in the garden soon.”

It was the first speech of Sage Fenric’s that Serena Bellaswan had witnessed although she’d heard about others. Apparently he addressed the crowd in this way most mornings, setting the community some kind of task or reinforcing a positive habit or behaviour. She watched from the back of the crowd, dressed in some of Liny’s old clothes and tried not to draw too much attention to herself. She smiled at anyone who looked her way but did not engage in conversation. Her main job here was to observe and learn. She recognised a few people from the stories she’d been told by townsfolk who had elected to stay in Benlunar. She even saw a woman with long red hair that she would have bet her lunch was Lilian’s mum. The crowd were chatting excitedly about the day’s activity, the painting of this mysterious mural. Serena used the animation as an opportunity to turn and walk away. She had nearly left the grove when she heard a woman’s voice calling behind her,

“Miss?” it said, in a firm but friendly tone. Serena turned around to see a dark skinned woman in work clothes and a deep blue cloak. She recognised her as one of Sage Fenric’s guardian sisters. She was the middle sister, the smiley one.

Serena smiled back at her, “yes?”

“Perhaps you did not hear Sage Fenric, we’re about to start painting the mural. Come and join us?” The last words sounded like a suggestion but Serena could hear the underlying insistence in the woman’s voice.

Serena thought quickly, “Oh yes, it’s exciting isn’t it? I was just heading quickly back to my house. I have some paint dyes left over from when we painted the shutters. I was going to bring them back in case they might be useful.” She was sure to smile and turn her full body back to face her interrogator, even a foot pointing in the wrong direction might betray her desire to leave and not return.

The cloaked woman, who Serena knew was called Hematite, took a few seconds to stare at her before answering. Serena did not add to her story. Lies are seen by the mind as weak and so liars tend to continue speaking, people telling the truth, tell it and stop talking. For there is nothing left to say. Hematite smiled again and seemed satisfied, “very well then,” she said, “We shall await your return.”

With that, both women turned and walked in the opposite direction. To a casual observer it would have looked like a quick conversation, but to Serena it was a warning.

Meanwhile, Peter was on the other side of the mountain exploring the various flora and fauna. He had never had the opportunity to study wildlife at such an altitude and even though his mission was serious he admitted to himself in secret that he was in his element. There were herbs and plants here that he’d only ever read about and some that he’d never even heard of. He tied leaves and stalks together with string and placed them carefully in a hemp bag so that he could study them later at the Thoreson house. Of course, he thought, I could uproot a few and repot them back at the house, but would that even work… his mind raced through various potting and planting techniques before resolving to simply study what he had before committing to any long term planting plans. He had a few recipes in mind that he wanted to try out as well as a few experiments. He wasn’t sure how useful any of it would be, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. At one point mid morning he sat down on some heather to take a drink from his water skin and admire the view when he heard a very loud and very powerful shout. He turned his head in the direction it was coming from and smiled. Compared to whatever Lilian was going through, he had it very easy indeed.

Further down and round the mountain, at the edge of one of the Padda Stone ponds, Lilian Lausanne was trying to control her breathing. Don’t faint, she thought, don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint. But then, as if her thoughts had summoned the effect, a dark cloud descended over her vision and her body hit the floor before she could think again. She woke up a while later and asked Mrs Thoreson, “how long this time?” while rubbing her eyes and groaning.

The old woman glanced over from her spot on a rock and considered the question, “Just a few minutes. Maybe six or seven.”

At least that was some positive news, thought Lilian. She’d been out for nearly twenty minutes after her last attempt. She stood up and rubbed her eyes. Her head was swimming but she wanted to keep going. “I’m going to try again.”

Mrs Thoreson shrugged, “I’m not carrying you down to town if you don’t wake up.” Lilian nearly laughed, but she realised that she was probably serious. If time wasn’t so pressing, she would have taken a break two tries ago. But she could go again, she wasn’t at her limit. Not yet.

Lilian planted her feet firmly on the patch of ground beneath her. She even dug her toes slightly into the frozen silt of the pond bank. She was surrounded by snow and ice, the tips of her fingers were numb but she didn’t care. She had been given a task, and she would achieve it by the end of the day. As if she sensed Lilian’s frustration, Fritha came bounding over, her coat the azure blue of the ocean and leant her full weight onto Lilian’s leg. A soft purring bell sounded in the great beast’s throat. Lilian smiled and nearly pushed her away but then decided to try again with her faithful companion by her side. What harm could it do?

Lifting her head up she closed her eyes and focused again. Accessing the quiet and the light inside of her was quick and easy now and for that she was thankful. She had not yet chosen a path for which to direct any new gained power, but Mrs Thoreson had said that that could come later. The basic method would be the same, whatever path she chose. And so she practised again. Lilian took a deep breath in through her nose, focused on her feet and directed the light inside of her to go down into the earth via her soles and toes. In her mind’s eye she saw the golden light move and felt its warmth descend through her stomach, split into her legs and leave her body by way of her feet. Now comes the hard part, she thought. She watched the light instinctively filling the rocks and mud beneath her feet, it was like watching drops of ink on a slate. As soon as the light found something it liked it slipped into it effortlessly and then continued to spread. Lilian let it do this for a few moments before relaxing and letting the light slowly come back to her. As ever when she did this, the hard part was not letting it all back in too quickly. The light wanted to be back in her heart and so, were it up to it, it would rush back in quickly and Lilian would become overwhelmed with the power that it brought back. She tried to steady herself, allowing the light to come back slowly and in a controlled manner. It was a tricky business. Perhaps it was because Fritha was beside her, or perhaps she had just tried so many times this morning but this time when she tried, the light seemed to come back more slowly. She felt her finger tips begin to tingle, her breath became short and her head began to spin as raw power taken from the mud and dirt around her began to fill her body. Easy, she thought to herself. She wanted all the light to return in all of its different shimmering shades before she opened her eyes.

Once she was sure she had it all back, she took another deep breath. This was a little difficult. She felt full and sick and her head was both cold and heavy. She reminded herself to keep breathing steadily as she opened her eyes. The light reflecting off the snow was too bright and the sounds of birds, wind and water were so overwhelming Lilian had to fight the urge to bury her head in her arms and block it all out. She focused. She breathed. She felt like being sick. All this energy inside of her had nowhere to go but still she wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible. This was her goal. Contain the new light, become a vessel for power and only release it if it became too much. She was doing well, better than her previous attempts and certainly better than the first time she had ever tried gloaming on the bank of that lake with Mr Attorcop.

After a few more moments the pain in her head became too much and she needed to release the energy before it damaged her body. She looked out across the water, took the deepest breath she could manage and shouted as loud as possible into the air. The ensuing below left her body like the air from a popped pig’s bladder. The cry echoed across the mountain, startling birds and squirrels and even making Fritha jump a little. Lilian watched as it travelled across the ponds, sending ripples across the water and shaking icicles from their suspension. For a split second Lilian found that she could not breath in. Had she finally overdone it? She reminded herself to relax, her body was just in a state of shock. She waited patiently for her heart beat to settle and slowly the breath came back. With it however came the swimming head, the sick feeling in her mouth and the tiredness in her eyes. Don’t faint, she thought again, just breathe, keep going and breathe. She fought the sickness, the darkness encroaching on her vision, she kept her eyes on the horizon and focused on her breath so completely that another thought could not have entered her mind if it tried. She breathed in, held it for a moment, and breathed out. She did this over and over, she remained focused and did not even know how many minutes had passed before her head finally began to feel a little less heavy. Even the sick feeling in her stomach seemed to be slowly fading. She did not let these sensations excite her. Instead she continued to focus on her breathing until she was absolutely sure she was okay. Finally, for some reason, she looked down at her hands and relaxed. Perhaps her mind was seeking something familiar. She saw Fritha standing beside her, she’d been there the whole time, looking out as if watching for danger. Her faithful protector. She reached down and touched the feinhound’s neck. “Good girl,” she whispered. Then she turned to look at Mrs Thoreson and grinned.

Mrs Thoreson smiled back, “Excellent,” she said, “now we can begin.”

A few days went by in this vein. Serena got to know the citizens of Benlunar by spending time in the town. She avoided the grove as much as possible but learned about the people there from the members of their family they’d left behind in town. Peter would wander the mountains and forests finding and categorising various plants and mushrooms. Lilian would train with Mrs Thoreson by the Padda Stone. In the evenings they would meet at The Fox and Octopus and swap stories over food and drink.

“I’m exhausted,” Lilian sighed as she forked a potato from her bowl of hot lamb and ale stew. The salty, peppery tuber dripped thick dark liquid and Lilian relished every bite. Fritha sat nearby, her eyes as wide as the bowl she was staring at.

“I know what you mean,” said Peter, chewing on a piece of fatty meat, “I must have walked for four hours today. The thin air up here doesn’t make it easy.”

Serena sat across from them, her head buried in Mrs Thoreson’s book. Lilian and Peter looked at her, expecting her to agree with them. But she was too distracted. Once she realised they were staring, the ex high society socialite looked up and blinked twice. “What?” Oh, yes. Tired. Well I’ve been trying to read this dense mess of a novel. I mean, it’s alright, it’s just… old. You know? I’m having to re-read every other page just to make sure I know what’s going on?”

“Have you worked out who Tellis is yet?” Lilian asked as she fed Fritha a morsel of meat.

“Oh yes,” replied Serena, “She’s a small character but her story is really fun. She’s basically a sculptor who is working on her life’s work. She’s trying to sculpt a man that she met while on holiday but she can only work from her memories of him. I think she’s going to go mad but I haven’t got that far yet.”

Lilian looked at Peter with concern, “are we going to go mad?” she asked them both.

“If I don’t find something useful on this mountain soon then I’ll certainly consider it,” replied Peter.

Lilian laughed. Just then, the door to the inn swung open and the place was briefly filled with cold air and crisp light. Lilian looked over to see who had entered and nearly dropped her fork.

“Doran!” She shouted the name and ran over to the wind swept and weary traveller to give him a hug. Fritha joined her, barking and clanging happy sounds.

“”Well,” he bellowed, “it’s a pleasure to see you too Lilian.” His woollen coat was cold on Lilian’s cheek and his wide brimmed hat had flecks of snow on it.

“Where have you been! I’ve got so much to tell you, oh! Come and meet my friends. You two, this is Mikhail Doran, he’s a traveller I met on the road.” Everyone exchanged introductions and Doran sat down at the table to join them.

“I’ve been helping to tend the cows and sheep just south of town. It’s a lovely farm but there’s wolves about so we’re taking shifts.” Doran then lowered his voice, “how’s it all going with our friend?”

Lilian’s face fell, “not good. He’s got his followers painting some kind of mural. Heavens know what for. These two arrived in town the other day after seeing…” Lilian took a moment to steady herself, “after seeing my old teacher get killed by Sage Fenric.”

Doran’s expression shifted, his bushy eyebrows lowered in sadness and shock, “oh Lilian,” he said, “I’m so sorry. I… I knew he was dangerous but I didn’t think…” He looked into his drink and considered his next sentence. “From what you told me of him, he was a good man. The world will be sorry to see him gone.”

There was a short silence before Lilian remembered something, “Oh!” she jumped, “perhaps you can help us. Before he died, Mr Attorcop left us a message. We’ve already worked some of it out, but we think it’s about stories.”

She handed Doran the piece of paper with Mr Attorcop’s message scrawled on it. He read it once, then twice and after a quick drink, a third time. Finally, he nodded. “Yes I know some of these.” Lilian’s heart began to race and she shot Serena and Peter an excited smile. “Which ones have you worked out so far?”

Lilian let Serena take over, “well,” she started, tucking her hair behind her ears and reaching for the book she’d been given by Mrs Thoreson, “we know the story of King Brava and his army and Mrs Thoreson gave me this the other day,” she gestured to the great tome poking out of the bag beside her chair, “This is The Model Ship by Dermador. Tellis is a character in the story so I’ll soon know about her. It’s the others we’re having trouble with.”

Doran took another sip of his drink and nodded his head. His left hand absentmindedly scratched Fritha’s ears while he pondered the list. “That’s good, I knew about Brava but Dermador was a mystery to me. I’m afraid the only other one that I might know is Treyant.” The three of them leaned forward in anticipation. “Custer was a playwright. Angus Custer, from the Little Isles.” He looked at them with raised eyebrows, expecting them to react. When they didn’t he shrugged and continued, “I’m surprised you don’t know him. He was the first to… well, it doesn’t matter. Point is, he wrote a play called The Gilded Mirror…

“The play begins with Samira Treyant being interviewed to be a maid in a great house. She meets the cook and the Butler and there’s some funny business with some of the hunting dogs but the story doesn’t really get going until she starts work and meets the Lady of the house, Lady Agatha. Whenever anyone mentions Lady Agatha they do so in hushed tones and we learn that she has barely left the house in years. She sits up in the top room, sobbing and pining for a child she lost years ago. Or so the theory goes. The truth is that Lady Agatha is planning an escape. When she finally meets Samira she looks at her and realises that they look very much alike. Well, I’m sure you can tell where this is going. Together they hatch a plan where they will take each other’s place. Lady Agatha trains Samira in how to act like a Lady, and Samira teaches Lady Agatha about how to behave like common folk. It’s funny and poignant and quite touching when the Lady starts to learn about the lives of all the people working for her. Anyway, The Lady enjoys her new found freedom and comes and goes from the house as she pleases. However, Miss Treyant has other plans. When Lady Agatha realises she can do more to help the people in her house and her village as a Lady than as a maid she decides to get her old life back and use her money and influence for good. There’s a big scene at the end where she walks into her fitting room to change clothes but just as she’s mid monologue and mid outfit change Treyant walks in with a local constable and has her arrested for theft. Samira had grown accustomed to her life of luxury and ends up throwing Lady Agatha in a madhouse for claiming to be the real Lady Agatha. And does the new Lady of the house do anything to help her old colleagues? Hm! Does she ever.”

Doran downed the last of his drink and punctuated the end of the story with the tankard hitting the table. “It’s a bit of a sad play, but it’s a comedy so the end is more fun than tragic. It’s good because the main character sort of switches halfway through. It’s two journeys, one person descends into evil and the other arrives to good. I watched a great production in Lumit once where Treyant and the Lady were played by the same actress. Very cleverly done. I remember…” Doran trailed off as he realised that his audience had lost interest after the story had finished. All three of them seemed to be lost in thought. He cleared his throat. “Ahem… so you think these stories are the key to… what exactly?” This seemed to bring Lilian back to the present moment.

“We think they might help us take down Sage Fenric, they’re probably the key to some kind of weakness.”

Doran gazed into the dregs of his drink and listened to the fire crackling in the hearth. Benlunar pine burned sweetly and so the inn was filled with an intoxicating aroma. He voiced a doubt that had been creeping into his mind these past few days. “Surely…” he started nervously, “surely if we all gather our coins we might find a few mercenaries or something? Fenric is but a man and all men share the same weakness.” He drew his thumb across his throat mimicking a blade. Then he shrugged.

Lilian shook her head, “I don’t think it would be that easy. First of all, it’s the middle of winter, all fighters will be either in Doma or at home. There may be some bandits about but trusting them would be difficult. Then there’s the matter of his bodyguards. I’ve fought the sisters and they’re tough. Really tough. My guess is they’ve been training together since they were young and could probably handle an inexperienced group two or three times their number.”

“Then there’s the townsfolk,” interjected Serena, “if we mount an assault then Fenric might turn them against the fighters and innocent people might get hurt. He’s already convinced them to leave their homes, who knows what else they might do for him.”

“And finally,” said Peter, “there’s the matter of Fenric’s mysterious benefactor. Down in that church we saw him give offerings to some kind of… entity.” Peter’s expression changed, it was like some of the redness left his cheeks. “I don’t know what it was but, my guess is throwing rocks at it wouldn’t do much good.”

Doran considered all of this and then slapped the table, “So! The stories.”

Lilian nodded, “the stories.”

Everyone bent their heads in thought, trying to figure out how all of these characters and their stories might possibly lead to a way to drive Sage Fenric out of town. However, their thinking time was soon to be cut short.

Unbeknownst to all of them several figures were currently trudging and creaking their way through the snow across town to find them. They walked with malice in their strides and clutched cold steel in hateful palms. Within minutes they would be upon them. Thankfully a swift and silent harbinger was running ahead, zipping through Benlunar’s secret streets. Lilian looked up from her problems as a bright light at the door framed a small figure. Emma, red faced and out of breath, ran over to their table and signed feverishly at Lilian, pointing and speaking in panicked gestures.

Lilian read them as best she could before warning the others, “Someone’s coming,” she said, standing up and readying herself. She flashed the sign for hide at little Emma and watched her dart across the room and behind the bar. Serena and Peter got up and began instructing the other patrons to make their way to the kitchen.

“I don’t want any trouble in here,” warned Liny, directing her warning to Lilian.

“I’m afraid trouble is already on its way,” she replied, and then, seeing the stern look on Liny’s face added, “I’ll do my best to stay… civil.”

At the word civil, the door was flung open with great fury as if it had been kicked. A tall, dark skinned woman walked inside dressed in battle leathers. In her hand was a short sword. Her eyes glowed with malice. She scanned the room quickly before finding Lilian in the gloom. She smiled when she saw her.

Lilian recognised her as Tourmaline, the eldest of Fenric’s warrior sisters. She was alone, but if Lilian had learned anything these past few weeks, it was that the other two would not be far away.

Tourmaline began to walk closer to Lilian’s table. Lilian clenched her fists and tried to repress her mounting rage. The clunk of Tourmaline’s boots practically echoed around the silent space. Two more figures followed her, Lilian recognised them as Benlunar townsfolk, one was a large, barrel chested man that Lilian knew worked as a distiller in the north end of town, the other was a slightly younger fellow who Lilian did not know so well.

“So this is where you’re hiding,” Tourmaline spoke through a snide smile. She made a show of looking around the inn in disapproval, “rather you than me flame girl.”

“I’m not hiding,” Lilian spoke through gritted teeth.

“Whatever you say,” at that point Tourmaline turned her attention to the rest of the room; what few patrons were there were already watching the scene unfold with tense apprehension. “Ladies and Gentlemen of Benlunar, I come with an invitation. In two weeks time you are all cordially invited to a very special ceremony. Sage Fenric will host the event and it promises to be a truly life changing evening. If you’ve ever wished for more, if you want to be part of something bigger than yourselves, if you have dreams that this small town can not seem to realise then do please join us. Even better, you are always welcome at the grove, today, tomorrow and everyday after.” She ended her speech by looking at Lilian, daring her to speak.

Lilian tried her best to contain her anger but could not resist saying, “I think I’m busy that evening.”

Tourmaline shrugged, “shame, your life could probably do with some improvement.” She made to leave but then stopped herself before taking a step, playing at having just remembered something, “oh, and if anyone does decide to try and stop or ruin the ceremony, they should not be surprised if they are dealt with by force.” Tourmaline resumed her slow journey towards Lilian. She was a good foot and half taller than Lilian and with her threatening gaze and cold steel she would have intimidated even the hardiest of warriors. Lilian did not flinch though. It was one thing to persuade people to come willingly, but when an invitation is delivered by someone holding a sword then it becomes a threat and for Lilian that crossed a line. She could feel anger begin to boil inside of her.

“Well flame girl?” Tourmaline asked, mockingly, “are you going to try and be brave again, or are you going to continue to hide away like a little mouse? Hm?”

Serena was looking intently at Lilian, wondering if she needed to interject, “Lilian,” she said, “don’t rise to it. She’s trying to get you to act.” Even though it was said with kindness to Lilian in that moment Serena’s words cut her like they were a swing from Tourmaline’s blade. They made her feel ashamed, like she didn’t know what Tourmaline was doing, like she was a child that needed mothering and looking after.

Tourmaline looked over at Serena and then back at Lilian. She leaned in close and dropped her voice down to a whisper, “Is that your nanny flame girl? I only ask because she seems to be in charge of you and I know for a fact that she’s not your mother. Your mother made me my tea this morning, she’ll probably be waiting to serve me my dinner when I get back to the camp.” The anger in Lilian’s stomach turned to rage. A dark pall was descending over her vision as images of Tourmaline lying bloodied and beaten flashed across her mind’s eye. “You look like you’re about to explode, flame girl. Listen, why don’t you take my advice and go and find another town somewhere in the mountains. That way you can live there, make friends, maybe start a family. And one day, when we’re done with this heap we will visit you again and you can fail to protect them too.”

Lilian tried her best to resist. She clenched her fists and bit her tongue. But that final comment was too much. Blinded by rage and consumed by shame Lilian Lausanne reacted.

Episode 63

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

Ina Thoreson was an elder of Benlunar. She lived in one of the largest houses in town and was known to be kind up until her patience ran out. Mr Attorcop had told Lilian once that Mrs Thoreson (as she was more commonly known) was his aunt. What with everything going on, Lilian had forgotten that fact. But as soon as she saw Mrs Thoreson enter the Glade home, clad in her night-black cloak and hood, that memory came rushing back to her. And with it came a terrible feeling of guilt. A thousand thoughts ran through Lilian’s mind as she watched the old woman turn to observe the small interior. Did she know about Mr Attorcop? Was she a follower of Sage Fenric’s now? Had he sent her to finish the job that he’d started under the Drygemarsh? She was about to say something, a greeting, an apology, she knew not what, when a shape rushed past her in a flash. Little Emma had noticed the visitor and had nearly knocked Lilian over in her journey to hug the old woman. Mrs Thoreson laughed and returned the hug with a smile and a squeeze. Then she bent low and began to sign a few words to the little girl. Emma giggled and answered her questions with smiles and signs of her own.

Esther walked over to them, “Ina… Mrs Thoreson, has been visiting us for years. She was the one who found us the gentleman from Freedos who taught us the signs. And she learned along with me. She’s been a wonderful support and Emma adores her. Hi Ina.”

Mrs Thoreson finished her sign sentence and then smiled at Esther, “Hello my dear,” she said, “nice to see you. And who are your new friends?”

Lilian snapped out of her daze and resumed her duties, “Oh! Sorry, Mrs Thoreson, this is Serena Bellaswan and Peter Sturgeon. Friends of mine from Freedos.” Serena and Peter curtsied and bowed respectively, respectfully.

Mrs Thoreson smiled and nodded slightly, “a swan and a fish, far from their lake. You’re welcome both, I hope you enjoy these waters while you stay. Now, Miss Lausanne,” she turned a slightly more severe stare towards Lilian who felt her heart freeze. “Back so many days and not so much as a visit? It’s almost as if you’ve been preoccupied by a mad preacher bent on taking over the town.”

Lilian gave her a wan smile. She’d heard the joke, but could sense the rebuke there as well. “I’m sorry Mrs Thoreson,” she said bowing her head, “It’s true I’ve been distracted, but that’s no excuse.”

The old woman came close to Lilian and for a moment it looked as though she was about to strike her, Lilian even flinched a little when she raised her arm. Instead Mrs Thoreson’s frown turned into another smile and her hand came up to Lilian’s arm to give her a friendly squeeze.

“Worry not little Lausanne, it is a Nocta’s duty to protect her family, not visit old women. As I said though, we should speak. I notice my nephew is not skulking around. Where is Mr Mysterious?”

There was a pause. Lilian’s suspicions were confirmed. She didn’t know and it would be up to Lilian to explain everything. Mrs Thoreson studied her face and then looked at everyone else. “Oh…” she said, “I see.” Then after a moment she followed with, “Was it that Fenric fellow?” the knot in her throat was making it hard for Lilian to speak, and so she just nodded. Mrs Thoreson breathed in deeply, “then this is more urgent than I had thought. Lilian, would you come back to my home? Your friends are welcome to join us. There is much we need to discuss.”

Half an hour later Lilian, Peter, Serena and Mrs Thoreson were all sitting in the Thoreson house library. Mr Stepson, the man who looked after the house, had lit a fire, prepared a meal and made up rooms for both Peter and Serena to use during their time in Benlunar. During dinner they had told Mrs Thoreson everything that had happened in the cave under the marsh. It was clear to Lilian that she kept her emotions in check, in the way that her generation had been taught to do. Lilian knew that they would both grieve in their own way and in their own time. Mrs Thoreson had many questions but it wasn’t until after dinner when they were all sitting by the fire in large and comfortable armchairs that Mrs Thoreson brought up the reason for their summons.

The old woman was sitting in a large green, leather clad armchair on the right side of the fire. Fritha, who had taken an instant liking to her, was curled up by her feet and Mrs Thoreson occasionally reached down to touch the feinhound’s head while she spoke. The sun had long gone and the room was lit by candles and the dancing flames of the fire.

“Lilian,” Mrs Thoreson’s voice grew suddenly serious, “it is my belief that we are not the first town to be visited by Sage Fenric and his twisted trio. I have been observing them as I know you have and it seems that they have a well practised routine. They are like a parasite, living off a host town and draining it of its vitality with their insidious promises. For them, the process is all going to plan. I also suspected they had something on their side that is more than human. People are not so quickly swayed, but there are beings out there that have that power. Now, after your story of the underground church,” she glanced over at Serena and Peter, “I am more sure of this.” Mrs Thoreson then looked into the fire and her hand absentmindedly went to Fritha’s ears. The light of the flames flickered across the cracks and wrinkles around her eyes. It illuminated a tired sadness there, as if a weight was pulling her down into the ash. Lilian noticed a glaze come over her eyes. “I never dreamed I would have to train another. But I can see no other way. Cromwell was a great student, but I failed him.” Lilian shifted her weight and was about to open her mouth to protest when she was cut off, “it’s alright, Lilian. I know Cromwell was a clever man. He would have known the risks. It’s up to us now to make sure that he did not die for nothing. If you are still willing to learn, I will teach you everything I know.”

Lilian smiled, it was nice to find another ally. With Peter and Serena and now Mrs Thoreson joining the fight, things did not seem so hopeless. “Thank you, Mrs Thoreson,” she said, “I should like to learn all that I can. Mr A… Cromwell taught me so much and I’ve even developed my own techniques in gloaming.”

Mrs Thoreson smiled, “Gloaming,” she repeated, “I like that.”

“He taught me to fight as well,” Lilian continued, “although I learned a lot in Zandt last year too. I trained with a master of Atarap and I got a tattoo using lunar essence and some earth from the demon world.”

At this, Mrs Thoreson raised her eyebrow, “a tattoo? Show me.” She reached out a hand and beckoned Lilian over to her. Lilian obediently stood up and was half way over to her when she remembered that the tattoo was not actually visible. She pulled her sleeve up regardless.

“You can’t actually see it all the time,” she said pointing the spot on her forearm where the tattoo of the moon and the mountain would be, “but it comes up here when I sometimes practise gloaming. But it makes me very tired and it hurts a lot and I can’t do it all the time. In fact I’ve only done it about four times and only once… properly. And it’s not just the tattoo that appears, I sort of change. I look different and I see everything differently. It’s like…” She had trouble finding the words to describe the strange world and feelings she experienced when the tattoo began to shine.

Mrs Thoreson stroked her wrist and examined the area. She attempted to finish Lilian’s sentence, “like the night is a house and you can see all the doors and rooms at once.”

Lilian nodded, “yes, exactly. But I can also be in the rooms or skip through the walls if I wanted. It’s strange…”

Mrs Thoreson looked up at Lilian and a cheeky grin began to spread across her face. She looked like Emma after she had stolen a fourth bite of sweet pastry. “Strange… but good, yes?” She said.

Lilian could not help but laugh and nod, “yes. It feels powerful.”

Mrs Thoreson dragged Lilian’s sleeve back over her arm and tapped the back of her hand with her fingers, “you have skipped ahead a little,” she said again with that jokingly reprimanding tone, “but we have a lot to work with. The tattoo method I do not know, but if it works, it works.” She shrugged and pointed Lilian back to her chair. “Now,” she changed her tone and turned her attention to Serena and Peter who were slipping further into the comfort of their armchairs, their eyelids drooping, “you two.” They both snapped to attention, “what will you be doing? I take it you are here to help yes?” Serena and Peter looked at each other and then back to Mrs Thoreson. They nodded. “Good,” said Mrs Thoreson, “then what can you do? Hm? Are you fighters? Musicians? What?”

Serena shifted uneasily in her seat, “well, Mr Attorcop was teaching us to fight a little. But I wouldn’t trust myself to take on anyone with lots of experience.” She looked at Peter.

“Oh same. I can’t throw a punch to save my life. I’m an alright cook though. And I know my way about medicine and chemicals. I’ve been helping my mum in her shop since I were wee.”

Serena, not one to be outdone, added an addendum, “I play music, and I can sing and act as well. I embroider, paint and can keep up with most any of the modern dances.”

Peter shook his head, “I cannot dance.”

Mrs Thoreson smiled, “Excellent. We have the making of quite a team here. Lilian, you will join me by the Padda Stone at sunrise every morning until you are ready. You, Serena, you will make it your business to meet everyone in Benlunar. I want to be able to say a name and for you to tell me their life story, you understand?” Serena looked confused, but nodded all the same. “Peter, you will explore the forests and mountains. You must know this part of the world like the back of your hand, even better than Lilian here, yes? We are high up so a lot of plant life survives the cold. Find anything useful. If you don’t know what something can do, test it to find out, or ask the locals.” Peter looked over at Lilian and shrugged.

“Mrs Thoreson,” Lilian interjected timidly, “Thank you so much for helping us but… we actually have a mission from Cromwell, we think it might be a way to defeat Sage Fenric.” Mrs Thoreson raised one eyebrow as she watched Lilian take the scrap of parchment from her pocket and flatten it out on the small side table beside her. Mrs Thoreson leaned over and read it by the light of the lamp.

Serena, Peter and Lilian waited with baited breath while the old woman read the note. After a few seconds Lilian could have sworn she saw Mrs Thoreson roll her eyes before standing up and going over to a big book shelf in the corner of the room. She studied the old, leather bound tomes there for just a moment before gesturing for Peter to join her.

“That one, there please Peter.” She pointed up to a grey book spine with black lettering that was a little too high up for her to reach. Peter kindly got the book out and passed it to her. “Here we are,” she said, bringing it over to the others. Fritha’s tail began to beat against the floor as she returned. “This is The Model Ship, by Theobald Dermador.” She sat back down and passed the book to Serena, “I suggest you read it quickly. There is a character called Tellis but I read it so long ago that I cannot remember what happens to them.” Serena took the book from her and gave Lilian a wide smile. It had barely been a day and they already had the solution to the second clue in their hands.

“Perhaps I should…” Lilian wanted to suggest that she read the book, seeing as the message was meant for her, but Mrs Thoreson shot her a severe look.

“No time. You have too much to do. This message from my nephew will be important, but you will need to rely on your friends to solve it.” Lilian felt a pang of anger. That message was her last link to her friend, it was something he had expressly wanted to get to her. She was not about to let it go so easily. Mrs Thoreson must have sensed her frustration, “There will be time enough for riddles. But the next few days will be crucial in the fight for Benlunar’s survival. Knowledge is one thing,” she gestured to the piece of parchment, “but it is useless without the strength to act on it. You will require both knowledge and strength as well as a mastery of your emotions if you wish to defeat this Fenric man and whatever it is he serves.” Her expression then softened somewhat, “Grief will not be neglected my dear. He might have left a thousand notes and there will still come a time when you finish reading the final one. The quicker we process his passing, the quicker we will be of use to Benlunar.”

A strange feeling washed over Lilian then. It was an oddly familiar sensation, like she’d been in this room having this conversation once before. She realised then that this felt like talking to Mr Attorcop. He was able to guide her through Kilde’s death and now here she was, years later, being guided in a similar way. Had she learned so little in those years? Or had she simply chosen to forget?

Lilian nodded. It was true, there were greater things at stake here and the riddle would be solved quicker if they separated and worked on it individually rather than traipsing around town together like a three headed monster and each taking the time to read a single book.

“I understand,” Lilian stood up and turned towards the door, “I’ll see you at the Padda stone at sunrise. Good night everyone. And thank you for your help.”

The next morning Lilian arrived at the Padda Stone just as the sun was brightening the cloudless sky. It was cold and she wore her thickest winter coat and had woollen leggings on beneath her fur lined trousers. After the short trek up the hill her breath hung heavy in the air in bouts of vapour clearly visible in the crisp winter air. Fritha was beside her, happily dipping in and out of deep snow, her coat a dark blue with patches of deep yellow. Her slitted golden eyes were wide with the anticipation of catching breakfast and as they approached the pools and ponds around the Padda Stone she looked out from the frozen blades of grass and into the inky waters hoping to catch sight of a fish. Lilian looked up at the Padda Stone, coated in the golden light of dawn. The stone toad’s serene expression reminded her to relax. She found a flat rock and sat down cross legged to wait for Mrs Thoreson. Slowly she began to get her breathing under control and once her heart rate was at a more manageable pace she closed her eyes and focused on the sounds around her. The mountain birds were waking up and the soft trickle of water could still be heard from beneath the ice. In no time she could sense the world around her and she found that mysterious golden light inside of her chest that she knew could be used for gloaming. She decided not to guide it to anywhere outside of her and instead chose to examine it for a while. It shone brightly and pulsated a little with every heartbeat. It was a beautiful thing and Lilian took the opportunity to enjoy being with it in this way for a while.

After some time she decided to open her eyes, she must have sensed something close by because when she did she almost jumped with shock. Mrs Thoreson was in front of her, not two steps away bending down and looking at her. Had she really been focusing on the light that much? Even when in focus she had not heard Mrs Thoreson approach.

“Good posture, nice breathing. He taught you about the light yes?” There was no ‘good morning, how are you?’ They were straight in. Lilian nodded. “Fine fine. Show me.”

Lilian was confused. “Show you… what?”

“Show me some gloaming. Turn this water into ice.” She pointed to the space on the little lake behind her that had yet to be frozen over.

Lilian was taken aback, “what? I can’t do that.”

“Fine,” replied Mrs Thoreson, “what can you do?”

Lilian thought for a moment before calling Fritha over to her with a sharp whistle. The feinhound came bounding out of a nearby shrub with a mouse in her teeth. Lilian watched her gulp it down in a few quick movements of her jaws and head. When the feinhound was by her side Lilian put her hand on her back and felt one of her hairs between her fingers. Then she closed her eyes and brought her attention back to the light inside her. It wasn’t too hard to find, seeing as she had just been focusing on it a moment ago. Then as she had done countless times before, she let the light go through her fingers and into the hair just a small amount before calling it back to her. She let the new light mingle with her own and felt a vibrant energy bounce around inside of her. When she opened her eyes she looked at her hands and saw that she was invisible.

Mrs Thoreson nodded but did not look very impressed, “that took quite a long time. And you need Fritha with you to do it. But it’s good that you can keep your clothes on at least. Anything else?”

Lilian released the gloaming energy and saw her own colours and shapes wash back into reality about her. She was indignant, “anything else?” she repeated, “that took a long time to learn and it doesn’t always work, and…” she looked at Mrs Thoreson’s nonplussed expression and gave up protesting, “and no there’s nothing else. Well I can hear things very well, and I can smell better and I’m stronger as well when I manage to reabsorb just some of the light. And then there’s the glowing tattoo, night thing. I really should start giving these better names.”

Finally Lilian got a smile out of Mrs Thoreson. The old woman nodded and made her way to a squat rock about six feet away. She brushed the snow off it, turned around and sat down.

“Lilian, you’ve been practising… gloaming, for some time now, yes? And you are familiar with lunar essence as well. Have you ever wondered what connects these two things?” Lilian was slightly taken aback by the question.

“Well,” she mumbled, “not really. I mean, I always thought they were part of the same thing. You learn gloaming so that the essence doesn’t overwhelm you. Right?”

Mrs Thoreson shook her head. Lilian thought she heard a small tut there as well, “Typical Cromwell,” she said, “rushing to the practice before understanding the theory. It’s not quite that, my dear. What you call ‘gloaming’ is a very ancient practise that goes back many generations and is done all over the world by those willing to put in the time and energy to learn it. The basics are the same, but what each person does with them makes the art seem very different.” Lilian then watched in awe as Mrs Thoreson closed her eyes, took a quick, deep breath and lifted her right hand. In a matter of moments the snow around her melted away revealing bright green patches of grass that grew taller in just a few seconds. Wild flowers then began to appear all about, peppering colours of purple, yellow and blue amongst the greenery like fireflies in the dark. Lilian could sense warmth as well, like Spring and sprung too soon and only on this small pocket of the mountain. As Mrs Thoreson breathed out, the flowers wilted and were covered with snow once again. It was like they’d briefly awoken from a dream and were pulling the blanket of whiteness over them to block out the sun and go back to sleep. The warmness disappeared and they were back in winter. Lilian realised that her mouth was open.

Mrs Thoreson opened her eyes and smiled at Lilian’s expression, “When I was a girl,” she explained, “There was a terrible blight in this part of the world. Crops could not grow and people went hungry. I practised gloaming and became a Nocta so that I could help people. I learned to understand the earth and the air and how the seasons changed them. It took a long time, but I succeeded eventually. Many people died before I could help them and I will always regret that I could not get to their crops sooner. I tell you this because you are about to face a choice. Gloaming will give you the materials, but you must work the art. I think of it like sculpting. Anyone can pick up clay and put it in a kiln, but it takes time to shape it into something useful or beautiful.”

Lilian took it all in, thinking about her journey and encounters with magic so far. A question popped into her mind, “So what about lunar essence? How does that come into it?”

“Hmm,” Mrs Thoreson considered the question, “To know this, you must first realise that Lunar Essence is not the only kind of essence that exists in this world.” Lilian had come to that realisation on her own while she had been in Zandt, she told Mrs Thoreson about her time there and about how she encountered a place that might have been the source of solar essence. “Precisely,” Mrs Thoreson agreed, “I know of solar essence too, although it is far too destructive for my liking. I also know of ocean essence and forest essence although I suspect there are more. Someone who can use gloaming can use essence, the same techniques are used to tame the essence as they are to tame the light inside of you. The benefit of essence is that it is very powerful and very fast. But whereas your light can be used for most anything, essence can only be used within its realm.” Lilian crumpled her face in confusion. “Let me give you an example,” Mrs Thoreson continued, “If I wanted to summon an aspect of the night right now, here in the day, like say the light of the moon, I could practise for years with gloaming and eventually I might be able to get there. Or I could use lunar essence and have it here in just a few moments.”

Something clicked inside Lilian’s brain, “But essence is rare and gets used up!”

“Exactly,” Mrs Thoreson agreed, “So it’s best not to rely on essence. Cromwell was working on a way to make essence last for a long time and I think you may have stumbled on a way to do just that. Our work together will focus on how to access that essence inside of you quickly and efficiently as well as practise any other skills you will need for your fight against Fenric and his strange master.”

Lilian felt energised. She hopped off of her rock and smiled, “great!” she said, “how do I start?”

Mrs Thoreson chuckled, “like with so many things, we start with a choice.” The old woman turned to look up at the Padda Stone. It sat large and lonely across the semi frozen waters. Its serene smile reminding all who see it to relax and enjoy the mountain. Mrs Thoreson loved that smile and briefly shut her eyes and tried to copy it, finding familiar solace in the tumult of the times. There was a lot of work to do and it would take more than violence and magic to save Benlunar from this strange enemy.

Lilian wondered if Mrs Thoreson had forgotten to finish her point, “A choice?” she prompted.

Mrs Thoreson opened her eyes and turned back to Lilian, “Oh yes,” she said, opening her eyes, “a choice of what to focus on. A choice as to how we will spend our time. We can give you power, Lilian Lausanne, but you must choose what shape that power takes.” Mrs Thoreson turned to look at Lilian, a serious expression on her wrinkled, friendly face. “What do you wish to become Lilian Lausanne?”

Episode 62

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

The next day Lilian went back to the Fox and Octopus inn to meet Serena and Peter. When she arrived she was glad to see them both awake and looking close to their familiar selves. Peter was stuffing his face with bread and jam while Serena was sitting beside him, daintily placing morsels of sweet pastry into her mouth with a faraway look on her face. Lilian knew that she must be thinking of Mr Attorcop’s message. She knew that, because that was all she had been able to think about for the last ten hours. Fritha ran over to Peter and fixed her gaze on his breakfast while he patted her head in greeting.

“Morning!” he said as Lilian walked across the common room, “Thanks again for yesterday. Sorry we were in such a state. The plan was to get here and start work before…” he paused for a moment, nervous to say a name, “well, before he got back. I think we overdid it a bit.”

Lilian smiled, “Well, just so long as you’re both rested and better. Work can start when we’re ready. Although, I must admit, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Serena finally snapped out of her thoughts and looked at Lilian, “you too? I just can’t get it out of my head. I was tossing and turning for hours before I got to sleep.”

Peter picked up a bit of cheese and paused with it half way to his mouth. This proved too much for Fritha to resist and she leaned forward and began to nibble at it, “Oi! That’s mine Fritha. Well I don’t want it now you’ve licked it,” he let the Feinhound have it and turned back to the conversation, “Aye Serena said you had a look. I would have helped last night but I was out of it. What’s it say again?”

At that moment Xander walked in to check on his guests. The three of them stopped their conversation, each one agreeing without words that this was the kind of thing that needed to be kept secret.

“How’s it all going in here? Had enough? Need some more? Ah morning Lilian!”

Lilian smiled at him but Peter talked first,

“Xander my best friend, this bread is incredible. Please, I beg of you, give me your recipes. I can sell your bread in Freedos and make you rich!”

Xander chuckled at his enthusiasm, “Aah but if you made and sold my bread, then it wouldn’t be my bread.” This caused Peter to stop chewing and think for a moment, giving Fritha the opportunity to lick some crumbs off his plate.

“Fritha, stop that.” Lilian rebuked, “Xander thank you again, and thank Liny also for putting them up last night, I can find them more permanent beds today.”

Xander shrugged, “it’s no bother. It’s not as though we’ve hordes of visitors vying for rooms. I should think you could open most doors on this street and find a couple of empty beds.” He paused and looked solemnly around the large room. It didn’t normally get busy until around noon but Lilian knew that it would look like this for most of the day, if not the rest of the week. With a sigh he cleared the plates and left the three of them to chat again.

“What was that about?” asked Serena.

“Are you up to a walk?” Lilian could tell that Fritha was itching to exercise and she didn’t much want to sit inside and feel miserable all day. So they gathered their coats and scarves and set off into the cold.

Benlunar hadn’t had a fresh snowfall in a few days so the flagstones were mostly clear. They headed for the river. Lilian said she wanted to show her friends where she grew up but the truth was that the empty town made her feel strange. She told Serena and Peter everything that had happened up until their arrival the night before. How Sage Fenric and his bodyguards had duped the town into believing they were these mystical, magical people that held the answers to all their desires. About the promised garden that Lilian was sure did not exist. About the fight they’d had in the snow, about her humiliating loss and how so many of the town citizens had set up camp and lived in the glade just outside of town. Serena and Peter listened with heavy hearts. It was clear to them that Lilian wanted to show Benlunar off but did not feel very proud of her town that day.

When they reached Lilian’s house she gave them a tour and they grabbed a few apples from the store and took them to the river where they sat and discussed Mr Attorcop’s message. Lilian had not let it completely leave her mind all morning. She found that focusing on the riddle helped her avoid certain emotions. All in good time, first save Benlunar, then she would deal with that.

“Say it again,” said Peter. He was sitting on a large boulder overlooking the river, eating his apple and looking out over the running water like a philosopher king, “I can’t remember all the names.”

“If they even are names,” said Serena who was beside Lilian studying a piece of parchment. They had written the message down there so that Serena’s back could be bandaged and left to heal.

Lilian cleared her throat, “Think of Tellis in Dermador. Treyant in Custer and then remember Horbling. It’s strong but loves a bargain. Then all that’s left is Brava’s army.” They all considered the words again for the hundredth time that morning, but hearing them once more still offered no insight.

“I don’t get it…” said Serena, “if the message was meant for you,” she pointed at Lilian, “then why write something that you don’t understand?”

Lilian shaded her eyes from the sun and chewed the final bite of her apple. She knew Mr Attorcop well enough to answer that one.

“I think it’s more about my ability to work it out, rather than knowing exactly what it says straight away. Cromwell is always… was always thinking about people’s potential, rather than their current abilities.” The three of them brought their hands up in unison to shade their eyes from the sun which had just poked its face out from behind a cloud. It was a nice day but none of them felt as though they could appreciate it fully.

“Alright then,” said Peter, “what would your next move be?”

Lilian had been wondering the same thing. “Well,” she replied, chucking her apple core over to Fritha who caught it mid air, “I’ve already asked two people I trust and they haven’t been able to help, so I think my next move would be to ask a third person.”

Serena chuckled, “It’s funny to talk like that. Like you’re trying to guess your own instincts. Alright then, who do we go to next?”

“Someone intelligent,” said Lilian, “someone who has studied a lot and who Cromwell knew I would go to for help.” It only took her a few seconds to be sure. Finally, she said, “I think we should go to the Stave church.”

They found Brother Thomas sweeping the central hall with Brother Ulnar. After a proper introduction Lilian asked if they could go into his office so that they could discuss a private matter. Brother Ulnar smiled and waved them off before going back to his duties and the rest of them piled into the Stave back room. Brother Thomas had to move a few books, stacks of parchment and a disgruntled cat off some chairs but eventually everyone found a place to sit.

“There we are,” said Brother Thomas, getting comfortable in his own chair, “now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

They chose to avoid mentioning how they came by the riddle, framing it as an intellectual pursuit that was currently fashionable in Freedos. Brother Thomas’ eyes lit up when he read it. Either he adored puzzles, thought Lilian, or he was just pleased to think of something other than Sage Fenric for a morning.

There was a short silence while he read and reread the note. It was punctured intermittently by the rhythmic ticking of a large grandfather clock in the corner, its brass pendulum swaying side to side like it too was trying to see the problem from as many angles as possible. The only other sound was the purring of the cat who had decided to settle on Serena’s lap and was currently prodding at her thigh and drooling a little bit.

“Well, I’m not sure about all of it,” said Brother Thomas, finally, “but I know who Dermador is.” This sent a jolt of hope zipping through the room and Lilian, Serena and Peter all sat bolt upright scaring the cat.

“Really? Who is it?” Asked Lilian.

“He was a writer. He wrote books, stories, poems. I think I have one of his somewhere…” Brother Thomas got up and went over to a bookshelf. Lilian was amazed at how he would be able to find anything in this jumbled jungle but sure enough Brother Thomas was able to locate the book within just a few moments. “Here it is, it’s a bit worn but the ink should still be readable.” He handed the small, leather bound book to Lilian who opened it up to the title page.

“The Cormorant by Theobald Dermador,” she read aloud and then looked at Brother Thomas with raised eyebrows.

“It’s rather good if you like that sort of thing. His style is a bit verbose but I think that was what was popular at the time. He uses a lot of flowery, overly complicated descriptions which can be a bit tiresome but the story is good and the characters are very memorable.”

“And Tellis?” Asked Peter, “Does that name feature in the story?”

Brother Thomas furrowed his brow in thought, “It’s been a long time since I read it but that name doesn’t ring a bell I’m afraid.” Everyone slumped back into their chairs. Lilian felt a strange desperation rise up inside of her, a sense that solving this riddle was of the utmost urgency and needed to be done right this instant or else more people may get hurt. She felt her heart begin to beat quickly, Fritha looked over at her from her spot across the room. The feinhound looked as though she was about to tip her head back and utter her loud gong sound that signified fear. Lilian didn’t want that, she didn’t want everyone to know how she was feeling. Thankfully, at that moment a distraction arrived in the form of a little girl.

“Lilian?” Serena’s voice caught her attention, “who is this?” Lilian looked up and over at where Serena was pointing. A shy half face was peering round the doorway, Lilian could see one big, brown eye staring at everyone and assessing the scene. Lilian smiled and gestured for the figure to come in.

“This is Emma,” she said, “she lives in town.” Emma entered the room slowly and then ran over to Fritha to give her a hug. Fritha’s tail wagged and she licked Emma’s face a few times, causing her to giggle. She then wanted to do the same with the cat but the put upon feline was having none of it and jumped to a high shelf before she could be touched. A little disappointed, Emma walked over to see Lilian, avoiding eye contact from Serena or Peter. Lilian did the signs for ‘hello’ and ‘how are you?’ and watched Emma give her a nervous thumbs up. Lilian smiled, “She’s shy I think, because she doesn’t know you. She can’t hear but I’ve been learning these signs with her mum so that we can talk.”

Peter nodded his head, “there’s a school in Freedos where you can learn them. I only know a few, my mum knows more, she has a friend who speaks with them.” Peter waited until Emma was facing him before doing a couple of signs that Lilian recognised as ‘I like your dress.” Emma’s face turned bright red and she buried her head into Lilian’s lap in embarrassment and delight. Everyone smiled.

“Looks like I have some competition,” said Serena with a wink at Peter.

Lilian tapped Emma on the shoulder before crudely signing, ‘why, here?’ Emma laughed and shook her head and Lilian’s attempt. She showed her the correct way to sign the question ‘why are you here?’ before suddenly recalling the reason for her visit. The little girl then forgot everything that was around her and began to quickly sign several things at once. Lilian tried her best to keep up but only caught things like ‘over there’, ‘this morning’ and one sign she knew meant ‘today’. The bulk of the message was unfortunately beyond Lilian’s current abilities and so she grabbed a quill from Brother Thomas’ desk and gave her the closest piece of parchment to write on. Emma rolled her eyes as if she was tired of having to dumb everything down for this audience of imbeciles. Then she grabbed the quill and quickly scrawled a message in wobbly handwriting. Lilian then took it from her and read aloud:

“He’s back.”

The words brought a strange atmosphere into the room. It was like a cloud had passed in front of the sun and the world grew momentarily darker. Lilian turned to look at the door. A large part of her wanted to run for it, head out of the Stave Church and straight across town to the glade, find Sage Fenric and do everything within her power to hurt him as much as she could. Her heart began to beat strong and fast in the anticipation of it, her body sensing her mind’s intentions. Serena must have sensed them as well.

“Lilian,” she caught her attention, “I know how you must be feeling right now…” Lilian wanted to snap at her, to yell that no one could possibly know, that she had every right to act however she wished, but Serena continued before she could speak. “The thing you want, it will come, but we need to prepare. He’s stronger than you know and if we rush in blindly…” she did not finish her sentence. She didn’t need to.

A small and quiet part of Lilian’s mind, the rational part, knew that she was right and thankfully her advice was enough to awaken that part of her and bring her back to the present moment. She looked at Emma who was staring at her with wide eyed concern and then to Brother Thomas who had a grave expression on his face. He was an intelligent man, Lilian knew he would work everything out eventually. They had not told him that Mr Attorcop had sent the message because they hadn’t wanted to go through everything that had led up to its sending.

“Lilian,” he said softly, “I’m sorry for everything Sage Fenric has put you through. But I agree with Serena, and not just for now. Violence is never the answer. I’m happy to help you as best I can but I won’t if it means you causing harm. This message, I’m sure whoever gave it to you,” he emphasised the words to let her know that he’d guessed the rest, “did not mean for you to throw your life away recklessly in the pursuit of revenge.” Lilian had to hand it to him. He’d guessed quite a lot. Brother Thomas had never approved of Lilian’s friendship with Mr Attorcop, but that didn’t mean he was heartless. He looked down at his desk at continued, “this message you’ve shown me, surely it has the key to solving the problem of Sage Fenric without resorting to vio…” he stopped himself mid-sentence. Lilian glanced over at him and saw that he was looking confused. “Where is it?” he asked.

Suddenly, everyone was looking for the piece of parchment that they had written Mr Attorcop’s riddle on. To lose such a thing, to have it fall into the hands of Sage Fenric, even if by accident might cause him to get one step ahead of them and regain the advantage. Lilian felt a slight panic creep into her but she realised quickly that Emma was busy looking at the small piece of parchment she’d written her own message on. She had turned it over and was reading Mr Attorcop’s riddle. “It’s fine,” said Lilian, breathing a sigh of relief, “Emma’s got it.”

Lilian moved herself to the edge of her seat and tapped Emma’s wrist to get her attention. She thought about what signs she knew and how she might use them to communicate a question. She was about to use the sign for ‘give’ when Emma thrust the paper into her palm and began pointing at it. She was pointing at one of the names written there with such gusto that the parchment crumpled at her point of touch. Lilian’s eyes widened and for a moment she forgot all about Sage Fenric.

“What is it?” Asked Peter, craning his neck to see.

“She’s pointing at the word Brava. I think she knows who that is.”

A short while later they were at Emma’s house. Her mother, Esther, had been busy making scones which she kindly offered to everyone after introductions. Lilian, her mouth full of bread and salted butter, explained why they were there.

“We’re trying to work out a sort of, puzzle. A riddle with a list of names. When Emma saw it she pointed to this one, Brava.” She showed Esther the full riddle and waited while she read it. After a few seconds she smiled and nodded.

“Yes Brava’s army, do you not know the story? We have a picture book here somewhere with it in. Emma learned to read with stories like that.”

“May we see it?” Asked Serena. Esther shrugged and disappeared into the next room for a few moments. Peter, Lilian and Serena shared looks of hope while they waited. Emma used the distraction to sneak another scone to share with Fritha. Fritha’s coat turned into a dazzling array of grey and blue at the site of the sweet treat. This caused Emma to laugh and gave the whole game away. Esther returned a second later with a small book in her hand. It was not a leather bound tome like Brother Thomas’ book by Dermador, but a small collection of stories covered by thin bits of wood and bound with twine. The wood had a picture of a goose on it and the words, “A Collection of Tales” written in swirling yellow letters. There was no author. It was a sweet thing, cheaply made and well loved. Emma reached for it as soon as she saw it in her mother’s hands. She wanted to be the one to show Lilian the story. She flicked the parchment pages, stained by years of foody fingers and found a story called, ‘The Fable of King Brava’. She showed it proudly to Lilian who took the book from her and made the sign for ‘thank you’ (a brief touch of the chin with a flat hand). Then, she began to read.

King Brava was known by all to be the strongest warrior in the land. It was his strength in a hundred battles and a thousand duals that made him fit to be King. So confident was he in his abilities that he proclaimed many times that anyone who could best him in a fight, could take his throne and crown and become ruler themselves. Fighters from all over the world would come to visit King Brava, not to fight him, for they did not wish to rule, but in the hope that he would grant them the highest honour a fighter could have. To become a personal bodyguard to the king. Eventually, the number of fighters that King Brava awarded this honour to became so many that a special tower was built to house them all. King Brava lived at the very top and anyone wishing to claim his throne would have to defeat every bodyguard and ascend every floor before fighting the king himself. A few people tried, some even reached the very top, but the thought of having to fight the strongest fighter in all the land after running such a gauntlet was enough to put them off vying for the throne. But one day, many years after the tower was constructed, a young fighter attempted the tower. He was fed up of King Brava’s decisions as king and knew that with his brains and training he could do a better job of running the land. And so he attempted the tower. The first few floors were easy enough but by the time he was half way up he was very tired. But still, he fought on, fighting better and better opponents and besting every one. Finally he reached King Brava’s door. He was bloody and bruised and exhausted from the countless duals. He considered turning back, fearing this fight more than any other, but he braced himself, opened the doors and faced the warrior king. But instead of a great fighter, he found a frightened old man.

“Please,” said King Brava, “you who are so strong and brave, hear me. You have bested my bodyguards and have every right to claim your place as king. But I will offer you something better. Become my strongest bodyguard and you will live a life of luxury. I will pay you handsomely and you shall have everything you wish for. It will be just like being king, only you will not have the burden of responsibility.” The hero considered the King’s offer for just a moment before raising his blade once more and claiming his place as King. Before the final blow was struck he said, “To serve the land as King is its own reward.”

Lilian put the book down. She’d been reading aloud for the benefit of Serena and Peter, but little Emma had been looking over her shoulder and dragging her finger along the sentences to follow along. Once the story was finished she smiled broadly and turned the pages to the start of another. Lilian let her have the book and turned back to her friends.

“Did either of you get anything from that?”

Peter’s face was scrunched up in thought, “well,” he said, “it seems as though there’s a common theme here. Brava is a character in a story, and Dermador is a writer so that means the rest of the names are probably characters and writers as well. So…” he began to pace around the small living room gesticulating with his arms as he went, “that means that Treyant would be a character in a story by someone called Custer and Horbling is probably a character in a story as well.”

Serena piped up, “so we need to find all these stories and then figure out what they mean.”

Lilian nodded, “Not just the stories though. I think it’s specifically the characters involved and what happens to them in the order of the message. Look,” she got the piece of parchment out from her trouser pocket and flattened it out on the small table near the fireplace. “They’re in an order and see here, it says ‘and then’ remember Horbling. ‘Then all that’s left is Brava’s army’ he’s giving us a set of instructions.”

All this theorising had caught Esther’s attention, she came over to have a look at the riddle. It was quickly becoming clear to Lilian that keeping this thing a secret was going to be impossible. She did not know any of these writers or their stories so she would have to rely on others to guide her. Her best hope would be to get pieces of the puzzle from anyone who had them, and then put the picture together herself.

“What is this?” Asked Esther. Serena and Peter looked at Lilian.

“It’s a message. From a friend. A sort of code. We’re hoping that solving it will tell us how to get rid of Sage Fenric.”

This revelation did not seem to shock Emma’s mother. She simply sighed, “Well, here’s hoping. Although I should think getting rid of him would be just the start.”

“What do you mean?” Said Peter, looking round from where his pacing had taken him.

“Well,” Esther shrugged, “It’s not just him is it? It’s everyone. All the people who follow him. What will they say if he just disappears one day? He’s probably over there right now saying, watch out for little women with red hair, if I die then you can be sure it’s them to blame. Or something equally ridiculous.”

Lilian knew she had a point. But she would cross that particularly complicated bridge when she came to it, first, she would deal with Sage Fenric. She would help the people of Benlunar, even if it meant they hated her for it.

Serena breathed out a weary sigh, “so where to next? Who do we know who knows a lot of stories?”

The idea came into Lilian’s head so quickly that she was halfway to the door before she had time to speak it fully. “I know just the man,” she said as she stretched her arm out to reach for the door handle. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of him sooner I just…” she stopped mid sentence and mid stride. A knock at the door had interrupted her flow and suddenly the feeling of excitement that had energised her exit turned into feelings of fear and dread. She turned and whispered to Eshter, “Are you… expecting anyone?” Esther shook her head and moved her body instinctively between the door and her child. Emma was still reading, blissfully oblivious to the knock or the tension that had just come over the room. Serena and Peter went to stand either side of Lilian, their fists raised, ready to attack anyone that came through the opening. Lilian turned back to the door and reached for the handle. In one swift movement she pulled the door open and brought her hand back to her body in a tight fist ready to defend herself.

Standing in the doorway was a dark figure. The sun was just beginning to set but this person seemed already to be shrouded by night. A chill wind whipped through the doorway heralding their arrival with a ghostly whistle. For a moment between heart beats, Lilian thought that it might be Mr Attorcop. But she realised quickly that this person was too short. The figure stepped forward solemnly and removed the hood that was covering their head. The motion revealed an old woman with a kind and wizened face. Her expression was serious and as she stepped wordlessly across the threshold Lilian lowered her hands and head in deference. As was custom when meeting a town elder.

“Lilian Lausanne,” said Mrs Thoreson, “We should speak.”

Episode 61

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

Mr Attorcop tasted blood. He must have bitten his tongue as he fell. His knees hurt from the impact and his hand was rubbed raw from scraping it along the floor. On top of that his shoulder was still stinging from where Sage Fenric’s sword had pierced it moment’s ago. He was tired, out of breath and his vision was starting to blur. He suspected the cut on his shoulder to be deeper than he’d previously thought. If only he wasn’t cornered and trapped in this strange, upside down church far beneath a deadly marsh. If he could see the light of the moon, if he had his cloak with him, if he hadn’t dropped his remaining lunar essence, if Lilian or an ally was nearby if… if… But there was nothing. There was only the taste of blood and regret.

Footsteps approached. Sage Fenric had been observing him from a distance but now he felt confident enough to get close and gloat.

“Is that it?” he said, with a slight chuckle, “my my, what a waste of effort. I must admit I had been expecting something grander. But then my master is great and has gifted me with strength beyond even your imagining Cromwell. I suppose it’s for the best really. I know I would rather die alone than have to see everyone I cared for and everything I’d built be destroyed.”

Just a little closer, thought Mr Attorcop. Sage Fenric would only have to take one more step for him to be in arms reach. Mr Attorcop knew when he was outmanoeuvred but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn things, it didn’t mean his position would not be known. Finally, the step came and so Mr Attorcop summoned all of his remaining strength to stand up in a quick burst and bring his fist into contact with Sage Fenric’s chin. The blow landed and Sage Fenric was momentarily lifted off the ground by its force.

As he recoiled back in shock and pain Mr Attorcop thought that his expression of shame and hatred might even be worth dying for.

“Huh ha haaa… There’s that fighting spirit. Very well then…”

“Oh do be quiet,” Mr Attorcop interrupted, his fist stinging from the impact, “if you want to fight me then fight me, don’t keep wittering on.”

Sage Fenric smiled, “As you wish.”

He strafed left and brought his dark blade up, ready to hurl it forwards. But Mr Attorcop did not let him get far. He rushed in, fists balled into tight, white knuckle weapons that flew forward, powered by the last of his speed and strength. Sage Fenric had the arrogance of a blade user in a fist fight and so did not think to create distance between them. But Mr Attorcop knew that blades were only as good as their reach and so he put himself between Sage Fenric’s sword and his body. He landed a right hand body blow, he blocked Sage Fenric’s wrist with his left hand, he head butted Sage Fenric’s nose sending him backwards, he put his right foot out and kicked Sage Fenric’s leg causing him to stumble. Mr Attorcop lurched forward again and used the back of his palm to knock the blade away. He kicked Sage Fenric’s left knee, knocking him down, he grabbed the man’s yellow cloak with his left hand and pulled his face towards his oncoming fist. He was six hits away from a knockout, seven from a victory. He swallowed a mouthful of blood and pushed the pain out of his mind. He had all paths considered, he was five moves ahead and he could see fear in Sage Fenric’s eyes. But it wasn’t enough.

As if sensing its acolytes imminent defeat, the church… reacted. When Mr Attorcop stepped forward to continue his attack, the floor fell away from his feet. His leg fell through to empty air and he bellowed as a deafening crack signalled his shin breaking. The pain threw him to the floor. There, he came face to face with a character from one of the murals. It was a large, porcine man whose smile stretched thinning skin from one side of his face to another. Mr Attorcop caught himself wondering if the character had always been smiling, or was just reacting to his recent, humiliating fall. He looked up in time to see Sage Fenric’s boot hurtling towards his face. A flash of white spread through Mr Attorcop’s head and his vision blurred. Another boot came, followed swiftly by a kick to the stomach. Somewhere in the distance, Mr Attorcop could hear laughter, maniacal and desperate. Then a voice.

“Pathetic fool. To think you could come to my masters house and beat me. Arrogant…” another kick, “belligerent,” and another, “pompous cretin!” Pain had lost all meaning by this point. His body was broken and his mind was becoming foggy. Despite everything, Mr Attorcop found himself smiling. If he had had his cloak, or more lunar essence, if he’d had more information or if he hadn’t been fighting in this strange place then yes, he would have won. And it would have been easy.

In the blur of shapes above him Mr Attorcop saw a glint of dark metal. It rushed downwards and met its target somewhere above his naval. He groaned and tasted blood and bile.

“That’s one less heretic. One less essence eater for my master to purge. Goodbye, Cromwell, I’ll leave you here to die. A final gift for my master, although I doubt he’ll find much value in your life.” With those final words, Sage Fenric walked away.

Mr Attorcop felt the reverberation of his steps dwindle as he headed for the door. He tried to remain conscious but his vision was tunnelling and his breaths were becoming short and shallow. He did what any man would do at this point, he thought of his life. Of the people he’d loved, of the mistakes he’d made and the legacy he would leave. He was surprised to find that he had relatively few regrets. He thought of Lilian then, and found a tear forming in his eye. He would have liked to help her one last time. Prepare her for the upcoming fight.

Suddenly, he felt the vibration of footsteps again. They were quicker now, more desperate. He thought that Sage Fenric was running back to finish the job, but that was not the case.

“Cromwell??” a voice, high pitched and panicked came to him. He tried opening his eyes and caught a glimpse of blonde hair and brown eyes. “Peter! He’s here. Quickly,” said the voice. It was Serena. No, thought Cromwell Attorcop. They can’t be here, it’s too dangerous. “Hold on Cromwell, we’re going to help.” He heard the sound of material ripping, the busying of movement and the shifting of his body. He held up a hand to stop her.

“Serena…” Peter had arrived by now. He had worked with healing herbs his entire life, he knew the difference between a person who needed help, and one who needed comfort. “Serena, stop.” he said, “We’re too late.” Serena turned to look daggers at him.

“Peter, he’s breathing, he’s… we can help, just grab his arm… here look…”

“Serena…” Peter’s command cut through the darkness and brought Serena back to a reality she had not wanted to believe. A sob broke through from deep within her throat. Mr Attorcop felt her chilled fingers slip between his own. He gripped them, thankful for the touch of another person in the moment. Suddenly, he realised that if he had strength to grip a hand, he might be able to grip a tool.

“Pen…” Mr Attorcop uttered the word quietly, he let go of Serena’s hand and began to move his arm in a mimed scribble.

“Pen, Peter, he said pen, he needs to write something.” Mr Attorcop heard her rustling through her belongings.

“I… I haven’t got one,” said Peter.

“Here,” Serena had found something, “Take this, write here.”

Mr Attorcop felt an object thrust into his hand, he did not have time to consider it, but if felt heavier than a feather pen. Although that may have been because he was so weak. Somehow, a large pale sheet of paper appeared as if by magic in front of him.

“Serena, what are you…?” Peter sounded worried.

“It’s the only way, we need to get this message and he’s too weak to speak.”

And so Mr Attorcop began to write. The paper felt rubbery and cold but he ignored the strangeness of it, focusing only on the task at hand. In the last few moments of his fight with Sage Fenric, the idea that had been forming in his mind had coalesced into a clear image. He knew what Lilian would have to do. He knew he couldn’t communicate the key directly, there was still a chance that these two might be captured. He would use a code and trust that only Lilian would be able to crack it. She was clever, she would understand.

Despite the chill in the church, Serena began to sweat. She winced in pain and fought back hot tears as Mr Attorcop carved his message directly into her back.

After just a couple of minutes the message was finished. Mr Attorcop’s strength lasted until the final word and then the knife clattered to the floor. Serena turned around and leaned forwards, Peter was beside her listening for some final words of wisdom.

“Get… out!” Mr Attorcop wanted to shout the words but they could only emerge as a whisper.

Peter grabbed hold of Serena’s arm and practically had to wrench her from Mr Attorcop’s side, “he’s right, we need to leave, now.”

Serena clutched Mr Attorcop’s hand. She wanted to say a thousand things, but she knew that time was not on her side. Something was shifting in the darkness above them, reacting to their presence. As she let go of Mr Attorcop’s hand she said the words that best summed up all of the ones she would not have time to say, “Thank you.” And then she turned, and ran, her form quickly blurring as it sped into the darkness. Mr Attorcop smiled and closed his eyes. He’d done his best and now he was ready for the next adventure. In an upside down church, under a marsh, miles from anything Cromwell Attorcop was there. And then,a moment later, he wasn’t.

In the middle of the night, for a reason unknown to her, Lilian woke up with a strange feeling. She did not start awake like one would from a nightmare, but the lingering sense of unease that a bad dream leaves was there nonetheless. She was back in her childhood bedroom, in Benlunar. Her eyes scanned the darkness, instinctively trying to find the problem. But all they saw were old clothes that did not fit, long forgotten toys that loped to one side, their button eyes gazing back at her with blank expressions. She tried to go back to sleep, but after tossing and turning for a while she gave up and went downstairs.

With nothing else to do, she began to build the morning fire in the kitchen alcove. Once it was lit, she busied herself with making a cup of nettle tea. As she came back into the house from collecting water, she nearly dropped her pale in surprise.

“Seven heavens! You gave me a fright.”

Her father was sitting at the kitchen table, gazing into the flickering flames. They painted his face orange and highlighted deep contours around his exhausted, bloodshot eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I could not sleep.”

Lilian went back to making tea, tiptoeing around the edges of the elephant sized absence left by her mother.

“It’s just for a few days…” her father spoke again, continuing a conversation that had never officially begun. “She’ll come home soon.”

Lilian turned to look at him. In all her life, she had never known her big, bearded, bear strong father to look so small. She nodded, trying to reassure him, “She will. We just need to be patient. Soon she’ll see that it’s all nonsense and she’ll be back here fussing over both of us so much we’ll wish she’d stayed!” The joke did not produce a laugh from her father, but he nodded to show that he’d heard her. To Lilian, he seemed as unconvinced as she had felt when she’d said it.

Lilian finished brewing the tea and the two of them sat in silence while the moon made her slow journey across the night sky. Fritha had woken up and joined the two of them, finding a space under the kitchen table to curl up and go back to sleep. Father and daughter chatted occasionally but neither of them would remember what the other had said by morning. As the light of dawn crept into the kitchen Lilian began to feel awake. She had never been the kind of person that could let problems resolve themselves. She did not know what she could do, but she needed to feel like she was doing something. She threw some jam on some bread, a slice for her and one for her dad, gave the old man a hug and left the house. Fritha followed her, only leaving her side to sniff at the occasional clump of wet ground.

It had been three days since she’d sent the bird off to Freedos with her message for Mr Attorcop. She had been into town every day since then and each time she went the streets felt more and more empty. And it was not just because she left the house early, the quiet cobbled roads would stay this way throughout the day. At around mid-morning a strange siren song would start some way in the distance. The revellers camped around Sage Fenric’s grove played music all day, luring lonely villagers over to them with the promise of fun, friendship and freedom from an oppressive Stave controlled theocracy. The only edicts? Follow the new religion, believe unconditionally and above all do not question the word of the Sage.

Lilian had heard stories of shaming rituals leak into town from the grove. The offending party would have raised a concern or asked a question and the group would turn on them in an instant, forcing them to repent or face being cast out. They would then admit their mistake and be forgiven by all, tears would be shed and their faith would redouble with a new found sense of belonging. Lilian likened it in her mind to a machine that powered itself. Any evidence that contradicted their beliefs would be magically disproved by those very same beliefs. And so the machine continued on, feeding and eating itself and sucking up more life and colour from the world around it. Say what you wanted about Brother Thomas and the Stave church, at least he was aware that the stories in the books never really happened and that any wisdom gained from them can and should be treated with a healthy dose of scepticism.

Lilian felt a rough tongue on the back of her hand. Fritha was licking her, pulling her back to reality with soft and gentle encouragement. Lilian smiled at her. Her mind had been very loud recently, it was nice to have a fear sensing friend beside her who knew when she needed to calm down. Looking up, she saw that she had wandered into the town square. A few people were shuffling listlessly into the Stave Church so Lilian decided to join them.

Brother Thomas gave a good service, retelling the story of Jaynor and the beast, but Lilian could tell that his heart was not in it. Looking around the hall she could have counted the attendees on two hands. Everyone looked tired, like they too had woken up in the middle of the night and not been able to go back to sleep. Lilian thought that Brother Thomas’ interpretation of the beast in the story being like a movement or an idea was a little heavy handed, but she knew that he was doing his best with what he had. He had renounced all violence long ago and had put his faith in people. Lilian had yet to commit to that particular path. Violence may not be the answer but it helped when asking the question.

When the service was over Lillian stayed in her seat. She gazed up at one of the tapestries on the wall while waiting for Brother Thomas to come back from seeing off the congregation at the door. The tapestry depicted a woman lost in a forest, surrounded by sprites or nymphs. Lilian did not know the story to which it alluded and she was unsure if the sprites were helping her or making her feel afraid. Fritha stirred by Lilian’s feet and got up to stretch. The cold flagstones must not have made much of a bed. She was in a playful mood and decided to try and steal one of Lilian’s boots while she was still wearing it. Lilian pushed her away at first, not feeling up to a game, but Fritha insisted and within a minute she had dragged Lilian onto the floor of the Stave, screeching and laughing while she pulled off her right boot and ran away with it.

Brother Thomas caught them playing as he came back into the central hall, “well,” he said, “at least someone is enjoying their time at Church.”

Lilian looked up at him and brushed her hair out of her face, “She’s got my boot! And don’t be like that, everyone had a good time. We’re just… tired.”

Brother Thomas nodded and Lilian went back to chasing Fritha. The feinhound was enjoying the game very much. She brought Lilian’s boot over to Brother Thomas in an effort to make him chase her for it, but he did not engage. And so Fritha dropped the boot and decided to grab one of the draw strings around the waist of Brother Thomas’ robes.

“No no!” he shouted, “that’s not a toy. Gracious you’re a big animal, umm, no thank you!” but it was too late. Fritha sensed his resistance and just made it part of the game. Three seconds later she had the cord in her mouth and she was pulling Brother Thomas about the space like a sack of potatoes. Lilian fell about laughing. She stepped back and due to the lack of boot, slipped on a tiled mosaic and landed in a heap on the floor. This of course brought Fritha running over to her to lick her face which made her laugh even more.

“Get off me you silly beast,” she managed to say through fits of giggles. She had her eyes closed to avoid getting slobber in them and when she could finally sit up and open them she was greeted with a strange sight.

Two figures had walked into the church. There was a young man and a young woman. They looked about ready to collapse from exhaustion and were covered head to toe in dust and dirt. The mud was so caked on in some parts of their bodies that Lilian thought they might be trolls or strange hill folk coming to reclaim their mountain from Benlunar settlers. Fritha knew them instantly and ran over to greet the couple. Her happy sprint however transformed mid journey into a sombre plod. A feeling of sadness coated these two seeming strangers heavier even than the layers of mud on their skin and clothes. Fritha sensed it immediately, and Lilian saw it too. It was marked in lines on their faces where tear shaped trenches streaked down their cheeks. The woman tried to speak, but her throat was too dry. The man behind her raised his hand but fell to his knees before he could utter a word. In that instant, all became clear. Lillian snapped into action.

“Brother Thomas, fetch some fresh water please. Then go to the Fox and Octopus and ask Liny to prepare two baths and two beds.”

Brother Thomas did not wait to question his orders. He hurried himself to the back room of the Stave, shooting the strangers a concerned glance before leaving them in Lilian’s care. When he returned with a jug of water he helped her to make them drink, being sure that they took small sips and not big gulps, lest their dehydrated bodies reject the liquid. As they held the cups in both hands and sipped slowly through cracked lips, Brother Thomas whispered a question, “who are they?”

“This is Serena Bellaswan and Peter Sturgeon,” she replied, “they’re from Freedos, and they’re my friends.”

An hour later everyone had been fed, bathed and rehydrated. In her dazed state Serena had continuously tried to stop Lilian from looking after her in order to tell her something important. But every time Lilian let her speak she slurred her words and nearly collapsed again from exhaustion. Peter was in an even worse condition. Lilian could not imagine what had forced them to travel without food or water for what must have been at least a couple of days, but here they were and she would be damned if she would let any further harm come to them. She would nurse them back to health even if she had to fight them.

Thankfully Liny at the Fox & Octopus shared her motivation and would not hear a word out of either of them until they were tucked so tightly into a bed that Lillian worried about blood being able to reach their heads.

Lilian sat with them for the rest of the afternoon. They were in a room above the inn, in separate beds. Lilian had been in this room before, it had a red carpet spread over a dark wood floor. The walls were adorned with oil paintings of quaint cottages and imposing mountains. Fritha slept by the fire which grumbled quietly under a stone mantle. At one point, Xander came in to check if she wanted to eat something. She shook her head at first, not feeling up to it, but when he told her that he’d just finished making some pies she changed her mind. Things were bad, but they weren’t that bad.

Just as night was drawing in, Serena stirred. Lilian had been reading a book that Liny had lent her and she was so engrossed in the story that she nearly didn’t notice. But when Serena sat up and groaned, Lilian dropped the book and hurried to her side.

“Take it slow Serena, you were very dehydrated and you still need rest. How’s your head? I can get you something for the pain.” Lilian kept her voice low to keep from waking Peter.

Serena smiled at her fretting, “I’m alright. I’ll sleep properly in a bit.”

Lilian was glad to hear she was feeling better. She wondered if now would be a good time to ask her all the questions she’d been sitting on all day. She attempted a few more seconds of silence but then her restraint failed her, “why are you here? I mean, it’s lovely to see you and Peter, but I wasn’t expecting you. You looked like you were running away from something, is everything alright?” This final question brought about a change in Serena’s expression. It was as if she had forgotten a nightmare upon waking, only to be reminded of it just then.

Lilian looked into Serena’s bright blue eyes. A sheen of tears caught the candle light and Lilian heard a crack in Serena’s voice when she spoke.

“Oh Lilian,” she said, “I’m so sorry. I have some horrible news.”

She told Lilian everything that had happened from the moment they received her message and in the telling, Lilian’s world became smaller. It took her more than a moment to believe Serena. Stories such as these were more often heard as plays or great tragic adventure books. They were not real. They did not really happen. A part of Lilian wanted to believe that Serena was a player, merely recounting a fake event that had happened somewhere off stage. But the tears in her eyes and the tone of her voice told Lilian that it was all very real.

Somewhere during the telling Fritha had awoken from her place by the fire and wondered over. Her tail wagged at seeing Serena, but fell when she sensed the fear in Lilian. The big hound sniffed the air around her friend. There was fear there, as clear as the smoke from the fire. She rested her head on Lilian’s lap in the hope that its weight and warmth would bring some comfort.

“And then we journeyed here as fast as we could,” Serena continued, “we got lost a few times and we had to leave our horses at the base of the mountain but we just knew we had to get to you. We had to warn you.”

Lilian nodded in understanding but the motion felt strange and rehearsed. There were a hundred emotions battling each other inside her body and brain. She wanted to shout at Serena for not helping Mr Attorcop, she wanted to rush out of the room and fight Sage Fenric that very instant, she wanted to break down and cry, she wanted to jump up and run. Out of all of them, anger emerged as the victor. She was angry with herself.

“I should have been there,” she finally said, “I should not have sent a bird, I should have come myself.”

Serena put her hand on Lilian’s and Lilian only realised then that it was balled into a tight fist. Serena was shaking her head, “No,” she said. “Trust me, it was better that you were here, Benlunar needs you.”

“Cromwell needed me,” Lilian barked her reply.

Serena gripped her hand even tighter, Lilian wanted to wrench it away but found some comfort in her touch. “Lilian, you know as well as I do that Cromwell was a more than competent fighter. I beat myself over the head the whole journey here. But I realise now that if Peter and I had been there we would only have gotten in his way, or worse. And if you had been there instead then…” she paused, not wanting to insult Lilian’s abilities, “Lilian that man is dangerous. What’s more, whatever he served was there too, and it was helping him. Who knows what lengths it would have gone to to protect its servant. Trust me, my love, you were better off here. I’m sorry. I really am.” Lilian managed to soften her grip but the tension in her remained. She had to trust her friend, but accepting her advice would take time.

Then, Serena’s face changed, a brightness returned to it, “Oh!” she exclaimed, “I almost forgot. Cromwell must have learned something during the fight. Something he wanted you to know. He wrote it down before…” Serena stopped herself, unable to say the words a second time that night.

Lilian looked about for Serena’s things, expecting to see a letter or a note “where is it?” She asked.

Serena bit her lip, “well, we didn’t have any paper, nor a pen or a quill so…” Serena then pushed the blanket covering her down a little way, turned around to face away from Lilian and then proceeded to pull the neckline of her shirt down her back. Lilian looked on in confusion. Then, when the loose woollen shirt that Liny had brought her after her bath was hanging loosely down her back, Lilian caught a glimpse of redness just below her right shoulder. It looked like a cut, or a series of small cuts that one might get being dragged backwards through a rose garden, but upon further inspection, Lilian saw that each cut was in fact a symbol. A message was there, in scratchy, scabbed writing.

“Serena…” Lilian whispered, “your back.”

“It’s fine,” her friend replied, “it will heal, and the scars will go eventually. The important thing was to get the message to you. I’ll admit, though, we travelled so fast, I haven’t had time to learn what it says yet.”

Lilian took her cue and moved the shirt down a little to reveal the full message. It took a few seconds to work out the handwriting, but once she understood it she began to read,

“Think of Tellis in Dermador. Treyant in Custer and then remember Horbling. It’s strong but loves a bargain. Then all that’s left is Brava’s army.”

There was a pause while Lilian reread the words three more times to herself, making sure she had every one correct. Finally, she leant back and breathed out a long sigh.

Serena adjusted her shirt to a more comfortable position and turned to look at her friend. The words had not made any sense to her and so she asked Lilian, “What does it mean?”

Lilian looked up at her with a solemn expression and replied, “I have absolutely no idea.”

Episode 60

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

Ominous sounds. Dripping. Echoes.

Deep beneath the Drygemarsh, miles from anything and hidden from the world there is a church. It is nowhere near a forest, and yet it is built of wood. It is tall as a fortress and yet the top of its tower touches the ground. Its main hall is suspended high in the air, attached to the roof of a cave like the cocooned prey of some giant arachnid. Moisture and dread drip from its walls and even though there is no sign or symbol denoting its purpose only the cruel or insane would see it and not run in terror.

Cromwell Attorcop, not insane, became suddenly aware of his own body. He had been standing stock still, in a mix of exhaustion and shock a few feet in from the entrance to the cave that housed this unnatural construction. Had anyone decided to look in his direction he would be spotted instantly and so Mr Attorcop pulled his eyes away from the building above him and looked for a place to hide.

As he tiptoed carefully to a large set of upward pointing stalagmites that he could use as cover, he wondered what became of Serena and Peter up on the surface of the marsh. A part of him hoped that they would not find this place. The three of them had been tracking a man named Fenric through the marsh at Lilian’s request. Mr Attorcop did not know why she needed this man followed but now that he was here, he was even more determined to learn as much as he could and then warn Lilian about what he had found.

He had to duck down quite a way to avoid being seen by anyone coming out of the church. Its entrance was still quite some distance away, in what would have been the church tower, had the thing been built the right side up. To access this opening one would have to walk underneath the main bulk of the building. Mr Attorcop wanted to avoid doing that if at all possible. The whole thing looked as though it might collapse if someone sneezed too loudly down here.

He studied the building for a time and assumed that there must be a staircase within the tower that could take you up to the main hall. Occasionally Mr Attorcop would hear sounds coming from up there but they did not paint a clear picture of what might be happening inside. At one point he heard a sort of crashing sound as if someone had tipped a wheelbarrow filled with silverware onto the floor. There were no voices and no lights, nothing to communicate what might be going on inside. Mr Attorcop resolved that he would investigate the interior once it was safe and empty. He guessed that this might be some time away as whoever would travel this far to come here would presumably want to rest or complete some complicated, lengthy task.

It appeared as though this assumption was wrong however. Just as soon as Mr Attorcop got comfortable on the wet and rocky surface behind the stalagmites, he heard the sounds of footsteps at the other end of the cave. The corner where he was hiding was a good distance away from the closest torch and so he judged it to be dark and safe enough for him to look out from. He lifted his head slowly, not wishing for a sudden movement to attract attention.

He saw a man walking slowly towards the entrance to the cave. He wore a large, yellow cloak with its hood up so that it obscured his face. He walked slowly but with purpose. Mr Attorcop saw that his shoes were made of fine leather. They were clearly wet but seemed sturdy enough to come out of the salty journey relatively unscathed. He carried something on his back which Mr Attorcop could not make out at first. As soon as he passed him though, Mr Attorcop could see that he had several empty bags slung over his shoulder. They were large bags too, the kinds that sailors would use to pack up all of their earthly belongings. Mr Attorcop committed everything to memory, trying to retain as much as possible for analysis at a later date.

The man, who Mr Attorcop presumed must be Sage Fenric, extinguished the torches lining the stone pathway as he went. When he finally disappeared back into the stone staircase there was only a faint orange glow coming from the entrance. In time, that died as well and Mr Attorcop was left in complete darkness. He made sure to wait there a few minutes, to make sure Sage Fenric was not returning, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small vial of Lunar Essence. This one was only filled up to a third of the way up. He had three others, but they were hidden in the lining of his cloak. This one would have to do for now. Summoning some remaining strength he focused on the vial and amplified the essence’s natural moonlight.

The cave became bathed in the cooling glow of the moon. The vial cast long shadows which did not flicker. Mr Attorcop looked up at the suspended, upended church. It was soundless and still. There was something comforting about seeing it in this light, but even the familiarity of the moon could not make this building more inviting. Even so, Mr Attorcop knew what must be done. He stood up, stretched his neck, and made his way over to the church tower.

Walking under the building made Mr Attorcop feel uneasy. It was like walking on a rope bridge or mountain pass. He knew that looking up would make his legs feel weak, but he could not help himself. It was like a predator that he needed to keep his eyes on at all times. One turn of the head and it would pounce.

He managed to reach the entrance to the tower unscathed. He felt his heart begin to pound heavy beats in his chest. The moonlight was welcome but the shadows it cast were dark and deep. As he approached the door to the tower he saw that it was round and made of stained glass paned by rusting metal. It was like a large window that swung out on ancient hinges. Mr Attorcop closed his hand around the vial of lunar essence allowing for a gap where the light could escape out of the top of his fist. This focused the weak wash into a powerful beam. He pointed his fist at the door and tried to make out the design in the glass. It was a design he did not recognise, which was never a good sign. The glass was dark orange in some panes, clear in others. There were darker colours too but none of them made the overall shape clearer in any way. It didn’t help that the light cast from the lunar essence washed everything in a cool blue, leaving Mr Attorcop to guess at what most of the colours were. The strangeness of having stained glass in a building that would never see the sun was not lost on him. He tilted his head to examine the door from another angle. Of course he thought, it’s upside down.

The shift in perspective revealed more. The window depicted a sort of animal head. A cow perhaps? Certainly bovine in nature. Mr Attorcop could see its big dark eyes. Its mouth was open and it looked up to what should have been the sky. Mr Attorcop had not spent much time around cows, but any cow that looked like this would surely be long overdue a visit to either a doctor or a butcher. It looked like it was in pain or like it had seen something that had frightened it terribly. Mr Attorcop made a mental note of the image before pulling the door open and stepping into the tower.

Just as he had suspected, there was a set of stairs that climbed up through the tower. Each one creaked and groaned under the strain of a single foot step. There was no bannister, no rope, just rough hewn planks of wood nailed violently into the walls and supported by rickety beams. They were placed at odd intervals as well, meaning the Mr Attorcop had to consistently keep his eye on his feet as he climbed up through the tower.

Eventually the stairs let out into the suspended structure. Mr Attorcop emerged through a hole in what should have been the ceiling. The darkness inside was even thicker than that of the cave. The dust and damp were so oppressive that even the focused light of the lunar essence had trouble penetrating the far corners of the hall. The interior of the church mirrored the outside in that everything here was built upside down. Pews that no one would ever use were hammered into the roof, forty feet up. Mr Attorcop could even make out detailed tiling work, made to look like a church’s floor. The actual floor that he was standing on was even more impressive. It was separated into eight or nine large sections. Each one was painted to depict various scenes. These types of paintings were quite common in older churches. They were made by applying crushed dyes to water and then painting directly onto wet plaster so that the art would dry and become part of the building. They usually depicted scenes from the book of stories or other dogma that exemplified values and morals that the church wanted to encourage. Mr Attorcop did not recognise any of these scenes.

The closest one depicted a group of children trying to persuade a stubborn bull to move. Their faces were all smiling placidly but the bull looked bored and uninterested. It was hard to tell if the children had been put in charge of the bull, or if the bull was their minder in some way. The next two were hard to make out as the years had worn away the details. Perhaps one was of a speaker in a town square brandishing something round and red to a group of townsfolk. There was one which was clearly some kind of bonfire. It was unclear what was being burned but in the foreground there was a man with an angular face pointing at the fire behind him as if to draw the viewer’s attention to its importance. All looked to have been done by the same artist and painted in bold colours with quick and heavy strokes.

About three quarters of the way across the space Mr Attorcop finally saw an image which contained some recognisable tropes. This was a scene from the story of Freddr Horbling. It was not one of the more popular stories but it had its place and was often told to young children. Freddr was a boy from a small village. In the story he is accused by the elders of his village of stealing goats and selling them to a traveller. Sometimes it’s goats, sometimes it's chickens, the point is that Freddr is innocent. He prays to Enoch’s brother Severen who has been known to intervene in human affairs of injustice but he gets no response. The painting on the floor in front of Mr Attorcop depicted the trial scene. Freddr is brought before his village and permitted to defend himself but instead of giving an alibi or trying to convince anyone of his innocence he simply curses Severen and vows to take his revenge in the seven heavens. So Freddr is sentenced to a time in the town gaol and once released, lives the rest of his days in bitterness.

Mr Attorcop liked the story. It was often used as an example not to trust in fate or the gods when dealing with one's own affairs. It’s also a good way to show children that anger only serves to get you into more trouble. He remembered a travelling puppet show in Freedos that had performed it a few years ago. In their version Freddr transformed into a vulture when he died. They’d done a wonderful job of making the Freddr puppet become ever more twisted and misshapen as the years went by and he cursed Severen with ever more vigour. The vulture at the end was a particularly fitting touch.

Of all the stories to appear in this strange place, Mr Attorcop would not have picked that one. He studied the Freddr Horbling scene for some time. Freddr stood in the centre, his hands bound behind his back. His head was tilted upward as he stared defiantly into the sky. The townsfolk around him were pointing and shouting. In this version there was a stockade nearby which Freddr was presumably heading for. Painted in the distance Mr Attorcop could see a church in a field, some cattle and a small lake. The scene was just as unnerving as the rest of them. The people were lifeless and generic, their eyes were too large and had dark circles around them. The buildings and trees were one dimensional and coloured with just the bare minimum of effort. Most art is made to elicit some kind of reaction, but it was hard to tell what the purpose of these frescos was. Mr Attorcop got the feeling that whoever painted these either did not have much training, or much time.

An idea was starting to form in his head. But he needed more evidence to validate it. He went to look at the next painting but became suddenly distracted by something up ahead. He’d made it all the way across the space and was now in a position to see what had previously been obscured by the darkness. He directed the moonbeam across the remaining paintings and up towards the far wall. At its base, gathered into various piles, was a mass of objects. Mr Attorcop shone the beam across them quickly, expecting something nefarious to be hidden amongst them. The light of the beam was considerably weaker now compared to when he’d first cast it. He made a mental note to get out of there before the lunar essence was used up completely.

The objects were not grouped in any particular order. They were not carefully placed like the riches they’d found at the top of Empress Sylvia’s palace, where Mr Attorcop had eventually also found these vials of lunar essence. Although they did remind him of that room for some reason. There were paintings, boxes, necklaces and bracelets. Mr Attorcop moved closer and saw pewter mugs, some letters bound together with string. There were cups and spoons, lamps and even a small desk. He had expected Sage Fenric to be bringing some kind of horde but these were more like a collection of things one might find at a flea market. There was also quite a lot of it. Certainly more than he had brought in just this one journey. Not all of this could have fit in those bags or on that little canoe he had used to get here.

Mr Attorcop approached the collection tentatively. He tried to find something about these objects that connected them, or made them significant in some way. But they were just things. People’s possessions. They were not valuable, they were not rare. At one point they had been part of someone’s day to day life, and now they were here.

Suddenly a drop of rusty water plopped into a silver bowl causing it to ring a little in the darkness. The event forced Mr Attorcop’s eyes upwards. He was all the way on the other side of the room now, so in terms of the layout above him, he was directly beneath the altar.

The empty pews had all been facing something. It was above Mr Attorcop now, about twenty feet in the air. Like everything else in this space bar the collection of things, it was upside down and attached to the roof. Mr Attorcop focused the beam of light onto the thing, a sort of hanging sculpture by the looks of it, but even with the light directly on it, it took him a second to realise what it depicted. The statue was made up of several parts, with the central stone being the most arresting. It was the body of a large man, not obese by any means, but portly and strong. It wore no shirt but had a piece of material carved out of the pale rock wrapped around its waist. Surrounding the man were several other statues. Mr Attorcop counted five. All human and all gathered around the central figure, as if they were posing for a family portrait. Mr Attorcop could only stray his eyes from the central figure for a few seconds at a time. It held his attention the way a street fight would, or a particularly gruesome play. It was the head that he gazed at. It was not a man’s head. It was some kind of animal, a farm animal. A sheep perhaps. The type of animal was not immediately what was bothering Mr Attorcop though, he could work that out later. What was most strange, was that while all the other statues were looking straight ahead, out over the pews. The central figure with the animal head was looking at him.

Mr Attorcop was suddenly overcome with the sensation of being unwelcome. He took a step back. Then another and then turned around with the intention of heading out the way he’d come in. But there was someone already there and they were blocking his exit. Mr Attorcop’s beam of light revealed an older man in a yellow cloak standing in the centre of the space. His first thought was not about who the man was, this was clearly Sage Fenric, but about how he had not heard him come in.

“You think I did not sense you, moon master? Scratching around in the dark like vermin.” Sage Fenric spoke in a twisted, raspy voice. Mr Attorcop needed the situation to remain calm and so he chose deference by way of response.

“My apologies. It was not my intention to cause offence. I’m merely curious.”

“Don’t play the fool with me,” Sage Fenric spat in reply, “I know what you’re doing.” He paused for a second and narrowed his eyes. “You don’t remember me do you?”

The question took Mr Attorcop by surprise, he searched his memory for this man’s features, the sound of his voice or the green of his eyes. Perhaps the stress of the situation was inhibiting his mind, he was also very hungry and tired, but try as he might he could not place this man.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Sage Fenric tsked and shook his head, “Still as arrogant as ever.” His shoulders relaxed somewhat and he began to close the gap between them.

Mr Attorcop was sure not to make any sudden movements. He needed to change the subject, make him forget about whatever grievance he’d caused this man in the past.

“Quite the collection you’ve built up here,” he gestured to the objects behind him, “Although I can’t imagine you’ll get much for it.”

Sage Fenric produced a low, guttural laugh, “It’s not their monetary value that matters. It’s their significance. The more it takes to give, the more we gain.”

This was good information. Mr Attorcop prompted further conversation by repeating a single word: “we?”

“The one I serve,” a twisted smile fell across Sage Fenric’s face and he looked up at the altar above and behind Mr Attorcop.

“Does your master have a name?” asked Mr Attorcop.

Sage Fenric looked back and curled his lip, “Not for one so lowly as yourself. The wolf does not give the lamb its name.”

Sage Fenric had halved the distance between them by now and Mr Attorcop’s heart began to beat faster, pumping ready chemicals into his bloodstream, preparing his muscles for action. This man did remind him of a dog. That moment where a friendly pet’s patience is tested by a young pup. It bares its teeth for just a second before snapping. Mr Attorcop needed to keep him talking.

“So if I’m a lamb and he’s the wolf. What does that make you? A shepard?”

This produced another chilling grin from Sage Fenric, “of sorts…” he said.

One that’s in cahoots with the wolf no doubt, thought Mr Attorcop. This conversation had taught him much and the idea he’d been forming in his head about this church and the being it was built for was starting to take shape. At that moment, his priority shifted. The information had been gathered and now he needed to leave. Mr Attorcop tried to keep Sage Fenric talking, it served as a distraction and as a means of learning more information. While he spoke though, he tipped the vial in his hand ever so slightly so that some of the lunar essence came out and hung in the air, still giving off a bright light. He needed Sage Fenric to believe he was still holding his hand up in front of him, while using the cover of light to bring the vial behind his back and extract the moon blade from the last of the essence.

“I must say, this place does not seem like a church belonging to any great power. It is old and worn. Perhaps your choice of master is misguided. He cannot even keep his house in order.” Mr Attorcop was trying to provoke him. Angry men make mistakes.

The comment did produce a slight frown from Sage Fenric but the smile did not entirely fade, “This place was not built by love or devotion. It is like the symptom of a sickness.”

“One can treat a sickness,” replied Mr Attorcop.

“Or one can succumb to it,”

Sage Fenric finished the thought. He was very close now. Mr Attorcop could see the patches of white hairs in his beard, and the light of the essence reflecting in his eyes. Mr Attorcop tried to seem relaxed but every muscle in his legs was tight and ready. His right hand gripped the handle of the moon blade, its ethereal material cold to the touch.

Sage Fenric stopped walking and glared intently at Mr Attorcop, “you really don’t remember me, do you?”

Mr Attorcop spoke a curse somewhere at the back of his mind. He’d been busy searching his memory for this man’s face, but there was nothing. There was no sense in trying to placate him, he needed to force a move. “Does that bother you?” he asked. He looked down and caught a slight movement happening beneath Sage Fenric’s yellow cloak. Looking back at his face, he saw that the smile had now turned into a laugh.

“How conceited would I have to be? No, it does not bother me. It was many years ago I suppose. I just find it intriguing. Still, even if you had remembered it would do you little good now. This is a secret place you see, and I’m afraid we cannot let you leave.”

Mr Attorcop was about to look around for an accomplice when Sage Fenric lunged forwards.

Sage Fenric’s cloak whipped open to let his right arm shoot forwards. It held a weapon, a blade of dark metal that twisted and curled around his hand at the base. It looked more like roots caked in dark earth save for the tip which was beaten to a fine edge. Mr Attorcop did not have time to study it too closely even though he would have liked to. He brought the moon blade round and out just in time for it to clash with Sage Fenric’s dark weapon. There was the ringing of metal and Sage Fenric followed his surprise attack with several strong swings. The metal blades sang with every strike and intermittently illuminated the dark church with furious sparks. Mr Attorcop was accomplished enough to parry every blow, but he struggled to find an opening for his own attacks.

This was no duel between gentlemen nor a bar yard brawl, Mr Attorcop sensed deadly intent in every swing of Sage Fenric’s sword and he needed to be prepared to kill, if he was going to survive.

Mr Attorcop set up a short pattern. He parried left then right, then left again. Once he got his opponent used to the design he suddenly switched tactic. Just as Sage Fenric stabbed from the left Mr Attorcop ducked instead of parrying. He brought the moon blade up quickly from his crouch position, aiming for Sage Fenric’s throat. But his opponent was skilled and adapted quickly to the shift. He dodged backwards and the moonblade caught the clasp of his cloak instead. Sage Fenric’s eyes glowed with murderous glee.

“It seems your age has not affected your skill Crom,” the clasp of his yellow cloak was damaged and hung limply from a thread. He stepped back and looked down at where the blade had cut his cloak and smiled, “You keep your mind as sharp as your blade. It’s a shame. We could use one such as yourself. So much intellect, wasted.” At that moment Sage Fenric threw off his cloak and let it flop to the dusty floor. Beneath it he was wearing a black shirt and a thick jerkin made from dark stained leather. Mr Attorcop saw that those dark roots attached to his blade extended up and over his entire arm. Up to his shoulder and possibly round to his back as well. It was like his sword had grown out of that strange black, sinuous material.

Something odd beyond that popped into Mr Attorcop’s mind. No one ever called him Crom… Not since… he could not finish the thought because in the moment it had appeared Sage Fenric leaped forwards. Mr Attorcop dodged back, careful not to trip on any of the objects that were scattered behind him. He glanced behind him quickly and saw that he was a safe distance from most of the gathered belongings. Bringing his attention back to his opponent he could not help let his mind linger on another disconnect. There had been a collection of cups and plates just behind him a moment ago. He was sure of it. But now there was nothing.

Frustrated by Mr Attorcop’s evasion, Sage Fenric brought his sword up and out, releasing his grip on its handle as he did. To Mr Attorcop’s surprise, the sword hurtled forwards, tip first directly at him. Had Sage Fenric been foolish enough to let go of his weapon? Mr Attorcop ducked down to the left and looking back up saw that the blade was still attached to those strange black roots. They extended out and over him in twisted concertina. Sage Fenric lurched his arm down and the sword whipped away, landing in his hand as if it had been drawn back by some powerful magnetic force. The move was so surprising that Mr Attorcop could not react in time for the second throw. Sage Fenric released his sword out and back like a frog’s tongue, and the tip caught Mr Attorcop’s right shoulder. A sharp pain shot through his chest and he winced as he tried to stand back up. Sage Fenric clearly had the advantage at this range, and so he needed to close the distance between them.

Ignoring the pain as best he could he shot forwards, bringing his sword up as he did, showing his opponent as much as himself that he was still a deadly adversary. The blades collided mid air with more clangs and crashes that echoed off the blank church walls and stained glass windows. Sage Fenric clearly had some extraneous power on his side. It was present behind every swing of his sword. Mr Attorcop’s arm began to ache, defending himself against the flurry of blows. Sage Fenric’s manic grin widened each time Mr Attorcop was forced to take a step back.

Mr Attorcop did not secede ground lightly though. Every movement was teaching him something else and he knew enough by now to realise he would not win this fight on his strength alone. Perhaps if this fight had taken place thirty years prior, but right now he needed some added power of his own. He took two steps back and reflexively reached for the sleeve of his cloak. But his hand closed on empty air. It took half a second for his mind to catch up. In that time he dodged two more thrown sword attacks and was pushed back even further to the far wall. Of course, he’d given his cloak to young Peter to help him get out of the mud. That meant that all the lunar essence he had left was currently being used to generate the moon blade. Mr Attorcop’s mind raced through other options. There was that strange power he’d learned in the land of the demons, but in this large space, it would probably just serve to use up his remaining energy and then Sage Fenric could just wait him out.

Suddenly, Sage Fenric took his eyes off Mr Attorcop for just a second to glance down at his feet. Perhaps he was checking his step, making sure not to tread on a particular mural. The reason did not matter. What mattered was that it gave Mr Attorcop a split second to move without being seen. He hid the moon blade behind his back and melted it down into his palm. He then stepped forward quickly to make Sage Fenric think he was closing the distance again. The plan was to distract his opponent and then strike. But there was a problem. As soon as Mr Attorcop went to move his right foot caught on something. His mind blanched. There had been nothing on the floor, no loose floorboard, no step, nothing. He had been sure. Instinctively, he looked down as his body fell to the floor.

His heart skipped a beat. For a fraction of a moment he thought he saw a hand, one belonging to one of the characters in the mural he was standing on, retract back from the physical space, and into the painting. It had reached out. Reached out of the art and into the world to grab his foot and make him fall. Pain rang through his knees as they hit the painted floor, which now presented a new menace. The lunar essence that had melted into his palm hit the floor with a weak splash and cascaded over a section of the mural. His heart sank at the sight of it disappearing in front of him. For the first time since Lilian had been in danger at the palace tower, Mr Attorcop felt fear. This may not be a fight he would survive.

Episode 59

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

If you were to stand at the window in the top room of the tallest tower of the old palace in Freedos and look northeast you would see surprisingly little. To your right, there would be the ocean, as blue as it is vast. To your left there would be the fields that feed Freedos. But straight ahead, between these, there is nothing but flat, wet marshland that spans miles and miles over the horizon and into the distance. Too wet to ride through but not wet enough to sail, these sodden salt fields are home to specially adapted animals and plants that can survive the salinated saturation. Tall grass grows on little islands making the place look like a map of some waterlogged, alien world. Some islands will hold your weight, others will sink quickly and bring you down into the salty waters with them. Suffice to say, only fools ventured out over the horizon and into the Drygemarsh.

Cromwell Attorcop, a fool, stared out over the marsh now. His eye was trained on a black dot in the distance. The two young people who followed him had not noticed it, but Cromwell watched its movements closely, permitting himself a look down at his feet only when he was very unsure of his next step. He’d managed to avoid a soaking so far and would prefer to keep it that way. It was hard to make out through the gloom of early morning, but after much study, Cromwell was sure that the dot was a man on a raft. They’d found his cart and horse hours ago and had been forced to abandon their own mounts nearby. The marsh was no place for horses and since they had no boats their only choice was to pick their way across the islands. Testing each one with large sticks before committing to jumping across.

Serena had completely shed the lady that her mother had encouraged her to become for so many years. If the old bag had seen her now in leather boots, sturdy jodhpurs and a thick travelling coat hopping her way across a muddy, grubby marsh she would have had a heart attack. Flicking her golden hair back so that it caught the light of the morning she turned to back to Peter and smiled.

“This one’s alright. Quickly now Peter, and mind your step.”

For his part, Peter was trying his best to appear half as confident as Serena. He’d stepped into a shallow pool about an hour ago and his right foot was now completely soaked, which did little for his swagger and made him watch where he was going even more so. In that moment he was so busy staring at Serena, at how the dawn mist dusted her chill-reddened cheeks with a sheen of moisture, and how here hair seemed to float in the breeze like she was already underwater that he completely forgot what he was doing and put his left foot into a very muddy puddle.

“Demons dammit!” he cursed.

Serena threw her head back and laughed, “Ha! Was that the other foot? Honestly it’s like you’re trying to get wet at this point Peter Sturgeon.”

Peter yanked his boot out with a sucking squelch and even though he wanted to curse and cry, he couldn’t help but smile at Serena’s clever play on his name.

“Give me a mountain to climb any day over this wet nonsense. There I’d be zipping up like a squirrel, here I’m just a…”

“A fish out of water?” Serena quipped.

“Aye. And one with a very muddy boot to boot. And if you don’t want to get kicked you’d best be careful.” He made to go for her and she squealed and twisted out of the way.

This pair’s incessant flirting had been charming at first but Mr Attorcop was quickly growing weary of it, “Quiet down you two,” he rebuked, “sound travels far across water and your disturbing the birds. We mustn’t give away our position.” The pair reduced their laughter to muffled giggles and everyone went back to picking their way through the grass and water. At one point Serena had to cup her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Mr Attorcop looked down at her feet to see something big and scaly wriggling quickly out of her way. Everyone was even more careful of where they stepped after that.

After three hours the group began to get tired. They had supplies with them, but Mr Attorcop was wary of stopping for too long, lest they lose sight of their quarry. And so they chewed on dried meat and ate apples as they walked. Whoever it was they were following had slowed their pace, enough for them to close some distance between them. This made following them easier but increased their chances of being spotted. Mr Attorcop was very aware that at any moment they might be waylaid by a fall, an animal attack or a sprained ankle and so he considered the closeness to be a well calculated risk.

“Who is he anyway?” Serena spoke in a loud whisper, not wishing to disturb any more birds or indeed anything…else.

“His name is Fenric,” replied Mr Attorcop, “Lilian’s message came by bird and so could not contain much information. She told me where he would be heading and how he was travelling. She said he’s dangerous and that she needs to know what he’s doing. This is a reconnaissance mission so we should try not to engage. If we can figure out why he’d come all the way out here, perhaps who he’s visiting and why, then our job will be done.”

Peter considered this, “Once we know, can we go to Benlunar to tell Lilian ourselves?”

“Ooh yes!” agreed Serena, “I should like that very much.” Mr Attorcop did not reply. He still had duties to fulfil in Freedos but a trip to Benlunar might do him good. The capital was running surprisingly smoothly and he might use the trip to test whether or not he was actually needed. Surely the people of Freedos could fend for themselves for a few weeks? If they couldn’t then he had failed and would at least know he’d have to start again.

“Perhaps,” he mumbled under his breath. Serena shot Peter an excited grin.

Since it was the middle of winter the sun set frustratingly early that day. The man they were following had lit a small torch which made him relatively easy to follow through the darkness. Mr Attorcop could not afford such a luxury as it would quickly give away their position. The water around them became pools of darkness making it next to impossible to find a safe and dry passage. Everyone’s feet were wet and cold to the point of numbness. They pressed on though, knowing that the man’s destination could not be far. They’d been travelling all day and there was nothing but ocean on the other side of this marsh. If his goal had been to reach the sea then there were easier and quicker ways than this. That meant his goal was somewhere in the marsh. Mr Attorcop scanned the horizon for a shack, a tower, a boat, anything that might convey some sort of meeting point.

At about one in the morning, he saw it. He had been watching the torchlight bobbing through the darkness when all of a sudden it winked out of sight. Mr Attorcop froze. The one constant he’d had throughout the night had just vanished. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his heart rate.

“Wha… Where’s it gone?” Mr Attorcop could hear panic in Peter’s voice. He scanned the horizon around where he’d last seen the flickering flame and noticed a slight discolouration where the ground met the sky.

“There,” he said, pointing to practically nothing. “It’s a mound or a hill of some sort. He must have gone behind it. We need to pick up our pace.” The three of them summoned all of their remaining energy, energy that the Drygemarsh had been slowly sapping from them for hours, and trudged onwards at double speed.

About halfway from that point to the mound disaster struck. Mr Attorcop heard a gasp of breath and a small cry coming from his left. He whipped round to see what had happened. He had expected to see Peter standing there, hopping on another wet foot, but Peter was gone.

“Peter?” Serena’s concerned voice cut through the darkness. For a bone chilling instant, there was no reply.

“Down here.” Mr Attorcop approached the spot where the reply had come from, all too aware that they were losing time. If the man they were following decided to put his torch out and continue into the distance, he’d be lost to them within a quarter of an hour. It didn’t take long to locate Peter. At first, Mr Attorcop assumed that he’d simply tripped and was being squeamish about getting back up. But then his eye ran down Peter’s coat and he became confused as to why he couldn’t see his legs.

“I’m stuck,” said Peter with a jokey smile. He was knee deep in wet silt and whenever he tried to lift one foot out the effort was pushing his other foot deeper. Mr Attorcop sensed that his humour was hiding panic. He knelt down near the lad and spoke in his most reassuring tone.

“Peter. Look at me. Take a nice long deep breath and listen to what I tell you.” He waited for the boy to breathe out before continuing.” Serena and I are going to get you out. It’s going to be very easy, you just have to do a couple of things first alright?” Peter nodded. Even in the pitch black Mr Attorcop could see his face turn pale. “I want you to let yourself sink a little.”

“But…” Peter started to protest but Mr Attorcop cut him off.

“I know that’s not what you want to do but that’s fine. Trust me, I’ve been in your situation and it’s the only way out. Just let yourself sink a bit further so that you can move your knee and thigh around in the mud.” Peter swallowed hard and looked at Serena for reassurance. She smiled reassuringly but there was fear in her eyes.

Peter looked back at Mr Attorcop and lifted his hand. “If you grab my hand I’m sure you could pull me out.” Mr Attorcop did not respond. Serena instinctively stepped forward but Mr Attorcop put his hand up to stop her.

“We’re not going to do that Peter.” Mr Attorcop tried to make his voice sound calm and confident. Peter looked hurt and betrayed. He was about to protest but Mr Attorcop anticipated his question. “If you pull one of us off balance then we might land head first in the mud and then we’d be in an even worse situation. You have to trust me Peter, this is the best situation we could be in. You’ll be fine.”

Peter looked as though he was about to speak, but said nothing. He just looked down and let the mud take him deeper. Mr Attorcop glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure he could still find the mound in the distance. When he looked back, Peter had sunk further and was getting whiter with every inch. “You’re doing really well Peter. You’re doing everything right. Now I want you to put all your weight onto your left leg. Lean to the left, that’s it.” Peter did as he was instructed. “Now I want you to start shifting your right leg forward and backwards. You’re trying to get water into the gaps between your leg and the mud. Mr Attorcop permitted himself another glance back towards the small hill.

Peter followed the instruction to the letter and in just a few seconds he was able to move his leg around with relative ease. “Good work Peter, now slowly start to lift your leg up and out of the water. Once your foot is above the surface though, don't just stand up, put your knee down and repeat the process with the other leg.” Peter did as he was told but it was slow work. Mr Attorcop glanced back over his shoulder.

Once Peter got his left leg out Serena bent down beside Mr Attorcop and spoke into his ear. “I’ll take over. You go on ahead and catch up to him, we’ll be fine.” Mr Attorcop looked at her intensely. She pushed him a little, “Go!” she repeated, “Or else we’ll have done all this for nothing.” Mr Attorcop looked down at Peter, who was now working on releasing his second leg.

“She’s right,” he confirmed, “this isn’t too bad. I can crawl away in a second, you should go.”

And so Mr Attorcop turned to leave. Before he got too far though, he turned back and whipped off his cape. He passed it to Serena, “If he needs pulling out, use this. But only as a last resort. She grabbed it and nodded before shooing him away with her hands. Mr Attorcop looked at them both, calculated a few things in his head and then turned and ran.

Thankfully his journey to the small hill was undisturbed. He made good time, hopping from island to island and feeling the tips of the long grass whip his wrists as he ran across the marsh. With stealth no longer a priority he could use all he’d learned from this cursed journey and sprint across the marsh like a spooked hare.

He’d been referring to the spot as a hill in his mind but when he got there he saw that it was nothing more than a large mound. There was grass growing over it, just like every other patch of ground in the area but nothing other than its protrusion from the water made it particularly noteworthy. Mr Attorcop slowed down his pace as he reached it and used the bulk of it to hide his body from the expanse ahead. Peeking over the side he scanned the horizon for signs of the torch. He looked left, he looked right. But there was nothing. He permitted himself a better angle by raising his head fully over the mound but still there was no sign of their prey. He listened for the boat, for the sound of a paddle through water. Still nothing. A feeling of dread was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. With each passing second it felt as though his hope was sinking further into the icy marsh. Lilian would not have sent them out here without reason. She was protecting people, as always, and Mr Attorcop would not let her down. Not when she’d come through for him so many times in the past.

He considered pressing on into the darkness in the hope that he would catch up with this Fenric fellow. But he might end up heading in the wrong direction and be travelling for days without knowing it. His despair transformed quickly to anger. He tried not to blame poor Peter, he knew that getting stuck in the marsh could have happened to any of them, but he was a clumsy lad. Clever. But clumsy. Mr Attorcop was tired, he was hungry and he had run out of patience. In a rare fit of rage he turned and kicked the mound with the heel of his boot. It let off a low thud. Mr Attorcop heard some dust or soil crumble off it and scatter away. He turned back to look at the empty view ahead. He’d come out from behind the mound now, there was little point in hiding. He tried a few more ideas out in his mind, but it was hard going. The lack of sleep and fresh water were clouding his mind.

There must be something he missed. He slowed his breathing down and approached the situation logically. How fast had Fenric been travelling? How long had it been since he’d disappeared from sight? Did those numbers add up? No. The torch must have only gone out behind this mound a few minutes before Mr Attorcop reached it. That can’t have been long enough for Fenric to travel all the way to and over the horizon. Not at the speed he’d been travelling at any way. And why aim for this strange mound anyway? What even was this thing. After hours and hours of walking and not seeing anything like it, suddenly it appears and Fenric vanishes at the same time? No. That was too much of a coincidence. Hadn’t he just heard dust fall when he’d kicked it? This whole landscape was sodden, how could anything make a dry sound like that when there was water everywhere?

The mound suddenly became very interesting to Mr Attorcop. He walked around it, studying its every contour and each blade of grass that grew from its surface. The reeds grew in tight knots and Mr Attorcop had to separate some heavy clumps before he could see the soil beneath them. At one point he went to push the earth and found that it had a considerable give to it. The grass would bounce back as soon as he took his hand away. It was as if the mound was spongy or… hollow.

The word reverberated around Mr Attorcop’s mind like an echo. A few more minutes of study and he found the opening. The hole was surprisingly large and very well hidden by the thick grass. Mr Attorcop paused, wondering whether or not to wait for Serena and Peter. But he’d wasted enough time. And so, crouching low and collecting himself, he slipped into the darkness.

Although he could not currently see them, Mr Attorcop felt his feet hit a set of stone steps. He felt his way down and round them slowly, feeling for the edge of each step in an uneasy dance. At one point his knee hit something hard. It was made of wood and clunked loudly upon impact. Mr Attorcop assumed it to be the boat Fenric had been using to navigate the wetlands. After several minutes Mr Attorcop’s eyes began to adjust to the pitch darkness. Things were becoming sharper and clearer with every step down and when he rounded another corner he saw that this was because a torch had been lit here. It flickered and spluttered sparks across the damp stone walls, bathing everything in a harsh orange light. Mr Attorcop approached it slowly and stood next to it for a time to absorb some of its warmth into his body. The stairs continued round and downwards, bringing him ever deeper underground. It was impossible to tell how deep they went so Mr Attorcop was careful to keep an ear out for anyone coming back up the other way.

He followed the steps down past several more torches. Down and down for what felt like the better part of half an hour. Finally, just as he was considering turning around and heading back up. He came to an opening in the rock. What greeted him there took whatever was left of his breath away.

Deep under the Drygemarsh, hidden from the world, was a cave. Its ceiling, lined by spear sharp stalactites, vaulted two-hundred feet into the air. It was so far up that the light from the torches on the slippery stone floor could barely reach it. Mineral rich water fell from it like rain, slapping the pools below or running down the slick wet walls. The space itself would have been quite beautiful had it not been for the structure housed within it. Mr Attorcop’s heart faltered when he saw the building, crudely constructed there.

It was made from wood and it reminded Mr Attorcop of a Stave church that had been built entirely upside down. Its tower, which was its entrance, stood at ground level and stretched upwards into what would have been the main hall. The thing defied logic. It looked as though a loose nail or quick shove might bring it all crashing down. It was clearly very old, so old that the wood had bent and cracked in several places under its own weight. Mr Attorcop saw that there were still remnants of scaffolding attached to the cave walls. This was the only way a structure like this could remain standing. It wasn’t so much built in the cave as it was built into the cave. Wood beams came off of it like spider webs clinging desperately to the wet walls around it. The wood was not the only thing up there though. Mr Attorcop saw remnants of leathery bodies, their arms sticking out from where they had fallen during the church’s construction. It was as though death itself had been required to build this thing. Its roof, which is to say its floor, almost touched the ceiling of the cave. It was misshapen, crooked and evil.

Mr Attorcop could not help but think of it as a church. That is clearly what it was meant to resemble. But who would worship here, he wondered. The thought scared him but not so much as when he considered who, or what, they might be worshipping.

“Oh Lilian…” he wondered aloud, “what have you got yourself mixed up in now?”

Episode 58

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

Lilian’s eyes widened in surprise. Emma had just told her that Sage Fenric was about to embark on a long journey and not, as he had put it, go up to the Benlunar peak to live like a hermit. Lilian needed answers and so she pressed Emma with several questions all furiously scrawled onto a scrap of parchment.

It took the two girls the better part of an hour to work out Sage Fenric’s plan. Brother Thomas helped as well, although his help mainly consisted of fetching tea and biscuits. Their first job had been to work out on a map exactly where Sage Fenric was planning to go. This was easier said than done as Brother Thomas had no maps of the western countries and Emma had never left Benlunar. Lilian did her best to draw the outlines of various mountain ranges and forests and Emma would nod along in understanding, casting her mind back to the maps she’d seen laid out in Sage Fenric’s caravan. Lilian Filled in as many details as she could, hoping some landmark would spark relevance in Emma’s memory. She drew little towns, big rivers, farmsteads, lakes, villages and even cities, placing them as near as she could recall to their actual locations. When the hour was nearly up Emma suddenly tapped Lilian hard on the shoulder and snatched the quill from her hand. Lilian stepped back and looked at Brother Thomas while little Emma worked. Her shoulders were hunched over the makeshift map, and she was scribbling away with furious fervour. Brother Thomas’ eyes were wide, he seemed hopeful and for the first time in days, Lilian shared his optimism.

Finally, Emma stepped back. Her wobbly drawing was near the top left corner of the map. Lilian stepped closer to look at it.

There on the page was a rudimentary house, or perhaps a tower of some sort. Lilian had to twist her head to see it properly as Emma had drawn it roof side down. Above the triangle and square shapes that made up the tower was a sort of half moon. Emma stepped into Lilian’s view and tapped her drawing repeatedly. Lilian noticed then that the structure or symbol Emma had drawn was just northeast of one of her own drawings. Lilian took the pen and quickly scrawled a question on the map.

You’re sure it’s near here?

Emma grabbed the pen and scribbled her reply: Yes, she wrote, near the city. Near Freedos.

Lilian rolled up the map, patted the cat on the head and was half way out of the door before she turned around to thank Brother Thomas. A few seconds later she was outside and making her way across the town square, feeling the snow crunch beneath her feet. On her left was a perturbed looking Fritha who would probably have preferred to stay by Brother Thomas’ fire, even if it meant being around the cat. And on her right, trailing a few steps behind was Emma, a wide smile spreading across her reddening cheeks.

It took them three minutes to get to the Fox and Octopus. Lilian shoved the doors open and dove into the warmth of the inn. There were a few familiar faces scattered around the place. All of them turned to look at Lilian with a scowl as they felt the cold air rush in and disturb their hibernation. It was markedly quieter inside than most days of winter's past.

“Shut that door!” Liny yelled from somewhere in the back. Lilian quickly obliged. Looking round again she caught sight of the man she’d come to see. Doran was sitting in a booth by the window talking to an older man with a shock of spiky white hair. When the two girls and their feinhound came over, Doran saw the look of urgency on Lilian’s face and made his excuses to his new friend. The older man bade them all a good day and went to join a group by the fire. Lilian slid onto the bench opposite Doran and placed the rolled up parchment on the table with a thud. Emma joined her on the bench but became quickly distracted by Fritha pulling on the toggles of her coat. They proceeded to play and fall about the place much to everyone’s delight. But Lilian was not there to play.

“If I had to get this to someone in Freedos, what would be the fastest way to do that?” said Lilian.

Doran paused for a second before replying, “And good afternoon to you too Lilian Lausanne. Well now… uhm… is it the thing itself, or just the information on the page?”

Lilian considered this and then rolled the parchment out, “It’s a map. So technically the information, along with a note for context, would be enough.”

Doran studied the map for a moment, “did Emma draw this?”

“No,” replied Lilian, “I did. Why?”

“Oh, ahem, no reason. It’s… It’s very good.”

Lilian rolled her eyes, “It was done in a hurry. And I’m not trying to sell it, I just need someone in Freedos to see it. Or understand what’s on it.” Doran leant back in his seat and brought his hand up to stroke his chin. Lilian continued, “I could take Afaran, but before I do I just want to know if there’s a quicker way.”

Doran nodded in understanding, “I understand,” he muttered, “One moment.” Doran then reached back and brought round a small satchell that he’d been partly leaning against. He opened it and rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling out a leather bound notebook. Lilian watched Fritha and Emma play while she waited and resisted the urge to drum her fingers. The feinhound had snatched Emma’s woollen hat and was letting her get close before running away again and again.

“Ah!” Doran exclaimed, “Here we go. Homing birds.”

Lilian snapped her attention back to him, “what?”

“Homing birds,” he repeated, “It’s an old messaging system where you raise birds in one place and then take them far away so that when you set them free, they fly home. I made a note of the various outposts years ago, there should still be a working post in Seventrees.” Lilian considered this. She looked at the large map on the table and then back to Doran with raised eyebrows. “Well you’d have to make the map a little smaller obviously. But I should think a bird from Seventrees would take just under a day to get to Freedos. If it were me, that’s what I’d do. Afaran is fast but I haven’t seen wings on him.” Lilian was too distracted to laugh at the joke. If she could replicate this information on a very small piece of paper, a homing bird might just work. She knew where Seventrees was, it was a small town, about the size of Benlunar, just at the base of the mountain. But it was on the other side of the valley, technically in the opposite direction to Freedos.

While Lilian considered her options, Doran went back to studying the map, “what’s this for anyway?” he asked.

Lilian lowered her voice, “It’s Fenric. He says he’s going to climb Benlunar but he’s really going here.” She pointed at the shapes that Emma had drawn near the city. Suddenly, it occurred to Lilian that Doran might know something about that place, he was a traveller after all.

But Doran appeared to have anticipated this. He shook his head, “I know the area, just a bunch of little hills and horrible marsh. If you’re planning on going there Lilian you’ll need a guide. One wrong step and your horse is knee deep in bog and sinking.” Lilian shuddered. She’d be sure to include that detail in her note to Mr Attorcop.

Lilian looked out of the window and realised that the winter sun was setting already. She was running out of time. Lilian slid out of the booth and began rolling up the map. Doran looked surprised, “You… you’re not going now are you?”

Lilian shrugged, “when else would I go? He’s leaving tonight Doran.” She folded the map tightly and placed it safely in the inner pocket of her winter coat. She was about to leave when she remembered something, “Doran? Would you mind looking after Fritha for the night? She needs to eat something, Liny will have some meat somewhere, here.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a small purse. She extracted some copper heads and left them with Doran who nodded and took them. Then she went over to Fritha and Emma.

The two tearaways were still running around, trying to see who could tire the other one out first. Lilian caught their attention and knelt in front of Emma. She hugged the little girl tightly and made the sign for home and sleep. Emma seemed disappointed but understood that there was work to be done that she could not be a part of. Lilian made sure to point to the map and repeat the sign for thank you several times. This produced a few happy gestures and a smile wide enough to show several missing teeth. Lilian grinned and then turned to Fritha. She hugged the feinhound then pointed to Doran and issued the stay command which she reinforced with a few sour berries from her pocket. Fritha wolfed down the treats and then licked Lilian’s face which made Emma giggle uncontrollably.

“I’ll be back soon,” she said. She knew that neither of them could understand her words, but that didn’t matter, they knew her intent and her feelings for them, and that’s what really counted.

With renewed energy, she made to leave. Then she doubled back, grabbed a pie off the counter, left five copper heads, and then really made to leave.

Afaran did not seem best pleased with having to leave the warmth of his stable, which he shared with Doran’s donkey, Caramel. But after Lilian saddled and bridled him he seemed to understand that there was no avoiding the departure. Lilian used the little steps just outside the stable to mount him easily, he was still just a bit too large for her to mount from the ground. Then she clicked her tongue, tapped her heels and the great dark steed was away.

Afaran thundered over the snow leaving a cloud of white powder in his wake. The wind whipped past Lilian’s face, so cold it might have cut her cheeks. She gripped the reigns with white knuckles and focused solely on the road. Horse and rider clattered out of the Benlunar gates, just as they were being shut for the night. Lilian wondered if she would meet Sage Fenric on the road, but knew that if he had any sense, he would take a less obvious path out of town. It took them the better part of three hours to descend the mountain, Afaran had to slow down several times to navigate the winding way, but finally they reached the fork in the road. If Lilian went right, she would head west towards the fishing fields and Freedos, and so she went left. This road went round the base of the Benlunar, cutting through the narrow canyons that connected the surrounding smaller mountains. Lilian slowed Afaran down to a brisk walk. He’d done the hardest part, now she just needed him to keep a steady pace until they reached Seventrees. Thankfully, the snow down here was not quite so deep and when they reached the first canyon there was barely any on the ground at all. Lilian looked up through the gap in the rocks above her. The moon was not visible but its light still cut through darkness and bounced off the ice that clung to the rock faces in heavy blue clusters. Lilian closed her eyes for a few seconds and thanked the moon for her light and guidance. In that brief moment of pitch black the sound of Afaran’s hooves and his breathing grew suddenly louder. Perhaps it was the setting, or the fact that her body was so used to it, or perhaps the moon really was looking out for her, but Lilian’s body slipped easily into hyper focus.

She allowed herself to enjoy the feeling. There were so few sounds out here, not like back in Freedos where there was always some cacophony just a few streets away. She was about to open her eyes and snap out of it, when she heard the wheels.

Somewhere, up ahead, there was the unmistakable sound of wooden cartwheels trundling through the canyon. There was a horse too, or some large animal pulling the cart. Lilian could hear its heavy breathing up ahead. She pulled on the reins and brought Afaran to a complete stop. Something about that sound made her uneasy. Any traveller would be nervous at encountering someone on the roads at night, but the nature of Lilian’s mission made this meeting even more unfortunate. She opened her eyes and looked about for somewhere to hide. She squinted through the gloom for a recess in the rocks, or a cave or even just a large boulder she could guide Afaran towards. But the road was clear. The cliffs on either side of her stretched high into the air and were as sheer as castle walls. Her heart began to beat faster. She considered turning around and heading back the way she came, but she’d been travelling this way for twenty minutes and even if she made it out of the canyon first there was no guarantee of a hiding spot on the road.

Lilian steered Afaran to the very edge of the road, so that his flank was almost touching the rock face. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. She needed cover and if the mountain wasn’t going to provide any, she would have to make some herself. She closed her eyes again and slipped quickly into hyper focus. Then she went through that state and tried to access the lunar essence inside her arm. She winced at the sharp pain she felt as the essence awoke. She didn’t need much of it. This was not like transforming into the night spirit, it was just a quick favour from the moon. Lilian opened her eyes and looked up to the sky. She imagined that the canyon was growing darker, like a large cloud was passing over the moon. The pain in her arm lessened and the darkness obeyed. Just as the sound of wheels was coming round the corner, the black of night grew thick around her. It was as if someone had dragged a thick pall over the canyon gap. Lilian tried to keep breathing calmly and quietly. Afarn must have picked up on this as he seemed to calm down and kept quite still for the next few moments.

The sound of wheels grew close. Lilian had her eyes wide open. She could have held her hand in front of her face and not seen a single finger. She kept control of her breath and remained as still as her nerves would let her. The cart, or whatever it was, was very near now, Lilian could hear the sound of metal clanging and the rustling of materials. She heard muttering too, whoever was driving was complaining to themselves about the sudden darkness. It sounded to Lilian like they were searching for something, a lamp or torch perhaps. Lilian’s heart nearly beat out of her chest as the crunching, rattling cart passed right by her. It was pulled by a horse, driven by a man and contained many things of various shapes, sizes and materials. Could it be Sage Fenric? Lilian wondered. He could have easily gone the long way round, down the road less travelled to the base of the mountain. To know for sure, would be to risk exposing her plan. And so she kept quiet and let the cart pass.

A few seconds later it was away and Lilian could breathe easy. She turned to make sure it was not stopping and she caught sight of a little orange light struggling against the darkness. The driver had clearly lit it to aid their journey, but even a bonfire would struggle to penetrate this particular night. Lilian waited for the light to turn a corner and disappear completely before breathing out a large sigh. The thick blackness melted away and she was left alone again, with Afaran, in the pale blue light of the moon and ice.

The sky was just turning blue when Lilian left the winding pass. As the light of dawn crept down the mountains Lilian saw the thatched roofs and weathervanes of Seventrees appear in the misty distance. She’d been to this town before, many times. It was the nearest place that citizens of Benlunar could expect to find decent supplies or craftsmen and women that Benlunar’s limited population lacked. She’d trotted slowly through the mountain, not wanting to alert any other night time travellers to her presence, but now that she could not avoid being seen, Lilian kicked her heels and galloped away through the crisp morning air. She could hear the frozen dew crunch beneath Afaran’s steel capped hooves and despite the chill and lack of sleep she felt a new exhilaration brought on with the light and the sight of her goal.

She tapped her pocket to make sure the folded parchment was still there. She’d done this a hundred times throughout the journey, but she could not risk losing it. As the road grew more worn Afaran’s feet began to crack the ice on puddles of mud. The town was close now, close enough for Lilian to see curtains in several of the glass paned windows up ahead. The buildings here all had a similar look. Plastered white walls with exposed wooden beams and thatched roofs. In the spring the window boxes would have little pansies peeking out at visitors, but now they were just empty boxes waiting for spring to bring them back to life and colour. The first of the seven trees from which the town got its name was here on the right as you entered the town. It was an oak tree, old as the hills and nearly as tall. There were six more great trees scattered about the town and in Autumn the locals all held a small festival where they swept up the leaves and used them to smoke meats and various delicacies as they sang and danced. It was their way of saying goodbye to the Summer and ushering in the cold and shorter nights.

Lilian slowed Afaran down as she passed the great oak. Trees like this did not survive the altitude at Benlunar and so she was always pleased to study it whenever she passed. The branches were bare and when the breeze blew through them it was like the tree was shivering. The mud beneath it became stones and the grass along the road disappeared to make way for paving and buildings. Lilian did not know where the homing bird post was located and so went to ask the first local she came across. It was still early so it would be some time before anyone would brave the chill of the morning. Lilian took the opportunity to feed, water and brush her trusted steed as well as quickly pick any stone or mud out of his hooves, lest it freeze and force the poor beast’s foot to crack. She found a local inn and brought Afaran to the stable. The chestnut mare which was already inside was wary at first but Lilian tied Afaran up with a short rope so that he would not bother her.

The sky was light but the sun would not appear for another hour. Luckily Lilian spotted an early riser as she walked across the cobbled market place. This town centre was quite like Benlunar’s only there was no Stave. At the centre there was a great fountain, adorned with sculpted woodland creatures, flittering birds frozen in time and fish poised mid jump as they breached the surface of the water. The thing made use of the constant flow of underground rivers coming from the mountains, forcing them into man made pipes and causing perpetual eruption from stone trees, flowers and even the mouths of frogs. The stranger that Lilian had spotted was emerging from a small side street that lead onto the square. The buildings in Seventrees were packed closer together than in Benlunar, so close that neighbours on opposite sides of some roads might stretch their arms out from their bedrooms windows and shake hands in greeting when they awoke. Lilian shuffled across the square and waved when the stranger looked up to see her. It was an older man with red cheeks and white hair. He had a large, soft orange hat on that looked as though it had been dropped onto his head and allowed to droop and spill down the side of his face. He smiled when he saw Lilian.

“Good morning, you’re up early, young miss.”

“Morning. Yes, I travelled through the night.”

The man’s friendly features fell, “in a cold such as this? Ooh, rather you than me.” He looked closer at Lilian’s clothes, studied the fur lined boots and coat and smiled in understanding. “Ah, I think you’re one of the mountain folk. So I don’t suppose the cold bothers you quite so much!”

Lilian smiled, “you’ve a keen eye. I hate to bother you on your constitutional but could you tell me where I might send a message using the homing birds? I heard Seventrees had a post.”

The gentleman nodded and pointed to the street from which he’d come, “oh yes, we’ve a post. Just head down there and bare left until you come to the steps. Climb up and up and you’ll see it.” Lilian thanked him and darted in the direction he had pointed. She knew she was making good time, but that did not mean she could afford to dither. The light dimmed instantly as she rushed into the gap between the houses. As she wound her way in and out of the slender passages she was reminded of Freedos. She felt an unexpected warmth at the memory. It had been a chaotic and dangerous place, but she had loved exploring all the little streets and alleyways there. You never knew what was around the corner and even after all the time she’d spent in the capital, she felt as though there was still more to discover.

The steps that the old man had talked about appeared after three or four minutes of hugging the left walls. Lilian rounded a corner and saw a zigzagging set of stone steps that crept up the back of a large building like ivy. Lilian’s legs ached at the sight of them. She felt last night’s journey catch up to her suddenly and had to fight through a wave of exhaustion to push herself to start climbing.

Once she reached the second turning point she looked up and saw the homing bird tower. It wasn’t much of a structure, just a circular wooden thing that looked like it might topple over and fall off the roof at any moment. Its most distinctive feature was a bright orange roof peppered with little holes. Lilian had seen roofs like this in Freedos but had never known what they were for. After a brief break to catch her breath, Lilian rallied herself again and made the final leg of the journey.

The door to the tower was locked, not surprising given then early hour. Lilian slumped down onto the floor with her back against the door and watched the birds coming and going from above. She briefly thought about finding shelter just in case a bird decided to deliver its own message onto her hair while she waited, but she was too tired to move.

Suddenly Lilian felt a sharp nudge on her leg. She opened her eyes, not having realised they were closed and immediately put her hand up to shield them from the sun. The air was warmer and the sun was bright and white in the sky. Lilian glanced around in confusion.

“Oh thank the stories, I thought you might be dead,” A woman’s voice brought Lilian back to reality. Apparently she had been asleep and had just been kicked awake. Lilian stood up, brushed her clothes down and looked at the newcomer. She was perhaps three or four years older than Lilian with dark brown hair and a slightly upturned nose. She wore a thick woollen skirt and a shawl over her head and shoulders. In her left hand was a brass key and in her right was a small pouch which Lilian presumed held grains and seeds.

“Sorry!” Lilian exclaimed, “I er…” the sharp awakening had left her confused, “I need to send something. A message. To someone in Freedos.”

The young woman’s face softened now that she saw Lilian was neither dead nor dangerous. “Well,” she said, “you’d best come in then.”

Many hours later a young boy zips through the streets of a great city. He keeps his pace up weaving in and out of groups of grown ups as he goes. Sometimes he’ll bump into someone or narrowly dodge a horse and cart. The curses follow him down the street but he’s gone before he can pay them any mind. In his hand there is a note and on his mind there is the shiny copper piece he will be paid for its safe delivery. The delivery game in Freedos is run by older boys and so he’s careful to slow his pace when he sees a group he recognises. If they suspect him of delivering something they’ll chase him down and rough him up until he coughs up the note and name of its recipient. Thankfully they’re too busy playing marbles to care. When he’s safely around a corner he breaks out into a run again.

He’s headed up hill, which is thirsty work, but he doesn’t mind. The exercises will warm him and he can buy a hot cocoa and more with his earnings. Eventually he crests the edge of the old volcano and his path evens out. The gates to the old palace court are open and the boy squeezes between a guard and a woman. The guards here held halberds once, now their weapons are stored away and they greet people with smiles and advice rather than threats and searches. The boy knows where he’s going though and so does not stop. A red door belonging to the sixth house from the old palace steps looms close. The boy pauses before knocking to listen at it. There are sounds coming from inside. It sounds like the clacking of wood on wood, like someone is hitting a bench or table with a wooden spoon. The boy lifts and drops the knocker and the sound stops. Seconds later, an old man opens the door and looks down.

“Yes?”

“A message…” says the boy in between big breaths, “from the rookery. A message for Cromwell Atto… Attor…”

“Attorcop.”

“That’s the one.” The old man grabs the little note and reaches into his pocket. He thrusts something into the boy’s outstretched hand and shuts the door before he has time to thank him. The boy looks down, opens his palm and his eyes widen at the site of not one, but two copper heads. Today was going to be a really good day.

After shutting the door behind him, Mr Attorcop studied the little piece of parchment carefully whilst walking back to the training room. His two proteges were collapsed on the floor panting heavily, sweat dripping down their red cheeks. Their training swords were tossed to one side, gleefully discarded. Mr Attorcop tsked, these young people had no stamina. The young woman, Serena, looked up as he reentered the room.

“What’s that?” she asked. By now Mr Attorcop had carefully unfolded the tiny piece of paper and was studying its contents.

“A message,” he replied.

This caught the attention of the young man, Peter who heaved himself up onto his shoulders, “who from?”

Mr Attorcop ignored him for a moment while he read and then reread the message. His countenance changed from relaxation to tension. Serena and Peter looked at each other in concern.

“Cromwe…” Serena began but Mr Attorcop cut her off.

“It’s from Lilian. Grab your things. We need to go.”

Episode 57

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

By the end of her second day since waking up, Lilian was insufferably bored. It had been a week now since she’d fought the sisters and judging by the reports things were not looking good. Brother Thomas had visited the day before and brought Lilian some sugar pears. Her parents had visited soon after and brought an ecstatic Fritha along with them. Thankfully, the feinhound’s energy was easily matched by little Emma and the two of them bounced around the house for an hour before collapsing in a heap in the living area. That evening though it was Doran’s turn to visit. He had been feeding and walking Afaran and had been trying his best to infiltrate any meetings held by Sage Fenric and his growing collection of followers. Lilian’s leg still hurt when she moved it but her fever was well and truly gone. Right now she was sitting in an armchair by the fire, stroking Fritha with her foot and listening to Doran and Esther discuss the current state of the town. Doran was whittling a piece of wood. Emma was nearby, playing with a set of wooden blocks.

“More go every day,” Doran was saying, “the grove is starting to look like a Laguina camp. People have brought cooking pots, constructed basic shelters, all so that they can be closest when Sage Fenric decides to speak. I went to the Stave yesterday for the service, the room was… noticeably empty. The church Brothers and Sisters are all putting on brave faces, but you can tell it’s getting to them.” He flicked a shaving into the fire and Lilian watched it curl and crackle into the embers.

“I haven’t seen him speak yet, surely he can’t be that charming,” asked Esther.

“I’ll grant that he has a certain charisma. He tells a decent story.” Lilian detected a hint of bitterness in his tone. “But it’s less about how he says things and more about what he’s saying. He makes these grand and ridiculous promises, claiming that he has the answers to any and all questions. He can make you rich, he can cure the sick, he can make apples grow in the snow. And of course, as soon as anyone asks him for proof he claims that their doubt is the reason he can’t provide any. ‘How can the garden be expected to produce fruit if you don’t believe it is real’ he’ll say. Absolute nonsense. Something is either real or it isn’t, realness does not depend on belief.”

Esther considered this, “I don’t know. I believe in the gods and heroes of the stories, but I’ve no evidence that they’re real or that their stories actually happened.”

Doran pointed his knife at Esther to punctuate his reply, a gesture that looked more threatening than it was intended, “yes but whether or not they’re real or happened does not depend on you believing them does it? You could believe or not believe and that wouldn’t change the realness of those stories. Besides I think most people understand that there’s probably a bit of truth in every story but that they change over time. Like a lighthouse disappearing into a fog. No matter how dense the cloud, the light is still there and that’s what’s important.” Esther nodded in understanding.

Then the two of them looked at Lilian, expecting her to add something to the conversation. But Lilian Lausanne was far away. She stared blankly into the fire, thinking a thousand thoughts, and none. Doran shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Lilian, I was wondering, and I don’t mean to rush your recovery, not at all. But… people are asking about you and I was just wondering, if it’s no trouble, do you have some sort of plan. If you don’t that’s fine… I was just…” Doran trailed off. Lilian didn’t appear to have heard him. But that was not the case. The part of her that was still in that room did, but the rest of her was too busy to provide a reply.

Lilian was angry, but knew that anger would do no good. She was tired, but done with rest. And she was scared, but understood that her fear would help no one. And so she focused on her breathing, on that small part of her that was still under her control. She closed her eyes and heard Doran’s questions fade into the distance. Then her hearing changed and she could sense everything. The cracks and pops of the fire became crashes and explosions. The sound of Doran’s whittling knife was like the cracking and felling of a great tree. She heard the sounds outside too, feet crunching the snow in the distance, heartbeats starting to race as their associated bodies ingested their first taste of an evening mead. This was a sacred place: the night, the sounds, the gloaming. With it came the first prickling of pain in her wrist. Had she opened her eyes, she would see the old ink laced with lunar essence glowing in the forms of moon and mountain on her forearm. The prickling grew into a sharpness and then an intensity. Lilian clenched her jaw but still tried to focus on her breathing to help her push past the pain. She felt her hair begin to lift off her shoulders as the pain in her body was slowly replaced by power. Lilian opened her eyes.

Doran, Esther and Emma were staring at her in fear and wonder. They watched as Lilian’s skin became dark and her eyes went so pale blue that they shone like stars. Fritha stood up from her spot by the fire and was studying the scene with interest. Lilian stood up and stretched, enjoying the strength and quickness in her limbs. She put her full weight on her injured leg and smiled when she felt no pain. As she looked around the room, she saw it differently. The light of the fire was being pushed back, as if it was battling a smothering darkness. The shadows became dark doorways, the tables and chairs seemed as light and frivolous as the blocks that Emma was playing with. It had been a while since Lilian had returned to this form, and even though it felt incredible, it did still scare her somewhat. With that thought she closed her eyes again, breathed out a long breath and sat back down. She steadied herself and forced the gloaming back into her arm where she trapped it inside the moon and mountain. Then, filled with new energy and healed from her wounds, she opened her eyes.

The room was back to normal. The flames in the hearth jumped and leaped with their previous gusto and the shadows went back to being just darker parts of the room. Fritha came over to Lilian and licked her hand with a big purple tongue. It was Doran that broke the silence.

“Lilian… what… who…” it was strange for the storyteller to be at a loss for words. He didn’t like it. Lilian took her seat again and smiled her most calming smile.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s not often I can do that so when I felt it happening I decided to go with it. It healed my leg and the rest of the bruises so I’ll be able to get out of your hair sooner Esther.” Emma had forgotten all about her bricks and was treading tentatively towards Lilian. She still looked a little scared but her curiosity was overpowering her fear.

“What was that?” Esther finally asked the question that Doran could not.

“I’m not sure what to call it yet,” Lilian replied. “It’s a combination of a powerful substance called Lunar essence, and a sort of magic which I call gloaming. It makes me strong and fast and well I’m not really sure of everything it can do.” Emma turned to her mother and began animatedly enacting some sort of fight. Each punch or dodge was bridged by a series of signs. Esther looked at Lilian.

“She’s saying now you can go back and fight the sisters and win.” Lilian shook her head.

“I’m not so sure,” Esther translated her words back to Emma as she explained. “Like I said, it doesn’t always work when I want it to and besides, I’m scared. That form is very powerful, if I use it and they still beat me then…” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Doran had regained his powers of speech and helped her.

“Then you’ll have nothing left.” He nodded in understanding, “probably best not to rely on it too much. One doesn’t open a game of cards with their best hand.” Lilian smiled at the analogy. As ever, Doran had hit the nail on the head.

“Besides,” she added, “it takes a bit of time to work and it’s very painful. So even though it makes me strong, it’s not always useful in a fight.” The room fell back into silence, save for the cracks and pops from the fire and the light tapping of palms and fingers from Esther and Emma’s signing. Emma looked dejected but only for a moment. She quickly turned back to Lilian and winked at her. It was clearly an attempt at being surreptitious but Lilian had to giggle at how open and obvious it was. She remembered Emma’s note that she still had in her frock pocket and turned her smile into a stern, reprimanding regard.

The two of them had passed several notes to each other during the last two days and Lilian had learned some basic signs with which to communicate simple ideas. The bulk of her communications had been focused on dissuading Emma from any attempt at spying on Sage Fenric, indeed, any attempt from going back there at all. But Emma was obstinate and Lilian’s pleas went unheaded and more often than not, completely ignored. Lilian had realised how irritating that trait was and promised to apologise to her mother and Mr Attorcop as soon as she could.

The rest of the evening went by uneventfully. They talked a little about what to do, but no conclusions were drawn. It was clear that Lilian needed more information before she could act again, or at the very least, more support from able fighters. Doran left the house eventually, giving Emma the little horse he’d been whittling before heading back out into the snow. Then it was Lilian’s turn. She hugged Esther tightly and thanked her for her help and hospitality. Then she coaxed Emma out from her bedroom where she had gone to sulk over Lilian’s departure, and she hugged her tightly. She felt the little girl’s arms squeeze her neck and was suddenly overcome with a warm and happy feeling. This immediately prompted a reaction of worry and fear and so Lilian pulled out of the hug, looked deep into Emma’s eyes then used her right hand to point at her own eyes and then form a fist while shaking her head. No spying, she’d said. Emma rolled her eyes and nodded in reply but Lilian had the sneaking suspicion that she had her fingers crossed behind her back.

And so Lilian left the Glade family house. The snow had only stopped falling for a few hours during the week meaning that the powder would come up to Lilian’s waist were she to jump straight into it. Thankfully, a few charitable citizens had gone through the streets of Benlunar with ploughs and shovels so Lilian’s journey home was relatively unencumbered. Fritha busied herself with sniffing at the snow drifts, tracking the other pets and wildlife that had marked their passage through the snow covered town.

By the time Lilian arrived back at her childhood home it was quite late and her woollen leggings and thick jacket were barely able to keep out the cold. She hadn’t expected anyone to be up and so was surprised to see a faint light coming from the kitchen window. She opened the back door and found her father sitting alone at the kitchen table. There was a brown bottle in front of him, half drunk, with most of its contents apparently still hanging on to her father’s beard. He looked dazed and confused and barely seemed to register Fritha licking his hand when she came into the kitchen. Lilian tried catching his attention.

“Dad?” he looked up and stared at her as if she was a stranger, “Are you alright?” she asked, becoming concerned. Edward Lausanne went back to looking at his bottle, as if trying to find the answer to that question inside one of its many bubbles.

“She’s gone,” he said solemnly.

Lilian knew he must be talking about her mother, and her heart began to beat quicker. “Gone where?” she asked. Lilian knew and dreaded the reply, but she had to hear it all the same.

Her father spoke the two words and confirmed her worst fears, “The grove,” he said and took another long drink.

The next morning Lilian woke up with a head full of questions. Why was her mother camping out at the grove in the dead of winter? What was she going to do about Sage Fenric? Would anyone believe her about what the sisters had done? All of these and more swam around her mind like restless goldfish while she ate her breakfast. Her father had gone to work early and so she was left to her oats and thoughts with no one but Fritha for company. Not that Fritha was bad company.

Once breakfast was finished, Lilian resolved to pay the grove another visit. If she was being honest with herself she would have rather avoided it, but she needed to see what difference her week of rest had made. She did not want to be seen however, she did not want to give Sage Fenric or the sisters the satisfaction. So she found a quiet spot on the way to the grove, ducked behind a tree with Fritha and leant down beside the feinhound. She closed her eyes and put her hands lightly on Fritha’s fur. Within seconds she was sending out her little lights and then bringing them back into her heart once they had absorbed Fritha’s invisible essence. The hairs she touched were still attached and full of life and so she did not need much of their light at all. When she opened her eyes a moment later, Fritha was invisible and so was she.

They made their way to the grove, padding slowly through the snow and trying their best to tread on ice where they could so that they left no footprints. Lilian had remembered to put on her hobnail boots, relying on the sharp tacks on the soles to keep a sure footing. They were getting a little tight these days, but they would do for now.

Ten minutes later they were approaching the grove. Lilian had decided to come at it from the forest again rather than the road. The trees would obscure her footprints and she wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone.

In the short time she had been recovering, the grove had changed completely. The snow that covered the rest of the mountain, was all but gone. Only a few traces of frozen whiteness in some of the tree branches showed that it had ever snowed here at all. The rest of the ground, which had been previously covered in crisp, white powder, was now brown trodden, sodden earth. Canvas tents were dotted around the place, their once vibrant colours leached away by the rising damp and mud that crawled up the sides. There were old smoking fire pits, stone circled campgrounds and shoddily constructed decks and racks. Lilian saw a few people milling around and emerging from their shelters. Despite their conditions they seemed happy, smiling and greeting each other and exchanging excited pleasantries. Overseeing all of this were the caravans of Sage Fenric and his sister assistants. They seemed miraculously untouched by the surrounding dirt, as if the earth itself were allergic to them. Lilian felt a deep sadness at the sight of it all. This once vibrant and colourful place had now been leeched of life and beauty. Lilian heard no birds, saw no fruit clinging to the dark barked trees. Not even the soulless snow survived.

Lilian watched the grove for a short time trying to spot her mother among the acolytes. At one point, she saw Tourmaline emerge from her caravan and felt a pang of anger flare up in her chest. That was another thing she’d have to learn to deal with. This wasn’t like fighting Empress Sylvia or Nicholas Telson, this anger came from all of this situation being, quite literally, too close to home.

Once most people had come out and eaten something Sage Fenric emerged from his caravan. This alone was enough to enrage Lilian, but what made it worse was that a few seconds later she saw little Emma come out of there as well. She had disobeyed Lilian and gone back to spy on the Sage and his team. Lilian would be having stern words with her later. It did surprise her though. Emma milled about the place as if she had been born there and had every right to come and go as she pleased. She went from caravan to tent, to camp fire, taking food and pushing people out of her way as she explored. It struck Lilian that she did in fact make for a good spy. People’s inability to communicate with her meant that they largely just left her to her own business. As a result, she could explore unhindered, free to pick things up, eat things she liked the look of and walk in and out of the caravans like she was a cat exploring new surroundings. Even Lilian found herself ignoring her in favour of watching and listening to Sage Fenric.

The sage was dressed in his usual yellow cloak. The hood was down, revealing his pale face and bright, green eyes. Lilian saw through those kind features now, through to the black heart within. It was so obvious that she was surprised at how many people were still fooled by his falseness.

Sage Fenric climbed up to the little platform that Lilian had knocked him off a week ago. He smiled at a few individuals and bade everyone come closer with a motion of his arms. Lilian felt her blood boil but was suddenly distracted from her hatred by the sight of her mother. She was walking out from behind the sister’s caravan, having come from the other side of the grove. She was not alone. Bent low and listening with her arm linked was Hematite. The very same sister who had hurled bottled explosions and various dangerous concoctions at her during their fight. They seemed to be deep in conversation. Doubtless Hematite was pouring poison into her mother’s ear. The two women looked up as their quiet conversation was interrupted by Sage Fenric addressing the crowd.

“Friends! Good morning. I hope you all slept well out here in the cold. I dare say that those who forced us out here did not count on your incredible resilience. Truly you are, each of you, an inspiration to me. Like I said the other day, it is those who sacrifice the most who stand to gain the most. I urge you to truly feel the cold, so that you can appreciate the warmth of the fire. Sleep on the earth so that you may truly appreciate comfort. Eat what the land provides without garnish or spice so that you can be closer to the essence of real nourishment. You’ve all given so much already. I would think you were all but guaranteed entry to the garden and all the gifts that lie within it. But think, my friends. Take this moment now, in the light of dawn, to meditate on giving. I know I speak about it often, but there really is no better, faster or purer way to gain entry to the garden.” By this point, everyone in the grove was gathered close to Sage Fenric. Lilian lost count after forty people. The Sage lowered the volume of his voice and shifted his position slightly, as if the words he was saying were having a physical and emotional impact on him. “I met a man once, a hermit, who had given up all worldly possessions. He drank from streams, lived in a cave and was so committed to a life of sacrifice that he even avoided wearing furs during winter. I learned much from this man. And after speaking with him for some time, I decided I should live with him. One night I asked him whether all his giving was worth the cost. He smiled and confided in me that it was. He told me that it was through living such a life that he could visit the garden any time he wished. If he felt cold, he would simply close his eyes and feel the warmth of the garden on his skin. If he was hungry the garden would provide lush and sumptuous fruit. I asked him if he was ever sad or displeased and he shook his head. ‘How could I be?’ he said, ‘when the garden provides me with everything I need?’ It was this moment I decided to dedicate my life to this worldly heaven and to teach others about its goodness. My friends, you are all so close, but take today to think, to really think whether you still have something to give. Perhaps a piece of gaudy and useless jewellery that serves no purpose save to collect dust beneath a bed? A decadent coat or cloak? Silverware that is never used? All these and more are items that tether you to this world and can easily be sacrificed. You are free to bring them here and the sisters and I will dispose of them. Perhaps you’ve given everything already, in which case, the reason you have not visited the garden may be because you are not giving more of your own time to its pursuit? I like to think of it this way: the more you give, the more you get. The true magic begins when we give more than we can afford to. Think, my friends, think and ask each other. And together, we will visit the garden soon.”

Sage Fenric then made to leave but caught himself before descending the platform fully.

“Ah yes! Before I forget. I spoke about your incredible devotion and how your spirit of sacrifice has truly moved me. It has reminded me that even I can do better. Therefore, I wanted to tell you that you may not see me here for the next few days.” A murmur of concern spread through the crowd. Lilian furrowed her brow, what was he up to now? Sage Fenric smiled and chuckled as he replied, “fear not! Fear not friends. I am simply going on my own journey of giving. I shall venture up there.” Sage Fenric then turned and gestured to the Benlunar peak. “I plan on staying up there and living as my friend the hermit did all those years ago. I know that if I do this, I shall return with more keys, more knowledge and more strength to help us all. I leave this evening.”

This news seemed to confuse and upset several people in the grove. One man even shouted, “Will you need a companion? Perhaps someone to help you carry your things?”

Sage Fenric smiled at the man, “No thank you Timon, you have all followed me so far already, I could not ask you to follow me further. Fear not, friends, I shall return. And we shall all be better for it.” And with that he descended from the platform and began speaking to an older woman who was standing nearby. The rest of the group went back to their business. Lilian watched for a while longer. She saw a group of them set out back to town, presumably to fetch more of their belongings to give to Sage Fenric. Lilian sighed and turned to leave.

As she turned, she saw a sight that made her freeze in fear. Ten steps behind her, silent as the snow, was the largest wolf she had ever seen. It stood two heads taller than the tallest dog in town. It must have weighed just slightly more than Fritha, although the feinhound might just about match its length and height. It stared at Lilian with cold blue eyes. It was not growling or angry, but stood and stared with an intensity that made Lilian shiver. She knew there were wolves in these hills, she’d even seen a few skirting the edges of forests. But never one so close and never one so big. Lilian quickly glanced down at her hands to check that she was still invisible. Thankfully, no hands appeared in front of her and she sighed a small sigh of relief. Her fear returned however, when she noticed the wolf’s nose twitching wildly in the air. This animal had no need for a sense so rudimentary as sight. Lilian stayed very still, not wanting to crush a leaf with a careless step. Wolves were known to become more desperate in the winter, but there was something about this one that struck Lilian as strange. And it wasn’t just its size. It was alone. Lilian’s eyes darted about but saw no sign of a pack. All Benlunar children knew to avoid the group, even if it meant heading towards a lone wolf.

Lilian was about to try and move, when the wolf stirred. It started towards her and Lilian shifted her feet, readying for a fight. But the wolf padded past her with its head ducked down, keeping its nose close to the ground. As soon as it broke the treeline Lilian had to stop herself from running after it. She didn’t know what her plan was, perhaps she would try and scare it away or grab a rock and hit it over the head. She even found herself taking two or three steps out of the forest and into the grove in an effort to protect the unsuspecting townsfolk. Lilian found it hard to move, the strangeness of the scene was overwhelming. No wolf ever came this close to Benlunar. And that was when she realised. She was not looking at a wolf.

Her hunch was confirmed when moments after the first few townsfolk gasped and stepped back in fear of the giant hound, Sage Fenric appeared before it. He had gotten there quite quickly, thought Lilian, almost as if he was expecting the visit. From then on, Lilian watched the scene unfold like a boring play. She watched the wolf growl and bark and make a show of scaring the people. She observed Sage Fenric heroically step forward with his arms raised in a calming gesture. She heard him shout to the others to not be afraid as he approached the wild and terrifying beast. Lilian almost rolled her eyes when Sage Fenric held out a single hand and walked towards the wolf seemingly without fear, his eyes closed in religious reverence. It was like he was offering himself to be eaten. The “wolf” did a little more huffing and growling before sniffing at Sage Fenric’s cloak, licking his hand (which Lilian found a bit over the top) and then scurrying away, over the lip of the grove and down the slope to Lilian’s left. Then, much like an actual performance, Sage Fenric turned to meet a round of applause from the onlookers. Lilian almost expected him to bow but he just pontificated some more about the benefits of sacrifice. Lilian could stomach no more of it. And so she turned on her heel and exited the grove.

Half an hour later Lilian was sitting in the back room of the Stave Church, pacing back and forth and venting her frustrations to Brother Thomas,

“It’s just so obvious!” she shouted, “All the cloying, self righteous performance of it all. How is it that none of them see through him??”

Brother Thomas was staring into the wet leaves of an empty tea cup while Fritha sat near the fire. “Well, I should think people see what they wish to see. We enjoy our previously held beliefs to be confirmed. So if one wants to believe that this world holds secrets and wonders beyond our understanding then that person will tend to seek out evidence that that is the case. Even when they witness something that evidently contradicts those beliefs, the mind will twist the evidence into lies.”

The church cat had slunk into the room by that point and was making its way to investigate a very surprised looking Fritha. “That’s… that’s…” Lilian was having difficulty finding her words, “that’s insane!” she exclaimed and she slumped into the armchair opposite the Church Brother.

“Not insane,” said Brother Thomas, calmly, “merely… human.”

Lilian huffed. “Humans are insane.” Brother Thomas chuckled. The cat rubbed its head against Fritha’s cheek, causing the feinhound to give Lilian a look of such astonishment that she couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“You seem very calm about all of this, Brother Thomas.” Lilian hadn’t meant for her tone to be so accusatory, but her friend’s lack of concern did bother her somewhat.

“On the contrary,” Brother Thomas protested, “Do not let my demeanour fool you. I am suffering from sleepless nights and restless days. It’s all I can think about. But what can I do? I will not force anyone to go against their will. They have been given all the same information as us and they have chosen not to believe it. It is… out of my control.” Brother Thomas threw up his hands and let them fall to his lap with a surrendering slap.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Everyone, including the animals, tensed up at the sound. Whoever was there did not wait for a signal to enter, and Lilian quickly understood why. The door opened to reveal brown curls and a little lavender dress. Emma poked her head inside and when she saw Lilian her eyes lit up in delight, as if she’d been searching for some time. She rushed into the room and waved to Brother Thomas, who waved back with a smile. Lilian, however, greeted her with a scowl. She pulled curled, outstretched fingers across her face and pointed at Emma. Angry with you. Emma looked sheepish for a moment, guessing the reason for Lilian’s ire. She began to sign but her gestures were too fast and unfamiliar so Lilian reached for a piece of parchment and a quill and handed them to the little girl. Emma plonked herself down and began to write. It took her some time, she was only young after all, but eventually she handed her note back to Lilian for her to read the wobbly message.

Sorry I spied. But it's fine. I found a secret. The yellow man, Fenric. He’s going away.

Lilian took the quill, dipped it quickly in the inkwell on the table next to her and penned a reply.

I know. He’s going up the mountain.

She showed this to Emma who read it and looked back at her with a confused expression. The little girl shook her head in protest. Then she snatched the quill and used the remaining ink to say:

No. I saw maps. He’s not going up the mountain. He’s going far away.

Episode 56

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

Lilian felt her nails digging into her palms. Her eyes remained unblinking and fixed on the blade that the tallest sister, named Tourmaline, was holding just behind little Emma’s head. The little girl had not seemed to notice it and was still distracted by the moppet doll in her hands. Every question as to Sage Fenric’s innocence or motives suddenly left her head. This evil man and his trio of dangerous sisters were as rotten as the fruit hanging on the surrounding trees. The snow continued to fall around them, hissing its quiet chorus as it added to the drifts and peaks. Lilian forgot about cold. Fairness and due diligence left her mind, replaced only by thoughts violence. She took a step forward.

The three sisters moved as one. Tourmaline strengthened her grip on the blade’s handle. Hematite, the middle sister with the bottles strapped to her person, stepped out and round, making to flank Lilian. The youngest sister, whose name Lilian did not know, merely crouched low and looked as though she was about to spring forward. Lilian dug her feet in and calmed her breathing. She’d been in enough fights to sense that one was imminent here, but she didn’t want to move without getting little Emma out of the way. Sage Fenric stepped forward and spoke.

“I’ll admit you’re a clever one Miss Lausanne, and it's always the clever ones that give us the most trouble. May I suggest you use that intelligence to your advantage. You’re outnumbered, outmanoeuvred and we have leverage. Leave us alone and let us get on with our business. We don’t mean anyone any harm, but do not let that fool you into thinking we are weak.”

A question started to brew at the back of Lilian’s mind. Something wasn’t making any sense. Her beating heart and stress-filled brain were not letting her see the clearest picture, but there was something here that was not right. She ignored the feeling and she ignored Sage Fenric. Instead, she looked over at the little girl and waved to catch her attention. It worked. Emma looked up at her with big brown eyes and a curious expression. Lilian did as Emma’s mother had instructed her, she put her fingers together in the air and drew a square. At the same time, she mouthed the word ‘home’. Lilian could tell by the look on Emma’s face that she recognised this gesture immediately. The little girl stepped forward and proceeded to gesticulate several other signs to Lilian, trying to communicate something. Lilian did not recognise any of them, but saw from the little stamp of Emma’s foot, that she was insistent on staying here with Sage Fenric. And so Lilian summoned all of her indignation and drew the square sign in the air again. This time, she made the lines quick and the corners sharp and she added a finger pointing downwards at the end along with mouthing the word ‘now’.

Emma scowled at Lilian. Although she did not know this strange, redheaded woman, she could tell that she had a connection to her mother, and it was this that finally swayed her. Emma clutched the doll tightly and broke away from Tourmaline’s side. She picked her feet up high to run through the snow and only turned round to scowl at Lilian before disappearing into the distance.

Lilian had promised herself that she would not get angry. She even recognised the tactic Sage Fenric was using to try and rile her up. It was working. And Lilian didn’t care. She turned back to look at the group with a flame behind her eyes. Fritha, sensing her changing mood, shifted colours and nearly doubled in size, making sure her teeth were bared as a low jangling growl sounded from deep in her throat. The youngest sister’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Fritha’s shift. Not in horror, but in wonder and curiosity.

Sage Fenric, broke the silence.

“The girl may be gone for now, but there is nothing to say that she will not be caught up in some future altercation between us. She may even sustain an injury later today. An accident perhaps, brought on by certain citizens' refusal to listen to my message.”

Lilian could no longer contain herself, “if you think that I’m going to let you threaten her…”

“You’ll what Miss Lausanne?” interrupted Sage Fenric.

Lilian narrowed her eyes and filled her tongue with venom, “I’ll kill you.” She spoke softly, letting the threat fall through the air like a broken icicle. Sage Fenric’s lip curled into a sneer.

“Stronger than you have tried, my dear.” He looked towards the sisters, who had been approaching Lilian slowly throughout the conversation, “I tire of this welp. Teach her a lesson and send her on her way.”

Tourmaline was the first to strike. The curved sickle-like blade she had shown to Lilian from behind the little girl flew forwards through the air. Lilian was ready though and dodged to the left, letting it whoosh past. She failed to notice though that it was attached to a chain and no sooner had it disappeared behind her, did Tourmaline whip her arm back sending the blade flicking backwards in a deadly arc. Part of the curved edge caught Lilian’s thigh, sending a red hot flash through her leg. She cried out and clutched the wound. She was not dressed for battle and the sickle had easily cut through her leggings. Lilian knew that if she looked down she would see blood, but her attention was drawn to the second sister, Hematite. She had reached into one of her many pockets and had extracted a small bottle with a light green liquid inside it. Lilian caught sight of it sloshing around as her leg buckled from the pain. Hematite began to shake the bottle and Lilian watched the liquid turn a bright and dangerous looking yellow. Meanwhile, the youngest sister leapt forwards, bearing long and sharp fingernails and a murderous grin on her face. She was intercepted by Fritha who jumped up and grabbed the excess material on her sleeve. Lilian stumbled backwards just in time to dodge Hematite’s concoction. The bottle fizzed and shook in the air, letting out a whistle of smoke before shattering just a few metres away from Lilian’s face. Lilian managed to turn and shield her eyes in time, but she could feel small shards of glass embed themselves in her shoulder. When she looked back Tourmaline was already upon her. The chained blade came out in several swift swings. Lilian employed her Attarapian defensive skills and managed to bat each one away, but the sight of red on the snow around her was more than a little distracting.

Lilian finally managed to land a punch square in Tourmaline’s solar plexus, sending the blade user stumbling back. Lilian took advantage of the stun and made to close the distance between them. As soon as she took a step forward though, another potion bottle was flung high in the air. This one was cube shaped with a thick, opaque orange liquid inside. It landed between Lilian and Tourmaline making a square shaped hole in the snow. Lilian jumped back expecting another explosion, but nothing came. In her brief pause, Tourmaline’s sickle was loosed once more, this time in a wide arc from Lilian’s left. Lilian ducked, then ducked again as it came back around. She wanted to grab the chain but Tourmaline’s control of her weapon was too good. With each step Lilian took, the chain was shortened meaning that the only part of the weapon that ever came close to Lilian was the razor sharp edge. Suddenly, Fritha came to help, leaping from the youngest sister over the snow, under the chain and towards Tourmaline. The move made the eldest sister shift her focus, leaving a space for Lilian to run forwards. The snow around them was becoming messy and spotted with blood. Lilian tried to avoid looking at it and focused on the woman she perceived to be her biggest threat. Tourmaline was busy retracting her chain and backing away from Fritha so Lilian ran towards her. It was at that moment, just as Lilian stepped near to it, that the hidden cube bottle exploded. The blast sent a circle of energy through the snow, Lilian’s foot must have been just a few inches away so the force was enough to sweep her feet back and out from under her and send her head hurtling down to the ground. A flash of cold hit her as her head was buried in snow. Lilian also felt a sharp pain and tasted blood as her nose hit the ground.

Despite the angry pain filled fog that descended over her, Lilian knew she was vulnerable and so scrambled quickly to get back up. Forgetting that her leg was cut she put all her weight on it and tried to stand. This caused her to wince and slip again. At the same time, she felt the sole of a boot land heavily on her back, right between her shoulder blades. The force pushed her back into the snow and as she gasped from the pain, she was met with a mouthful of cold ice. There were two more kicks, one to her side and the other to her cut leg. Lilian tried to cry out in pain, but the snow prevented a sound from coming out.

Finally she felt strong fingers on the back of her head intertwining themselves into her wet hair. Her head was yanked backwards sending a shooting pain into her shoulders. Lilian managed to cough out a mouthful of snow and breathe a long and laboured breath. The arm holding her hair lifted her up and out of the snow, bringing her eye to eye with Tourmaline. The eldest sister was kneeling down, swinging her chained sickle playfully from side to side. She was so close, Lilian could see little streaks of white in the blue of her eyes. They looked like lightning bolts.

“So little flame headed Lilian,” Tourmaline spoke as the blade swung scarily close to Lilian’s face, “You’ve tried talking. You’ve tried bargaining, you’ve attempted threats and now you’ve tried violence. All have ended poorly and I am telling you now that whatever tricks you have up your filthy sleeve it will all end the same way. With you, face deep in the snow, begging for us to let you live.” Lilian coughed again causing another wave of pain to shoot through her body. That last kick had connected with some inner organ. Tourmaline’s sister Hematite, came into view now, meaning that it was the third sister that was holding her hair. Lilian looked around for Fritha, but saw no sign of her.

“Honestly my dear, you should listen to Sage Fenric,” Unlike Tourmaline, Hematite spoke with genuine concern in her voice. “Just leave us alone,” she said, “we won’t stay long, and it will be easier on you if you stay away. Maybe travel somewhere and come back in a few weeks.” Lilian wanted to spit, but she was using all her strength to balance on her uninjured leg. Hematite looked beyond her, at the silent sister that was still clutching a handful of Lilian’s hair and said, “That’s enough Spinel.”

Lilian was released and stumbled forward. She just about managed to hold her balance and avoided falling back down. For all the snow that was caked into her clothes and hair, she felt surprisingly hot. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. Lilian convinced herself that it was from the fight, but deep down she knew that she was burning with shame. She had come unprepared, she’d lost her temper and then she’d lost a fight. She had underestimated this troupe of travelling zealots and her arrogance had cost her dearly. The bold and brazen vow she’d made the night before seemed more like a dream than a memory, fading quickly into obscurity by her inability to keep her word. The three sisters backed away and Lilian turned to leave. She did not trust herself to say anything else. If her time with Mr Attorcop had taught her anything, it was the ability to know when she was beaten. Fritha was waiting for her nearby, limping as well when she walked. The duo left the grove leaving a trail of blood and regret in their wake.

Lilian’s feet carried her through the thickening snow back to town. A hundred scenarios ran through her mind. She could have avoided the second bottle, she should have realised the blade was on a chain, she should never have let Fritha fight alone. Over and over she replayed the events in the grove in her mind’s eye. But she knew that it was all useless. There was nothing she could have done different, if there had been, she would have done it. That strange question came back to her then, the one she’d thought of just before the fight broke out. She knew clearly what it was now. Why? Why were these religious travellers so well armed and so versed in battle arts? It had been bothering her for some time now. Yes there was sense in carrying some weapons while on the road, Lilian had her own very recent experience of bandits and highwaymen. But their skills went beyond mere self defence. Those three sisters worked as one. A quick and efficient team, highly skilled and deathly dangerous. Lilian glanced down at her right forearm. It was one of the only parts of her that was not in pain. She chastised herself for not using gloaming to turn invisible, or to access that strange night power she had discovered in the Empress’ tower while fighting Nicholas Telson. But she shook off the feeling. Those gifts required time to access, and that was one thing the sisters had not given her.

Lilian’s head was swimming, the brightness of the snow was making her eyes ache and each step brought a fresh wave of pain from the cut on her leg. When she looked up, she expected to see home or perhaps the Fox and Octopus. She knew she’d been headed vaguely in that direction, but had been so distracted with regrets that she must have taken a wrong turn. Instead, she found herself looking at a small, squat building that she did not recognise. She looked around and realised that she was near the timber yard, just west of Jacob’s smith. Something about the location seemed familiar but Lilian’s brain was filled with too much fog and anger to process the reason why. The snow continued to fall and Lilian was not sure if she had the strength to find somewhere safer. And so, against all reasoning, she knocked on the door.

The next few moments passed in a haze. It was as if the snow had suddenly thickened into a tempest or a mountain fog had just decided to descend upon the town. Lilian felt a sharp pain in her left knee as she collapsed onto the ground. The door opened and Lilian saw a set of legs emerge from a dark interior. The next thing she knew, she was being dragged indoors and hoisted onto a bed. She caught sight of a fire burning brightly in a hearth. Whoever had carried her inside was rushing around, fetching things and stripping Lilian of her wet clothes. As darkness descended Lilian caught sight of a small figure watching her from the doorway. It had curly hair and a lovely lavender dress. Just before Lilian blacked out, she saw the figure lift its hands and draw a square in the air with its fingers. It was a sign. A sign for home.

When Lilian woke up it took her a few seconds to remember what had happened. Her efforts to understand her situation were stifled by a powerful and painful hunger. She glanced around the room and saw a small and cosy living space. There was a fire burning low in a stone fireplace. Colourful wooden birds adorned the hearth and various dolls and toys were scattered around the floor. It reminded Lilian of her own room from when she was a little girl. There were a few girl’s dresses piled on the shelves of a simple doorless wardrobe. It wasn’t until she saw a wooden spinning top, resting on its side, that she remembered everything that had happened. Lilian stirred beneath the wool blanket. Her body ached but that was nothing compared to the pain in her head. She tried to call out but her throat was so dry that no words came. She attempted to remove the blanket and take a step, but the flood of pain made her quickly abandon the idea.

Just then, she heard footsteps coming towards the door. The little girl from the grove, Emma, appeared there, distracted by a daydream and scanning the floor for a toy or trinket. She wore a faded green dress which tied at the shoulders with wooden toggles. It had little flowers sewn around the hem and had clearly been made with great care. Lilian waved, but Emma must have grown accustomed to having a stranger lying in her bed, because she was too distracted by her current task to notice. Lilian looked about. Thankfully, a plush pig was stuffed between her mattress and the wall, Lilian had clearly been given a friend to keep her company in her rest. She grabbed the button-eyed animal and chucked it at Emma. It bounced off the little girl’s side and caused her to whip round, wide-eyed and smiling. Lilian smiled back and was about to try and communicate her need for water when Emma rushed out of the room. A moment later, she returned, clutching at the hem of her mother’s skirt. Lilian instantly recognised the woman, Esther, that had interrupted her journey to see Sage Fenric. She was much more composed than when they had last met. She was dressed in a grey shawl and she was currently drying her hands on an old cloth.

“Lilian!” she exclaimed, “You’re awake! Hang on, let me get you some water.”

A few minutes later Lilian was sitting up in bed and draining the remaining drops of a large cup of freshly melted snow. Emma was sitting at her feet, clutching the toy pig and glancing from Lilian to her mother. Occasionally she would tap her mother’s arm and Esther would communicate Lilian’s words to her with a series of hand signs.

“And so I must have come straight here,” said Lilian. “I’m sorry to have burdened you.”

Esther shook her head, “it was no burden at all. After Emma came back and told me that a red haired girl had sent her home, I was already thinking of ways to thank you.”

Lilian smiled, “Well, I think a bed for the night makes us more than square. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as…” Lilian stopped mid sentence. The look on Esther’s face had changed from a friendly smile, to one of shock.

“Lilian…” she started, “you came here with a bad cut and a fever. I woke you up every now and then to feed you broth and water but you were never really lucid. You’ve been here for five days.” Lilian’s stomach dropped. Her thoughts quickly turned to her parents, which Esther must have predicted. “I told your mum and dad where you are and they came by every day with supplies. They have your large… dog too. We considered moving you but thought it was better to keep you here. Brother Thomas and that nice man Doran have been here too.” Lilian fell back into the pillow. Five days, she thought. What kind of damage could Sage Fenric have done to Benlunar in all that time? She watched Emma tap on her mother’s arm and Esther told her that Lilian thought she’d been here for just one night. Emma fell about giggling. Jumping up on her knees she held up five fingers in mocking glee. Lilian smiled.

She watched then as Emma and her mother chatted for a moment. Lilian’s head was still heavy but her thirst had been quenched and the smell of stew coming from the other room was igniting her appetite. Her thoughts were trying to plunge her into a state of panic and anxiety. She wanted to ask Esther everything but she couldn’t get the words out. Perhaps it was her headache or perhaps it was the bewitching show of movement taking place in front her.

The mother and daughter communicated effortlessly and silently. The only sound coming from their conversation was the occasional tap when a hand hit a fist or a finger tapped a head or cheek. Lilian didn’t understand the individual signs but felt that she could grasp the gist of what was happening. Little Emma was becoming increasingly unhappy, her signs becoming quick and erratic. Her mother remained calm and insistent. The little girl kept pointing at Lilian and repeating the same phrase over and over again. She had been so excited to see her awaken that Lilian wondered what might be causing this shift in mood. Finally, with tears swelling in the corners of her eyes, she jumped off the bed, grabbed her soft pig and ran out of the room.

Esther, turned to Lilian, smiling, “I’m sorry, why don’t you lie back and I’ll fetch you a bowl of stew, if you have strength enough to eat that is. Would you rather go back to sleep?”

“Thank you,” replied Lilian, “but I think I’ve slept enough. A bowl would be wonderful. Is…” she paused, gesturing to the open door, “is everything alright?”

“Oh, fine,” Esther said, standing up. “Don’t mind Emma, she’s been so excited to talk to you ever since you got here. Going on and on about some plan she has. She needs to understand that you need rest.”

Lilian pushed herself up, the speed of the movement caused her to wince. “I don’t mind! I want to talk to her, it’s just… I can’t speak without…”

Esther turned and sighed, “you’re both as bad as each other. Fine, I’ll fetch a bowl and I’ll translate, but as soon as you finish your last bite you rest, promise?”

Lilian considered jokingly replying with ‘yes mum’ but felt that that might be pushing it. Instead she just smiled and nodded.

Emma turned out to be a keen conversationalist. She had rushed back into the bedroom and thrown herself onto the covers, narrowly missing Lilian’s foot, and had started signing before her mother had had time to walk back in and sit down. She asked Lilian how she came to be hurt and Lilian told her about the fight with the three sisters. Lilian worried at first that the little girl might not believe her, she had seemed so infatuated with Sage Fenric and his toys that Lilian assumed her to have gone the way of the rest of Benlunar. But this was not the case. Emma nodded along in understanding as if the story only seemed to confirm what she already believed. She interrupted once when Lilian mentioned the third sister. The one who fought without weapons and had that strange look in her eyes when she’d seen Fritha. Emma tapped on Lilian’s foot and began signing something to her mother. Esther looked confused for a moment. Emma repeated the gestures again and again but Esther did not seem to garner any clarity from them.

“What is it? What’s she saying?” Lilian asked.

Esther shook her head. “I’m not sure, she keeps saying animal and woman. Then that, that’s a sign for change. But it’s the sign I use for when I want to change her clothes. So not like when a season changes. That’s different.”

Suddenly, a memory triggered in Lilian’s mind. After her humiliating defeat, as Hematite was advising her to leave Benlunar for a while, she had turned to the last last sister and told her to let go of Lilian’s hair. She had addressed her by name. Spinel. That name was familiar. Hadn’t it been what she’d called the bird that had showed her where to find those herbs down by the river a week ago? Could they be…

“Esther, could you ask her if one of the sisters can turn into animals?” Esther’s forehead wrinkled.

“What was in that Broth? Are you both…”

“Please,” Lilian interrupted her. Esther considered how to phrase the question and then turned to put it to her daughter. The look on Emma’s face lit up the room. She clapped and nodded and showed Lilian her toy pig, then she reached behind her for a toy dog, a sheep and then just pointed at anything in the room that was shaped like an animal. Which was a lot of things. Lilian smiled.

“Thank you Esther, how can I sign to her that I understand.” Esther still looked very confused but she showed Lilian a quick gesture that involved pointing a finger repeatedly upwards while nodding. Lilian repeated the gesture to Emma which prompted another smile followed by a big hug. Then the little girl turned back to her mother. Esther translated.

“She says, thank you, red girl. That’s what she’s been calling you. Thank you for understanding. I was scared no one would believe me.” Esther turned back to Lilian. “But… she’s joking isn’t she? People can’t turn into animals. That only happens in the stories.”

Lilian pursed her lips in thought before replying, “the more I learn about these visitors, the more strange and dangerous they become. I don’t doubt for a second that one could turn into a beast. I’ve already seen her bestial nature for myself.” Lilian’s right hand reached up to the back of her head absentmindedly. “I underestimated them again and I’m afraid Benlunar will pay the price for my arrogance.”

She felt the sting of tears coming back to her eyes. Esther put her hand on Lilian’s arm.

“Benlunar is capable of making its own decisions. If we trusted everything to fifteen year old girls then the Fox and Octopus would serve only sweets and the town square would be an ice rink. Take that weight off your shoulders and rest. You’ll figure it out. You might have taken a hit but you still managed to make a big impression.” She surreptitiously moved her eyes towards Emma who was staring lovingly at Lilian. “I’ve a feeling you’ve more supporters than you think. But put that aside for now. Rest, Lilian Lausanne. You can save the world tomorrow.” With that, she got up and gestured to Emma to leave her alone.

Lilian watched them both exit the room and was about to fall back onto her pillows and give the biggest world-weary sigh she’d ever given, when little Emma tiptoed back into the room. She must have ducked into her mother’s blindspot and rushed back to complete some secret mission. The look on her face was one of iron resolve. She kept glancing back towards the door to check that her mother had not followed her. When she was finally sure they would not be disturbed, she thrust something into Lilian’s hand and then sped out of the room like a rabbit from a snare. Lilian smiled. She looked down to see what Emma had given her. In her palm, was a scrap of parchment, folded over and over until it was just hard edges. Lilian unfolded it and flattened it across her knee. There was a message written in wobbly charcoal script. It took Lilian a second to decipher it but eventually, the letters became clear:

I KNOW THEY ARE BAD. I WILL SPY FOR YOU.

Episode 55

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

“Lilian, what are you doing?” Lilian looked at her mother. Her face was a picture of sadness and confusion. Lilian had never seen her look this way before and her heart cracked at the sight of it. Her grip on Sage Fenric’s yellow cloak relaxed and her right elbow dropped slightly from its poised to punch position.

“Lilian?” Her mother repeated her name. Lilian felt a familiar kind of temper enter her body.

“Mum, it’s fine. I’m dealing with it.” Polly Lausanne stepped forward, the crowd parted to let her through.

“Dealing with what exactly?”

“Mum,” Lilian raised her voice, “We can discuss this at home.” A flash of that feeling hit her again. There was only one or two people who could make her feel like this, this foot stomping, huffing and puffing anger. The anger of a child.

“Let go of him right now and get down from there.” Lilian tensed her grip again, her body acted automatically in opposition to her mother’s wishes.

“You don’t understand. He’s dangerous and he needs to leave Benlunar. I’m making sure he listens.” She directed this last comment to Sage Fenric. His face portrayed an intense calmness, like he was somewhere else, just watching the events in front of him unfold. His eyes darted quickly back to Lilian’s mum, to check her reaction.

“And what has he supposed to have done that is so dangerous?” she demanded. Lilian clenched her teeth.

“It’s not about what he has done, it’s about what he will do.” Lilian’s temper was transforming into a rage. She could feel her nails digging into her palm.

“And is that the kind of person you are Roux? Someone who judges others for things they haven’t even done?”

Even though Lilian could still feel her heart beating out of her chest, she felt her grip begin to relax again. Her mother’s words rang around inside her head. She saw the scene through her eyes, through the eyes of the gathering crowd and she realised how mad she must look. She let Sage Fenric go and turned to leave. Before jumping off the platform though, she turned back to Sage Fenric. She spoke to him in a hushed tone.

“My warning still stands.” Sage Fenric’s neutral expression shifted. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. To an outside observer, it was a kind and understanding expression. But Lilian saw straight through it to the dark heart that it was hiding. He then said six perfectly placed words. The exact words Lilian needed to hear for all that rage and wrath to come flooding back all at once.

“You should listen to your mother.” And then Lilian punched him so hard that he was knocked off the platform.

The argument that ensued back at Lilian’s house was one for the stories. Voices were raised, tempers were lost and insults were hurled like sharp little rocks. Lilian tried to explain over and over about the village that Doran had described, about how she feared for the future of her home and about her suspicions concerning Sage Fenric and his weird sisters. Lilian’s mother countered each of these with her own arguments. About how she had not seen any evidence of wrongdoing, about how she had raised Lilian better than someone who used violence to solve their problems, about how she barely recognised the daughter standing in front of her. Both of them kept turning to Lilian’s father for support and they got even angrier when he supported neither of them. Finally Polly Lausanne’s anger gave way to tears. Lilian hated seeing her mother cry and what was even worse was that she was the cause of it.

“You don’t understand,” said her mother through a tight throat and a snotty nose, “the first day that Sage Fenric spoke at the Stave, he asked us to wish for something. Something real he said, and he promised us that it would come true. I wished for you to come back to Benlunar. And the very next day…”

“But Mum…” Lilian interrupted her but her mother’s hand shot up to stop her speaking.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said, “I know you’re going to say that you would have come back anyway and I know that, I’m not stupid. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t right. And if he was right about that, just think what else he might be right about.” Lilian rolled her eyes.

“What, you mean this garden nonsense?”

“You see,” said her mother, “why do you say it like that? Like you know everything, like you know better. Now, alright, I’ll admit I don’t know what this garden thing is either, but I’m open to learn about the world we live in. Isn’t that why you went with Mr Attorcop in the first place? To learn about incredible things? Why are you allowed to do that and I’m not?” Lilian bit her lip. She’d said all she could. She’d reasoned all she could. Her mother wasn’t listening and that was causing the divide between them to widen more and more by the second. What’s more is that her last point made sense. There were things to learn, it was just that Lilian didn’t trust this particular teacher. Lilian sighed. She knew she needed to apologise but she also knew that if she did then she would be the one in the wrong and she would potentially have to sit back and watch Benlunar get twisted by this horrible man. She needed to think.

“I’m… I’m going out for a walk.” Her mother wiped away a tear.

“I’ll put dinner on for when you’re back.” Then Lilian hugged her mother tightly and spoke softly into her ear.

“Just promise you’ll be careful alright?” She could feel her mother’s body shake with a little laugh.

“That’s what I’m supposed to say!” They smiled at each other and although not everything was forgiven, it was at least better understood.

“Take a cloak,” her father spoke up for the first time since they’d arrived back, “the nights are getting cold.” Lilian smiled at him and nodded. She grabbed an old green travelling cloak from the pegs by the door and whistled for Fritha to join her. She turned to look at her parents before she left. She opened her mouth to say something, but all the words had already been said.

The evening was clear but Lilian’s mind was mired in fog. She walked briskly, taking deep, chilly breaths. Her father was right. The air was getting colder every day and the snow would soon be upon them. She hoped Sage Fenric didn’t use that as another excuse to stick around. A gust of wind passed overhead, sending a flurry of yellowing leaves down and around her. Fritha snapped at them, trying to catch one in her mouth. Lilian normally found this hilarious, but her eyes were fixed forwards and her feet marched on: relentless. A hollow, sick feeling began to form in her stomach. It came with a sense of dread that not only would Sage Fenric not be gone by morning, but that her actions earlier that day had only served to help his cause. She became angry at herself for letting herself become angry.

And then she stopped. She’d been walking without purpose or direction and as usual whenever that happened in Benlunar she found herself staring up at an old, familiar sight. A giant stone toad with a peaceful expression on its wide, rocky face. Behind that, the mountain peak, still sprinkled with white from last year's snow fall. The sound of gurgling water came from the ground around her and Lilian smiled and breathed out. She felt her shoulders relax, her fingers uncurl and the tension at the base of her skull, which she had not even been aware existed, ease. Her whole body lightened and with that came tears. Lilian was surprised by their arrival but they were not unwelcome. She’d been growing ever more concerned for her home and coupled with the memory of Kilde and all that she’d left behind, well, it all became quite overwhelming. After a few sorrowful moments, she looked up at the Padda Stone and spoke.

“I’m scared, Gorakja. I’m back home and I thought I’d be happy but I’m terrified. This isn’t like Freedos. I don’t think I’m going to be able to punch my way out of this one.” She looked down at Fritha. The feinhound was lapping at the edge of the great pond. The cold mountain water was causing her coat to shift into icy blue waves that rippled over her body. Lilian smiled. She felt alone but she had to remind herself that she was anything but. She had Fritha, she had Brother Thomas and even though they weren’t seeing eye to eye right now, she had her parents as well. Then, as if on cue, she heard a noise coming from behind her. It sounded like someone stepping on a twig. Lilian whipped around, drying her eyes as she moved. She wondered why Fritha hadn’t alerted her of the person’s approach, but when she turned, she saw why. The person approaching was a friend.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Doran. Even though it was quite dark, Lilian could see that he was red in the face. Large clouds of vapour rose into the air with every exhalation. He paused to catch his breath before explaining himself, “I saw you walking through town like a demon was at your back so… I thought I’d check in.” He walked over to a group of large rocks and sat down on the largest one. “You seem troubled, Lilian.”

Lilian, snorted, “That’s one way of putting it.” She turned back to look at the statue.

Doran got out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat that had gathered on his forehead. “I heard about what happened at the paddock.” Lilian felt her cheeks redden. “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.”

Lilian attempted a smile but her shame prevented it from becoming anything more than a sheepish grin. “You must be the only one in town who thinks so.”

Doran shook his head. “You’ve more supporters than you think, but… yes I should say most people were rather shocked.” He began to chuckle and Lilian couldn’t help but join him. His laugh was deep and infectious and Lilian felt herself begin to cheer up at the sound of it. Suddenly, it stopped.

“By the stories…” said Doran, clutching his handkerchief to his chest. Lilian followed his gaze to the Padda Stone, in his haste to sit down, Doran had not noticed it until now. His eyes widened in delight. “Is that…?” He stood up and came to stand beside Lilian.

“That,” replied Lilian, “is the Padda Stone. It’s very special to Benlunar. Some say…” she was about to launch into the legend and supposed history of the stone and its relationship to the town, but Doran cut her off.

“It’s one of the Dwaemor…” his breath was coming out in short, shaky puffs now and Lilian saw the corners of his handkerchief shaking as his knuckles began to whiten as he tightened his grip on it.

Lilian’s face scrunched up in confusion, “One of what?”

Doran looked at her as if she had spouted some odd song in a different language. “The Dwaemor,” he repeated, “surely you must know the rhyme?” They looked at each other for a moment, each one assuming the other had gone completely mad. Finally, Doran broke the silence. He lowered his voice and began to recite in a slow and respectful tone:

“Twelve Hells and seven heavens,

seven Dwaemor for eleven weapons.

A force of nature, an army of light

Joined together by darkness to fight

One world with many fates

The champions stand to keep it safe.”

There was a silence, punctured by the dusk chorus of croaking frogs. Doran looked at Lilian, hoping to find recognition in her eyes, but she just stared back at him blankly.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” she said, turning back to the Padda Stone, “it’s quite… ominous.”

Doran chuckled, “Aye, it is that. I’m surprised you don’t know it seeing as you grew up near a Dwaemor. It’s one of our oldest stories. Basically there are several of these stone creatures, scattered around the world. I’ve seen four of them and… well, now I’ve seen five.” Doran beamed with pride.

“That’s impressive,” she said, “I’ve only seen two. This one, and a bird.” Doran’s head whipped round to look at her.

“A bird you say?” he asked, “Goodness me. I’ve not seen a bird. I should like to one day though.”

Lilian thought about this for a second before responding. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I can’t tell you where it is. I swore an oath that I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Doran didn’t seem upset at all by this. “Oh don’t you worry Lilian,” he said, chuckling once more, “after all, the joy is in the hunt, not the finding. You’ve already led me to one I never thought I’d find, so I’d say you’ve done more than enough. I shan’t ask you to betray your word.” They went back to silently staring at the statue. “He is very impressive.”

Lilian smiled and nodded, “He is. But I don’t think he’ll be much help when it comes to dealing with Sage Fenric.” Lilian didn’t know if Doran was aware of The Padda Stone’s true nature, he certainly didn’t mention it. Even if he did, she did not know when Gorakja would return or how a giant talking toad might be able to help her. Like it or not, this was her task alone.

Just then, a thought struck her. She turned to Doran and asked, “who is our?” Doran pulled his eyes away from The Padda Stone to look at Lilian, confused. “When you said the poem, you said it was one of ‘our’ oldest stories. Who is ‘our’? Where are you from Doran?” Although they had spent some time together by now, Lilian realised that she still knew very little about the traveller. Doran smiled and turned back to the stone.

“I’m a traveller, Lilian. I’m from nowhere and everywhere. Alicium is my home and she provides me with everything I need. I suppose if I had to narrow it down I would say I grew up across the grassland planes, far south of here. But my travels have taken me all over the world, even as far as Doma, although even one as silver tongued as myself has never set foot inside its walls. When I say ‘our’ I mean my people. Travellers have a way of recognising each other and we always share stories when we meet. A good story can save your life, you know?”

Doran’s words suddenly triggered a memory in Lilian’s head, “Are you part of the Laguina people?”

Doran looked taken aback, “How do you know of the Laguina folk?”

Lilian shrugged, “Something a friend of mine told me once. He said they believe in the power of names.”

Doran smiled broadly and nodded, “Aye, that they do. Some say it was the Laguina that gave us the names of all things. The nomads descended from those before there were towns, travellers from before there were roads, namers from before there were names. I’m not Laguina, but I’ve met a few of them and they’ve helped me several times. Talk about stories. The Laguina tell some of the greatest stories I’ve ever heard. Many of them ended up in your Stave’s book, although the Laguina would never write them down. They believe that stories are alive, and like all living things, they change as they grow old.” Doran looked over at Lilian and studied her for a moment. He remembered their first meeting and how he was convinced she was a spirit of some kind. “I get the feeling,” he said, looking at her crossed arms and stern expression, “that you’ve some stories of your own.”

Lilian smiled. “A few. Most end quite happily…” she trailed off.

Doran, picked up the trail, “but you’re worried about this one, aren’t ye?”

Lilian breathed out a long sigh. Then she stepped forwards a few paces so that she was closer to the water and closer to the Padda Stone. She widened her stance, clenched her fists raised her voice. Doran fell silent, watching her talk to the mountain.

“This town,” she said, “is under my watch. By the light of the moon and the strength of the mountain I swear it. I will not let it fall into ruin.” Then she turned back to Doran with a smile and new energy. “Thank you Doran, for telling me about Sage Fenric.”

Doran was taken aback. “Of…Of course Lilian. I say ‘tis a good oath you made. I’ve been here only a few hours but I sense Benlunar is a special place. As far as I can help you, I swear I will.”

“Do you swear on the mountain?” Lilian giggled.

“Aye!” exclaimed Doran, “and on the stars that guide, the rivers that wind and the ties that bind.” At that moment, Fritha tipped her head to the moon and joined in the oaths with a tolling howl. Lilian and Doran laughed and looked skyward. And then, as if answering their calls, the first flakes of snow began to fall around them. Lilian felt them fall softly onto her cheeks. Winter was upon them and with it the work began.

The next morning, Lilian got up early with Fritha and marched back to the paddock. She had been serious in her threats to Sage Fenric but she had also had time to calm down and think things through. Violence might not be the best way to handle the situation and so she would have to approach the problem a little differently, from a more diplomatic perspective. This required a lot of ground work and that all started with paying the Sage and his cohorts another visit.

In order to get straight to the paddock from Lilian’s childhood home, you would need to climb a particularly steep rock face and then make your way up a series of slippery stone steps. With Benlunar now being covered in a thick layer of snow, this path was less than desirable. And so Lilian and Fritha took the road into town and then took the side streets east until they hit the dirt path that led round the mountain to the paddock. By the time Lilian reached the closely packed houses in this part of Benlunar she was enjoying listening to the crunch of the snow underfoot and the slight hiss in the air that the snow produced as it hit the floor. It was still early and so the streets were relatively quiet so she was surprised to see another person walking towards her. Lilian looked down at Fritha quickly to make sure she was disguised, luckily, she had her shaggy dog coat on. This would avoid any unwanted questions and probably helped with the cold as well.

The person approaching was a woman that Lilian did not recognise. This was not so strange, Benlunar was a small town but not so small that everyone knew everyone by sight. Lilian might have walked straight past her and paid her no mind, except for the fact that this woman was clearly not dressed for the weather. Lilian wore a big coat, thick woollen tights, fox fur gloves and fur lined boots. Most of her old clothes still fit, although the coat sleeves came up to her elbow when she stretched her arm out. The approaching woman had none of these. She wore leather workman’s trousers and a white cotton shirt. Granted the shirt had long sleeves, but it could not be expected to keep her warm. The main thing that drew Lilian’s attention however, was the look of anguish on the woman’s face. Her eyes darted about, glancing down every street and alley she passed. She looked as though she’d been out half the night. Lilian hailed her as she approached.

“Are you alright mrs?” The woman’s wild eyes landed on Lilian and studied her and Fritha for a moment before answering.

“I… yes. I’m just looking for someone. You haven’t seen a little girl, have you? Curly brown hair. She… she can’t talk.” The description caused instant recognition in Lilian’s mind.

“Does she have a lavender dress?” The woman’s eyes widened with hope. She took a few steps closer, raising her feet high to get them over the snow.

“She does! Yes. She’s my Emma. Please, where is she??” Lilian could hear the desperation in her voice. She was glancing past Lilian as if her daughter might appear just behind her. Lilian approached her slowly and spoke in her most soothing voice.

“I saw her yesterday morning. She was down in the paddock talking with the sage.”

This produced a look of confusion on the woman’s face, “The sage?” she said. “Who, that strange man who spoke at the Stave? What was she doing there?”

“I think she was just curious. He gave her a toy and then she ran back to town.” Lilian could tell that a hundred thoughts were racing through this woman’s mind.

“So that’s where she got it…” she said in recognition. “Funny man. He’s the funny man.” In a flash, she turned around and started making her way back from where she’d come. Lilian ran to catch up with her.

“Wait, you must be freezing. Here, look. I’m actually headed to the paddock now. Why don’t I see if she’s there and if she is I’ll send her home. She might already be back and waiting for you. You head home and check, I’ll come by later.” The woman looked at her with tired eyes. She seemed as though her mind wanted to run to the paddock but her body was begging her for warmth. She looked down at her hands. Lilian saw that her fingertips were bright red. They’d be going numb soon if she didn’t warm them up. Slowly, she nodded.

“Yes, I’ll go home and… and see if she's there. We live near the timber yard, just west…”

“Of Jacob’s, I know the place.” Lilian finished her sentence for her. “I’ll see you there soon.”

The woman made to leave, but turned back before she’d gone much distance.

“My name is Esther. And if you see Emma, do this:” she then held her hands up, her two forefingers outstretched and drew a square in the air with them, starting from the top and meeting back at the bottom. “It means home.”

Lilian nodded, “I’m Lilian, and of course. Thank you.” And so both women turned around and trudged onward through the snow drift.

Lilian reached the paddock within half an hour. The snow was still powdery and Lilian slipped several times on the path down to the clearing. When the paddock came into view Lilian couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the place again. The snow covered the floor like thick velvet and the trees were beginning to form fuzzy white hats. Even the caravans looked pretty, although Lilian was loath to admit it.

It was still early and so no one from the town had come to listen to Sage Fenric speak just yet. Lilian was grateful for the quiet. She wished to speak Frankly with the so-called Sage. She marched across the snow, doing her best to appear intimidating. She looked up to see a large black bird fly overhead and squawk a few times. It landed somewhere beyond the caravans and Lilian quickly lost sight of it. The noise seemed to alert the residents of the caravan as soon after Lilian saw Sage Fenric emerge from his wooden, road-ready residence. Fritha growled a low jangling sound as she padded alongside Lilian.

Before Lilian was too close, Sage Fenric began to speak, shouting slightly to cover the ground between them,

“If you’ve come to blacken my other eye then I should warn you, your mayor has agreed to imprison you, if I should feel as if I’m in further danger. You needn’t worry though. I put the whole thing down to a lost temper.”

Lilian continued to trudge on, not heading his warning and closing the gap between them further. “I suppose you’ll be wanting my thanks.”

Sage Fenric shrugged, “I’d prefer an apology, but thanks will suffice.” At that moment the three women, the sisters, came out. Two from their own dwelling and one from round the other side of Sage Fenric’s caravan. Unlike Sage Fenric, they were not wearing their robes. The tallest sported battle leathers, the middle wore a tunic with an array of belts and pouches strung around her waist and shoulders. In them were various vials and bottles, each containing strange coloured liquids. The youngest wore just a dark cotton shirt and dark trousers. All looked as though they were ready to kill. Lilian instinctively felt her feet shift into the first defensive Atarapian stance.

“Well you’ll get neither,” she said, “I notice you have not heeded my warning and you insist on staying in Benlunar.”

Sage Fenric opened his arms out wide, “the only person who seems to object strongly to our being here is you my darling. Perhaps your ire would be eased if you left instead, or at the very least, left us alone.”

Lilian shook her head. “Again, neither of those things are going to happen. But this is what I will say…”

Sage Fenric held up a finger to interrupt her, “Before you say anything Miss Lausanne, I suggest you bear your audience in mind…” Just then, he glanced over at the tallest sister. Lilian followed his gaze.

There, a shy figure stepped out into the open from behind the woman. Lilian saw little brown ringlets and a lavender dress. It held a doll in its hands and was distracted by playing with its mop of hair. The girl, Emma, looked up and saw Lilian but was unsure as to what to do so she went back to playing with the doll. What she did not see was the curved blade that the tallest sister brought out slowly from behind her back. She kept it by her side, level with the little girl’s throat. Lilian looked back at Sage Fenric.

“As I was saying, be careful what you threaten Miss Lausanne. You wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt…”

Episode 54

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

Every muscle in Lilian’s body suddenly tensed. Her eyes snapped open causing her to reel slightly from the sudden, intense brightness. She had to make sure she had heard Sage Fenric correctly. What was the word he had used just now? Followed? But… how did he know? She looked down at her hands to make sure she was still invisible, sure enough all she could see was the forest floor, littered with brown pine needles and the occasional exposed root. She looked back up to the caravans in the middle of the paddock where she saw Sage Fenric talking with the two blue cloaked sisters. They were glancing about just as Lilian had been, trying to place their pursuer. Sage Fenric smiled at their ignorance.

“It’s alright,” he spoke loudly into the air, “you can come out, we mean you no harm.” Lilian could feel her heart beating out of her chest. She had been so careful, how could he possibly… but then, he turned. His smiling face and piercing green eyes focused on the forest but he was not looking at Lilian. He was staring at a large tree about thirty feet to her right. He took a few steps towards the tree and got down to his knee. Lilian thought he’d seen a particularly shy cat and was trying to get it to come closer so that he could stroke it. He smiled broadly and gestured with his arms for the thing to come forward.

“Why don’t you come out from there?” He said, “There you are. Hello little one.” Lilian craned her neck to see who or what he was talking to.

Stepping out from the forest, shy as midsummer rain, was a little girl. She wore a lavender coloured dress and no shoes. Her hair was brown and curled into tight little ringlets. Lilian guessed she must have been about seven or eight years old. She was approaching Sage Fenric slowly and cautiously but Lilian could tell she was curious and excited. The knuckles of her right hand were in her mouth, doubtless giving her mind the comfort it needed to attack this unfamiliar situation. Sage Fenric continued to smile and gestured her closer.

“Hello my dear, and what is your name?” he waved when he greeted her and he received a timid wave back, but no answer to the question. The child stopped before she reached him and narrowed her eyes. She then took her hand out of her mouth and brought the wet knuckles to her right ear, using them to gesticulate or point at it. She combined this motion with a vigorous shake of her head. Lilian was confused for a second but she realised what was happening at the same time as Sage Fenric.

“Aah… I understand.” He nodded emphatically, smiling all the while. He shifted his mode of communication then, relying more on expression and gesture to communicate with the child. He held up a finger and clearly mouthed the word ‘wait’. Lilian then watched him stand up and go back to his caravan. The child waited patiently, putting her knuckles back in her mouth and looking at the two sisters and the strange black bird. The sisters smiled at her and the shorter one, called Hematite, gave her a little wave as she waited. The child did not respond, she just spun her waist from left to right, causing her dress to float around her. Lilian began to worry. Sage Fenric could be fetching anything from that old caravan: a cake laced with poison, a weapon of some kind. And if Lilian sensed danger then calling out to the little girl would do no good.

A minute later, Sage Fenric emerged clutching his hands together close to his chest. Lilian readied herself for action, digging her heels into the ground and preparing her legs to spring her forwards. She watched intently as Sage Fenric approached the girl, bent down and held his hands out, uncupping them and revealing the secret inside. The little girl’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. A look of unencumbered glee fell across her rosy cheeks as she saw what he had brought her. In his palm was a little spinning top, whirring round and round, perfectly balanced, made of wood and weighted with shimmering metal that caught the light as it pirouetted. Sage Fenric reached for the girl’s left hand and opened her palm, showing her with his free hand how to stretch her fingers out so that the palm was taught. Then slowly and with great care, he transferred the top onto her palm and steadied her hand. The child giggled so loudly, Lilian could hear it echo off the mountainside. Then, after a time, the top spun out on its side and dropped to the floor.

Sage Fenric picked it up and placed it back in the girl’s hand, closing her fingers over it and pointing at her chest.

“Yours, keep it.” He pushed it into her chest and took his hands away, bringing them to his own body, mimicking the motion. The girl understood, giggled again and did a little dance. Hopping from foot to foot in excitement and looking back at the top to study it carefully. Then, without word or warning she took off in the direction of town, stopping only to wave goodbye to Sage Fenric and nearly tripping on her own feet as she turned. Sage Fenric and the two sisters smiled and waved and the black bird cawed as if it too was saying goodbye.

Lilian felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. She’d been invisible for the better part of an hour and the effort was beginning to take its toll. She waited a couple more minutes to see if the group did anything out of the ordinary, but after watching them go about their business and begin preparing a meal she elected to walk away.

Once she was a safe distance she released the gloaming and considered the scene she had just witnessed. There was certainly nothing overtly sinister in Sage Fenric’s actions. She had not learned what Hematite had planned on making with the moss she’d picked by the river, but Lilian’s knowledge of herbalism was admittedly limited. As far as she knew it could have been a calming tea. Somewhere along the journey, Fritha appeared beside her. Lilian touched the back of her neck absentmindedly as she walked. The whole thing was very confusing. Perhaps this man and his companions had nothing to do with that fishing village that Doran had warned her about. Perhaps they were just like him, travellers from afar wishing to ingratiate themselves into the community.

By the time she reached the centre of town her mind had wondered to the identity of the little girl. She cast her memory back to the group of toddlers and children from the nursery who used to bother her and her friends when they played. Tried as she might, she could not remember a deaf girl being among them. It was not as if accepting a toy from Sage Fenric was a sign of malice or danger but Lilian was worried all the same. It was a feeling, an instinct. But this suspicion was laced with guilt. Lilian worried she was judging these strangers too harshly, showing her small town prejudice when all they had done was spoken a few words at church and given a child a gift.

“Good morning Lilian!” Lilian was snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of someone saying her name. She looked up and realised she had absent-mindedly walked right into the centre of the town square. Her heart skipped a beat when she realised Fritha might be seen but a quick glance to her right found the feinhound to be disguised as a large shaggy dog, the same look she had used those two years passed when she had followed Lilian and Mr Attorcop into town. The voice had come from Brother Thomas who was walking over to her.

“How are you today? My goodness that’s a big dog.” Lilian smiled.

“A little tired, but well thank you. This is Fritha, Fritha, this is Brother Thomas.” The feinhound walked over to greet brother thomas, wagging her tail as she did so. Brother Thomas seemed apprehensive and his pace slowed as he approached. He lifted a hand and looked like he wanted to pat Fritha on the head but the hand never quite made contact and seemed to be there as more of a defensive barrier. Sensing his fear, Fritha turned and ran back behind Lilian.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” asked Lilian, hoping Brother Thomas would be the one to make a decision about Sage Fenric. His face fell at the question as if he had just been transported back to a sleepless night.

“I have deliberated on the matter all last night, as well as for most of the early morning. I feel…” Lilian saw him struggling to hear himself speak the words, “I feel as though the risk is too great. If the future of Benlunar is that of the village your friend described then I cannot allow myself to be a part of its making. I will deny him the Stave and ask the mayor if Sage Fenric and his troup can be asked to move on.” Lilian could understand his reluctance. Benlunar was supposed to be a welcoming place, a place where weary travellers could find rest and where tourists could come to get away from the worries of their lives. She placed a hand on Brother Thomas’ arm.

“I understand and I support your decision. It’s as you say, the risk is just too great.” There was a moment of silence as the pair mourned the loss of something, a quality they thought they possessed, a virtue they prided themselves on without even knowing it. Lilian shook the feeling off her and smiled through it. “Don’t worry, the town will soon forget. Winter is round the corner and everyone will be preoccupied with a leaking roof or birds nest in the chimney or something.” Brother Thomas sighed.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Say, I was heading to Eiric’s for some breakfast if you’d like to join me.” Lilian smiled, Eiric was a local baker, the only man in town who could give Xander a run for his money, although he specialised more in sweet breads rather than savoury bakes. It was a sort of unspoken agreement the two men had, one took the main course, the other provided dessert.

“I would love that.”

The two friends followed the scent of sweet pastry down the hill. On Eiric’s recommendation Lilian picked a warm and fresh almond pastry. The sweet nuts had just been brought into town two weeks ago and were proving very popular with the locals. Brother Thomas elected for a small toffee fig pie and the two sat on a wall nearby and enjoyed their meal. Lilian told Brother Thomas all about her time away and, seeing as he was more familiar with the workings of The Guiding Hand, she told him a more detailed version than the one she’d told her parents. Swearing him to secrecy, lest they worry her mother into an early grave. Fritha was sitting opposite them looking as if she was transfixed by the story, when in reality she just had her eyes on every morsel of bread that disappeared into Lilian’s mouth. The bread was long gone by the time Lilian had finished telling Brother Thomas everything that had happened to her and instead of asking questions the Church Brother just shook his head in disbelief.

“Incredible,” he whispered under his breath, “truly incredible. Lilian, you’ve achieved and seen more as a teenager than most people manage in an entire lifetime. Can I ask, what brought you back to Benlunar?” Lilian was confused at the question.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” started Brother Thomas, “you have the skills and training to help people who are truly in need. There must be communities that could really use someone like you on their side. Why come back here?” Lilian was taken aback.

“Well, this is my home. I wanted to see my family and my friends. I suppose I’ll move on eventually but for now I just want to rest.” Brother Thomas nodded.

“And you’ve earned that rest. I’m glad you’ve returned. Benlunar is so cut off from the rest of the world that it’s sometimes easy to assume that nothing else exists out there.” He gestured to the view and the valley, “having someone leave and come back keeps the rest of us from assuming that this town is all there is.” Lilian considered this.

“I’m fine with Benlunar knowing more about the world, but I’m not sure how I feel about the world knowing about Benlunar.” Brother Thomas laughed.

“Yes it is tempting to try and keep this place a secret. But the world is getting smaller every year. For now it’s a few tourists, but soon it will be travellers, settlers, caravans. You can try to keep the world from your doorstep but that won’t stop it knocking.” Lilian heard his tone shift and she got the sense that he was back to thinking about Sage Fenric. She smiled and tried her best to sound reassuring.

“We welcomed you when you first arrived, didn’t we? And we can welcome others too. As long as you have a kind heart you have a place in Benlunar.” Brother Thomas turned his head to look at her.

“You truly believe that, don’t you?” Lilian shrugged.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Brother Thomas hopped off the wall and brushed the dirt from his church robes.

“Because we’re about to kick a man out for the crime of speaking about a garden.” Lilian jumped down after him and they began walking back up the road.

“We?? Who said anything about we?” Brother Thomas laughed again.

“Well this old monk might be dangerous, I shall need a bodyguard to keep me from being struck by his frail hand.” Lilian rolled her eyes.

“Fine, if you’re too craven to deliver the news by yourself I suppose I could help you.” When they reached the town square they said goodbye to each other and promised to meet at the Stave in an hour so that they could go and inform Sage Fenric about the decision.

Lilian took the time to visit her horse at The Fox & Octopus. Afaran seemed comfortable enough and appeared to visibly cheer up when he saw Lilian, although that may have been because of the bag of oats she had been carrying. Lilian made an agreement with Liny and Xander that, should she fail to visit, they would feed and water Afaran and exercise him whenever possible. A beast like that could not stand being idle. Lilian knew that she should probably sell him to someone who might have more need of him, but she’d come to enjoy the horse’s company, he was a strong and reliable friend. Lilian felt a pang of guilt when she had to leave him to go and meet Brother Thomas, but they’d taken a short ride together and Lilian had brushed his coat and cleaned his hooves and fed him enough apples to make sure he felt sufficiently spoiled.

When she came back to the town square there was already a small crowd gathering outside of the Stave. Brother Thomas was there standing in front of the Church door holding court. He seemed to be trying to placate the crowd. He looked relieved when he caught sight of Lilian and gestured for her to come and join him. He was currently engaged in conversation with several townsfolk, a few of whom Lilian recognised. There was a short, stout man with a black moustache who Lilian knew as Mr Nilsen. He owned a pear orchard a little ways down the mountain. There was a tall woman with a very pointed nose who seemed to have put on her most expensive dress for the occasion. That was Mrs Egli, a widow who lived in the north part of town, her house was the one with all the wind chimes in the front garden. There were others as well, but it was these two who were most active in the conversation.

“But you give no reason Brother!” Lilian heard Mr Nilsen protest as she came close.

“I assure you Lukas my reasons are plentiful. I’ve heard from numerous sources that Sage Fenric is a dangerous man who is not deserving of our time and attention.” This prompted scoffs and murmurs from the small crowd.

“Do you have proof of this Brother Thomas?” asked Mrs Egli in her distinct, nasal voice.

“I have it on good authority from a traveller…” this word prompted an even louder grown, Brother Thomas, pushed through it, “from a trusted traveller who has seen his work first hand.” Lilian had pushed her way to the front of the crowd by now and decided to come to Brother Thomas’ aid.

“It’s true,” she said, her voiced raised, “I’ve heard the stories and they’re not good. The towns he leaves behind are left in ruin, their people starve and they neglect their families.” This induced a ripple of laughter from the crowd. One young man, who Lilian did not recognise jeered a retort,

“Do you think us fools?” The crowd cheered their support, “We would never allow that to pass.”

“No I know that…” Brother Thomas was becoming flustered, each passing minute brought new people and the crowd was quickly becoming unmanageable.

“Then why not let him say his piece Brother?” Mr Nilson’s tone was on the edge between pleading and anger. Lilian had not expected the townsfolk to be this adamant. Suddenly, there was a shift in the mood. The back of the group fell silent as a sharp voice cut through the cacophony.

“My friends, what is the meaning of all this?”

The crowd slowly parted revealing Sage Fenric in his yellow cloak, flanked by the three sisters. There was a moment of tense silence. Lilian and Brother Thomas stood at one end of the gap in the gathering, blocking the entrance to the Stave, Sage Fenric took his place at the other end barring the way to the marketplace. The two parties squared off. Out of the corner of her eye, Lilian saw Brother Thomas’ hand clench into a fist. The silence was broken by the young man who had spoken up before. He was tall and thin with wispy beard hair lightly covering the lower half of his slender face.

“Brother Thomas says he is to deny you the Stave Sage Fenric. He reckons you’re dangerous.” Lilian’s heart sank, this was not how she’d wanted the decision to be broken to the travellers. They might have a bad reputation, but they were still owed a modicum of courtesy. Sage Fenric listened to the accusation and nodded. He then shut his eyes as if entering a state of deep contemplation and began to slowly shake his head.

“My friends. Please, I urge you, do not blame the Church Brother too harshly. We are dealing with new and exciting ideas and the Church, well, it is not exactly famous for innovation.” There was a small ripple of laughter in the crowd. Lilian felt her jaw clench. “It’s true that what I speak of does not feature in the book of stories, nor does it conform to the traditional teachings. The unknown is often scary. So please. Do not blame them. Your Stave is a beautiful building, but it is just that. A building, made of wood and stone. My message can be shared anywhere. Let us respect our Brother’s wishes. I would not ask a goat herd to sell me wool, nor would I expect a baker to build me a house.” Lilian could see several members of the crowd nod their heads. She felt as though she should be grateful for the situation becoming less tense, but with every word that left Sage Fenric’s mouth, Lilian’s body tightened with frustration. “Let me put this to you,” he continued, “I will go back to my caravan and anyone who wishes to hear what I have to say is welcome to join me there.”

At this, Lilian felt her arms soften somewhat. It wasn’t the solution they’d set out for but as far as compromises go, it wasn’t the worst in the world.

“No. No, I'm afraid that will not do.” The whole crowd, including Lilian, turned to look at Brother Thomas. “This isn’t just about the Stave, Mr Fenric, this is about you. I must ask that you leave Benlunar. Today.” In the silence that followed, you could have heard a doormouse sneeze. All eyes turned back to Sage Fenric as if the crowd were watching some strange sporting event. Sage Fenric’s face had grown serious. He was not quite scowling, but Lilian could tell that his mood had shifted considerably.

“Does he speak for all of you?” He glanced around at the people gathered there. Some shook their heads. Mrs Egli, who had not stopped smiling since Sage Fenric had arrived, spoke first.

“He does not speak for me, Sage Fenric.”

“Nor I,” said Lukas Nilson. Then more people started agreeing with them. Lilian took in a deep breath, sensing the outcome of the situation.

“It seems as though not everyone shares your… thoughts, Brother Thomas. It’s true that I am a stranger to your town, but I was not aware that the Church had the authority to expel anybody…” the young, thin faced man cut him off before he could finish.

“It doesn’t. Only the mayor can do that.” The man’s tone was laced with malice and Lilian almost laughed at his haughtiness. Sage Fenric was not perturbed by the interruption. He simply nodded.

“Then I shall do as I said and if Mayor Hargen decrees my presence unwanted then I shall respect his wishes and the wishes of the townsfolk. For now, I bid you all a good afternoon. Brother Thomas, you are welcome at my caravan any time, I would love to hear more about these concerns of yours. Perhaps I can assuage your fears over a cup of tea. For now, farewell.”

Sage Fenric then turned to leave and the crowd began to disperse. The occasional look of disdain was thrown in Brother Thomas’ direction, but he didn’t seem to mind. Lilian was too distracted to pay the crowd any attention either. She was looking at the tallest of the three women who accompanied Sage Fenric. This woman, Tourmaline, had her eyes fixed on Lilian and the two were locked in a cold stare. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly and her lips curled into the slightest of smiles. Lilian had been doubting Sage Fenric’s culpability that whole morning, but that one moment told her everything she needed to know. In a blink, Tourmaline and her sisters were gone, leaving a sorry scene in their wake.

Lilian and Brother Thomas stood in silence for some time. Finally Brother Thomas broke the silence by sighing and saying “Well, that could have gone better.” His shoulders slumped and his expression darkened. Fritha began to lick his hand, the way she always did when she sensed someone was upset. Brother Thomas didn’t even seem to notice. “I knew we should have approached Sage Fenric before telling anyone else, but they came just as I was leaving the Stave and all I did was inform them that there wasn’t going to be a meeting today. I just… I just didn’t think they’d be that concerned.” Lilian turned to him and spoke in her most comforting voice.

“It’s alright. You haven’t done anything wrong. I think we’ve underestimated Sage Fenric and his companions. But that ends now. You go and talk to Mayor Hargen. Tell him everything.” She started walking away from the Church doors.

“What are you going to do?” asked Brother Thomas.

“I’m going to have a word with Sage Fenric.”

Lilian walked across town with steely determination. Whatever doubts she’d had about this mysterious stranger were now well and truly crushed. It was that gloating smile from Tourmaline. Like she’d won a fight without even having to draw a blade. Fritha, sensing the shifting tide, reigned her hair in short and let it grow black, black as Lilian’s mood. Her teeth elongated until they protruded from her top lip and she began to lope quickly, ducking her head beneath her shoulders and sticking herself to Lilian’s side. Lilian had no weapon, but she did not need one.

By the time she reached the paddock there was already a small crowd gathered there. It mostly consisted of the people who had just been outside the Stave, but there were a few newcomers making their way across the grass. Lilian stomped past them. Sage Fenric was standing on a small platform that was suspended from the side of his caravan by two chains. He was already speaking to the crowd by the time Lilian came close. Lilian paid no attention to what he was saying.

“Hey!” she shouted at the old man. The whole crowd turned to look at her. Some of the people at the back reeled in fright at the sight of Fritha’s drooling maw. Sage Fenric remained calm as ever.

“Ah, hello again. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure…”

“There would be no pleasure sir, believe me. My name is Lilian Lausanne and I’m here to give you an ultimatum. This town is under my protection, leave by dawn, or suffer the consequences.” Sage Fenric considered the statement for a second before turning back to the congregation.

“You see friends, this is what I was just talking about. Doubters. Dissenters. Non-believers, they are everywhere and they take many forms. It seems as though your own Church Brother has succumbed to his doubts and fears and now he sends this young woman to fight his battles. See how angry she is, see how she tries even now to dissuade you all.” Lilian felt her face grow red at the accusation.

“I’m not angry and no one sent me. The only reason I’m threatening you is because you pose a threat to us.” At that point, Lilian raised her voice and addressed the surrounding crowd. “This man is lying to you. He goes from town to town and destroys the lives of those who live there. He drives people mad, forces them to go without food for days on end.” She saw looks of concern dotted among the crowd, but instead of asking more questions they turned to Safe Fenric for reassurance. His brow was furrowed in confusion. Then, he began to laugh.

“I must say, this is a theory I’ve not heard before. Very original. But sadly, false. While it’s true that I do travel a fair bit I do not ‘destroy lives’. Perhaps she is referring to how I try and persuade others to give up their old ways and seek better, more peaceful lives through my teachings. I suppose you could interpret that as ‘destroying’ a life.” Lilian had had enough of words. She pushed her way through the small group, shoving shoulders and letting her anger guide her steps. Once she reached the front she hopped up onto the improvised stage in one swift movement. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the blue cloaked sisters tense and take a step forward, but they did not come to Safe Fenric’s aid in time. Lilian was already grabbing the front of his cloak with her left hand. He was about a head taller than she was so she yanked hard on the material, forcing his face forwards and down. Her right hand balled into a tight fist and shot up and behind her head, coming level with Sage Fenric’s green eyes. She paused before landing a blow.

“Get out of Benlunar. Tonight. Or I swear by the stars you’ll wish you had.”

“Lilian?” A voice stayed her hand. Lilian turned to look over her right shoulder and found herself staring directly into the concerned eyes of her mother.

Episode 53

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

“To call the garden beautiful would be doing it a great disservice. Of course it is beautiful, more beautiful than any view, more astounding than any fairy forest from some forgotten fable. But it is so much more than its beauty. It is a place of peace, a place of wonder. It is where sweet dreams meet carefree memories. Where the flowers shine like little lights and the water tastes of freshly squeezed peaches. It is cold when you feel like being cozy, and warm when you wish to bathe in the sunbeams. I have seen it, in visions, felt it briefly while in a state of deep trance and I tell you that ever since learning of its existence it takes all my effort to keep myself from thinking of it always. I’m sure you’re asking yourselves now, ‘Sage Fenric, tell us, how can we glimpse this beauty? How is it that we can visit the garden?’ Well my friends, you need not fear. The garden is there for everyone and large enough to be alone when you wish for solitude and welcoming enough to be surrounded by faithful friends when you wish for company. You have all been kind enough to welcome me and my mine into your town and for that we thank you. In return for your kindness and hospitality, let me give you something in return. Let me give you the keys to the garden so that you may experience its sweetness for yourselves. Let me give Benlunar this gift. Presently I find myself still a little tired from my journey but please, join me tomorrow at this time and I promise, the keys will be yours.

But… before we part ways, a word of warning. The garden is a great prize, and as with most things that are worth attaining in this life the journey there is quite demanding. Only the most devoted will obtain the keys and so please take this night and day to truly ask yourself if you have the dedication, the nerve and the strength necessary to be worthy of the garden. You will encounter many doubters on your journey, people who lack the fortitude to achieve the prize and so will try to keep you from achieving it too, if only as a way to console themselves. My advice to you is to stay strong, pay them no mind and let your reward of eternal peace be justification enough for your actions. Thank you for listening to me, I look forward to speaking to you all again tomorrow.”

The meeting ended somewhat abruptly. Lilian felt as though there was more to be said, as if gathering the entire town into the Stave meant that they were owed more than just a few words. But she did admit to herself that a part of her appreciated the short, sharp quality to the speech. Better that than one of Brother Thomas’ endless musings on one his favourite stories. She looked round to see if anyone else shared her sense of lacking but most people seemed to be excitedly whispering to each other. Perhaps this man’s previous talks had been a similar length and they were not so surprised. Lilian watched him leave the Stave along with his companions. Their cloaks left trails in the dust behind them and they exited the Stave without so much as a look back.

Brother Thomas got to his feet. Some of the townsfolk were standing as well, as if they’d heard all they’d come to hear.

“Well, that was, another interesting talk,” stated Brother Thomas, “While I encourage all points of view and you’re all of course welcome into the Stave any time I do hope to see you all here for our regular meeting three days hence…” Several people smiled politely at him while several more chatted under their breath, ignoring Brother Thomas entirely. A few who were sitting near the entrance actually got up to leave. Once Brother Thomas finished addressing the room, that strange expression returned to his face. A mix of worry and fear.

Lilian stood up and turned to her Mum and Dad.

“I’m just going to see Brother Thomas,” her father’s expression seemed to match that of the Church Brother but her Mother’s face was the picture of gleeful jubilance.

“Hm? Oh yes of course, we’ll come with you.” The Lausanne family picked their way down the raised bench seating and then stepped into the middle of the hall. A confused daughter, a concerned father and an ecstatic mother with a spring in her step. Brother Thomas’ face relaxed when he saw them approach.

“Lilian, it’s so good to see you!” he opened his arms wide and Lilian ran into his embrace. There had been time and business enough to forgive him for his lies about his involvement with The Guiding Hand and Lilian was grown enough now to see he had only been trying to protect her. It wasn’t until she squeezed his waist tightly that she fully understood how much she’d missed him.

“How are you Brother Thomas?” she asked as she released him from the hug. He considered the question.

“I am… well enough. Better for seeing you, surely. I see you’ve witnessed our new visitor.” Lilian’s mother cut into the conversation.

“Isn't he wonderful, Brother? I’ve never heard of this garden of which he spoke. Is it in the book of stories?”

“There are many gardens, glades and grounds mentioned in the stories but they are normally stages for the characters. I cannot think of one garden so important as to warrant its own story. The forest where Denover meets Liebling is described as being particularly beautiful but it’s never given a name. The storiedo not, of course, describe real places, they are merely metaphors for us to better understand our plights…”

Polly Lausanne interrupted him before he got going properly.

“Well perhaps this garden is not part of the stories, but something new entirely. I must say it sounded intriguing. Do you suppose it is somewhere one would travel to? Or perhaps a sort of state of being? Sage Fenric described it as somewhere quite real.” Edward Lausanne had said nothing up to this point but it was clear to Lilian by the shifting of his weight from foot to foot and his occasional long exhalations that he was feeling uncomfortable.

“Whatever it is, I don't think we need concern ourselves too greatly. This Fenric man is a visitor and so will be gone soon I’m sure. A good story is just that.” Brother Thomas nodded and Lilian caught a glimpse of a small smile. Lilian’s mother looked a little crestfallen. Lilian was about to say some consoling words when a man approached their circle. He tapped Lilian on her right shoulder and she turned to see her new friend Doran. He looked agitated and dabbed at his forehead and neck with an old handkerchief as he spoke.

“Lilian… may I have a word?” Lilian smiled when she saw him.

“Oh hello Doran, yes of course. One moment, Doran, this is my mother Polly and my father Edward and this is Brother Thomas, he runs the Stave.” Everyone nodded and smiled politely, Doran even bowed but his nervous twitching never ceased. “Everyone, this is Mikhail Doran, we met on the road up.”

“A pleasure. Mr and Mrs Lausanne you have an exceptional daughter and I must apologise for taking her away from your reunion. I promise to be brief. Brother Thomas, I think my news would interest you as well, would you mind joining us somewhere private?” The small crowd, including Lilian, were a little bewildered by this stranger’s urgency.

“Of course, we can talk in my office.” He gestured to the little door at the back of the hall near the statue of the doe. Lilian said goodbye to her parent’s and promised to meet them at the Fox & Octopus later for dinner. Then she followed Doran and Brother Thomas to the back of the hall.

Once they entered the ‘office’, which was a generous term for a dusty room stacked with books and theatre props, they cleared a path to some chairs and sat down. Lilian had to pick up a sleeping cat before she could sit on the large red armchair, which she felt bad about but after a little stretch and scratch the cat quickly fell asleep again on her lap. Doran did not sit down. He paced around what little floor space there was, muttering the occasional word to himself. Brother Thomas looked worryingly at Lilian who shrugged.

“Doran?” She wanted to ask if he was alright but Doran did not let her get to the question. Instead, a tirade of worried words fell out of him like someone had tipped over one of the room’s many bookcases.

“It was that word, garden, he said. That man, the strange, what does he call himself? A sage? That was odd as well. What even is a sage? A healer? A holy man? I’m not sure, but that wasn’t the only thing. That word he kept repeating. Garden. Not just a garden but he called it the garden. It struck me as strange. I’d heard it before, I’m sure of it, but I could not place the occasion. If he had been in a market or an inn I’m sure I would have not recognised it but we were in a Church. That’s how I remembered! Although… I can’t be sure.”

Lilian suddenly grew very aware of how little she really knew about this man. He’d seemed normal enough during the hours they’d shared on the road. But this behaviour struck her as very odd indeed. Brother Thomas stood up.

“My friend, you seem… agitated. Can I make you a cup of tea?” Doran barely seemed to hear him at first and when he looked up at Brother Thomas’ kind face he seemed not to recognise him. Reality, quickly came back to him and he agreed to the offer.

A few minutes later, Doran was sipping on one of Brother Thomas’ famous brewed chamomile teas. The sweet scent of it, combined with the ticking of the nearby clock and the purring of the cat seemed to slow him down and Doran was back to his old self within half a cup.

“I’m sorry, I just… I have to be sure.” Lilian leaned in closer.

“It’s okay Doran, you're with friends.” Doran nodded, took one more sip of tea and then began to speak.

“A few weeks back, I was on the road and looking for shelter…”

He told a chilling tale. One of a small village, seemingly empty of residents. A little girl worried for her family. A church filled with pious devotees, hungry and gaunt. It ended with a daring escape and feelings of fear and regret.

“It was her, the little girl, Elski that said the word. When I asked where everyone was she said they were trying to go to the garden. I had no idea what that meant at the time. But when that man repeated the phrase just now, the memory of her little thin wrists and big dark eyes came back to me.” Doran bowed his head down and Lilian caught sight of a tear falling from his face. It caught the light for just an instant before falling into his tea. “I left her there with them. And I’ll never let myself forget it.” There was a pause. The clock ticked, the cat snored and Brother Thomas stirred.

“It sounds like you did all you could, Mr Doran. By the way you tell it, they would have kept you there, perhaps even hurt you. And to take a child away from her parents…” He stopped, letting the impossible choice hang in the air between them. Doran wiped his eyes and nose.

“It might be nothing. But I wanted to tell you both anyway. In case… In case that man is dangerous.”

Lilian had been listening intently. She looked down at the little tabby in her lap and absent mindedly stroked its side while she considered Doran’s words.

“Brother Thomas,” she said, “when did Sage Fenric arrive in Benlunar?”

The church brother stood up and went to fetch Doran a handkerchief, “Three days ago. I remember seeing him enter the townsquare in his caravan. It drew quite the crowd. A large brightly coloured thing, pulled by a white plough horse. There were two actually, I assume one belongs to the three women he has travelling with him. We didn’t see much of them that first day, I assumed they were just passing through. But the next morning he came to me to ask if he might speak at the Stave that afternoon,” he gave the handkerchief to Doran who accepted it with a grateful smile. “I asked him what it was he wanted to discuss but he avoided my questions. He told me to trust him and that the people of Benlunar would be glad to hear what he had to say. It’s always been my belief that a Stave should be open to all and I had no reason to deny him.” Lilian watched as Brother Thomas’ forehead wrinkled with concern. He looked as though he might be regretting his decision.

“Where are the caravans now?” she asked.

“Hargen directed them to the small paddock on the west side of town. On the edge of the wood.” Lilian knew the place. It was a communal green where anyone could let their cattle graze. There was a grassy hill there that kept the animals from venturing too far up the mountain. During winter, when the animals were inside, the children of Benlunar would descend en masse to sledge down the hill, seeing who could get the furthest across the flat ground.

Brother Thomas sat down once more and the room grew quiet. The cat continued to snore, its rhythmic squeaks punctuating the otherwise silent seconds. Finally, Lilian took in a deep breath and sighed.

“It’s tricky. Obviously we don’t want Benlunar to end up like that village but we don’t know if that man had anything to do with that. At the same time… this Sage Fenric hasn’t done anything wrong. Not that I can think of anyway.” Brother Thomas nodded his head,

“He is a little strange,” conceded the Church Brother, “but if we start shunning people for being different then well… I would hate to think where that would lead.” Doran blew his nose loudly, startling the cat awake as he did.

“All good points, fair and good. I just… I wanted to bring it to your attention. I would hate to see something bad befall your community and regret not warning you all sooner.”

“We’re very grateful Mr Doran,” said Brother Thomas, standing up once more, “you’ve given me something important to consider. I shall take the evening to think on it and consider the best course of action. It was lovely to meet you sir, you’re welcome at the Stave anytime and Lilian, it’s so good to see you.” Lilian moved the cat off her lap, stood up and hugged Brother Thomas again.

“I’ll come and see you soon,” she said, bringing a wide smile to his face.

“Please do!” he said, “I want to hear all about your adventures!” Lilian beamed at him and said goodbye. A minute later she and Doran were standing outside the big Stave doors.

“I suppose I should find somewhere to stay tonight,” said Doran, “and something to eat. And I should probably check on caramel too.” Lilian chuckled.

“Well that’s handy,” she replied. Doran looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh? How come?”

“Because we’re going to the Fox & Octopus and you can do all of those things there.”

Lilian was delighted to see that the Fox & Octopus had not changed. She did have to duck to walk in through the front door now and there were a couple of new paintings on the walls but apart from that, everything was the same. Right down to which locals were sitting in which seats. A few heads turned to look as she and Doran walked in but everyone smiled when they recognised Polly and Edward’s daughter. Within a few moments she was surrounded by family friends all asking about her travels and for news of the wider world.

“Is it true you were employed at the palace?”

“I heard you visited Zandt, I have a cousin there, did you meet him?”

“Gosh you’re tall!”

“Is that your horse in the stable?”

Every new round of questions was met with a new round of drinks and pretty soon Lilian was regaling the crowd with tales of hidden forest villages, corrupt politicians and secret desert temples. Her mum and dad arrived around dinner time and treated Lilian and Doran to one of Xander’s famous pies. All eyes were on Doran as he took his first bite. A pregnant pause fell across the inn as he chewed followed quickly by a cheer as his face lit up with delight. It was one thing for a tourist from the city to like the dish, but for a world traveller to enjoy it reaffirmed to the locals that Benlunar truly was the greatest town in Alicium. After the sun had set someone brought out their old squeezebox and the whole inn sang old songs. Doran even taught them a new one about a particularly oblivious milkmaid which had the room roaring with laughter at the verses and joining in with every chorus.

Lilian’s cheeks ached with smiling and at one point she laughed so much at one of Liny’s jokes that she genuinely feared she could not breathe. The funniest thing though was seeing a place she’d known her whole life in a brand new light. The townsfolk knew her but they were also meeting her again. Not as a child, but as a friend. She saw some of her old classmates and she barely recognised them. Two years barely changes a grown up, but it transforms a child.

Eventually Liny decided that it was time for everyone to go home and the townsfolk spilled onto the street. Lilian watched a few of the older folk wobble into the darkness before turning downhill and heading home. As she trod the old cobbles she felt her mother’s hand slip into hers. Lilian turned to look into her mother’s smiling eyes.

“I’m so happy you’re home,” Lilian beamed.

“Me too mama.” Then she felt her father’s large arm drape over her shoulders and the Lausanne family stumbled home in simple bliss.

The next morning was a slow one. Lilian was woken up by Fritha licking her face, asking to be let out. Lilian packed away her travel bags, storing any unwanted items under her bed and went to her old wardrobe to see if any of her old clothes would still fit her. Thankfully she was able to find a blue sack dress and some yellow wool stockings that didn’t have too many moth holes. She threw on a knitted hat to protect her head from the early morning chill and she was ready.

They walked down to the river and Lilian saw the season’s first few icicles forming under the rocks near the water. Winter was on its way and Lilian was excited to see it. Winter in the city had been a miserable affair but here in Benlunar it was always a magical time. Fritha seemed happy to be back in her old stomping ground as she picked her way in and around the water. Lilian recalled finding her fur just near here with Kilde. She smiled at the memory which was nice. It had been a long time since she’d remembered Kilde with a smile.

They were nearly at the point where the river entered the forest when Lilian lost sight of the feinhound. She’d been lost in a memory and had gotten distracted. She looked around but couldn’t see any sign of Fritha. This was not particularly unusual for a beast that could blend seamlessly into her surroundings but Lilian was considering turning back and wanted to make sure Fritha was following her. She was milliseconds away from calling out her name when she heard the voices. Her fighter’s instincts engaged and Lilian felt her body instinctively duck low towards the rocks of the river bank. She’d come to trust these reactions, even if she herself was unaware of what was causing them. She listened out to see if she recognised the speakers but she couldn’t place them. No distinctive laughs, no familiar vocal tones. She picked up a rock and held it softly between her thumb and forefinger. With well practised procedure she closed her eyes and brought her breathing under control. The world grew dark and slowly the sounds of birdsong and the rustling of the wind through branches grew louder. The little trickle of the river grew to a rushing roar, too loud to allow her to focus on the distant voices. She let some golden light into the rock in her fingers and waited for it to take on the look and feel of the object, then she let it back into herself slowly and controlled the rush of energy with focus and breath. Ever since she got the tattoo in Zandt Gloaming had been a painful experience but she had practised a lot in her time on the road and it was almost back to feeling as natural as it had been before her trip to the desert city. She had used the tattoo a few times, but never during the day. The presence of the moon made it much easier to control and since it involved breaking through a substantial pain barrier, she found it easier to practise traditional gloaming, saving the tattoo for emergencies.

A moment later she opened her eyes and looked down at her hands to check that it had worked. Sure enough she looked straight through her palms and down onto the stones beneath her feet. The voices had gotten closer by now and so she decided to keep still and low to the ground, hoping to catch sight of whoever it was this far down the river, this early in the morning.

Presently two figures appeared in the middle distance picking their way through the trees, appearing intermittently in the gaps between the tree trunks. They wore dark blue cloaks, hoods down and they were close enough for Lilian to hear.

“It looks like moss but it’s technically a grass. The river is just here so we should find some,” said the shorter of the two to her companion. They both had dark skin and the one who spoke had bright and curious eyes. Her companion on the other hand wore a grim expression, as if she had just stepped in something she would have rather avoided.

“And you needed both of us for this task because…?” the unfinished question wreaked of disdain.

“Oh hush sister, will it kill you to actually enjoy one of the places we visit?” The taller woman narrowed her eyes. Her hair was in tight braids, which made her scowl look even more pronounced.

“I enjoy things in my own way.” Suddenly a large black bird dropped from the forest canopy. It landed a little ways upstream and began pecking at the ground. It drew the attention of the two women.

“Ah! Thank you Spinel! A perfect batch.” The shorter woman, who Lilian could see wore a colourful red and yellow smock under her cloak skipped over to where the bird was pecking and began picking tufts out of the ground. Lilian watched her work and wondered how she’d managed to train the bird so effectively. The bird itself was a beautiful thing, large and dark with patches of deep blue in its feathers that caught the light as it hopped around. It looked like a crow but was bigger than any crow she’d ever seen.

It didn’t take the shorter woman long to gather the materials she needed and although Lilian was growing tired, she wanted to keep watching them while her energy lasted. She knew by now that she recognised them as two of the three women who had been with Safe Fenric at the Stave the day before. If Doran was right and these visitors did have malicious intent then she wanted evidence of it before accusing them of anything. So far picking riverside herbs and befriending birds was not anything she could bring to the town’s attention.

After a few minutes and a bit more bickering, the two women, who were apparently sisters, left the river bank and started heading north. The crow flew up into the trees and Lilian quickly lost sight of it, but she kept the sisters well within her vision. She followed them at a safe distance, never daring to discard her invisible form, and as she had suspected they led her all the way back up the mountain to the flat paddock on the west side of Benlunar. Lilian stuck to the tree line and watched as the two sisters and their bird walked towards their caravan. The carts were just as Brother Thomas had described them. One was painted a bright yellow with blue window frames and little flower designs along the bottom edges. It was covered by a blue roof which was clearly meant to look like a clear sky. The other was all green and had patches of blue which looked like lakes in a field. The horses were nearby, large shaggy looking things with huge tufts of fur around their hoofs. They were picking at some grass but looked up when they noticed the women approaching. The arrival also triggered movement from inside the yellow caravan. Safe Fenric, cloaked in yellow, emerged from the back door and walked the few steps down onto the field. He smiled as they approached and Lilian could see his green eyes sparkle in the sunshine all the way from where she was hiding. With his hood down she could see his face more clearly now. He had thinning brown hair with large patches of grey in it, he was quite tall and stout which made him look as if he might be quite strong. Lilian was reminded of Jacob the blacksmith and how his body had been shaped from a lifetime of lifting and carrying. He smiled when he saw the sisters and greeted them cheerily. Lilian closed her eyes and stretched her hearing out beyond its natural realm. She heard the flapping wings of the large bird as it landed on top of one of the caravans. She heard the footsteps of the sisters and the rustling of cloaks as they embraced Sage Fenric.

“Good morning Hematite, Tourmaline. And hello Spinel. I trust your trip to the river was a success?” Lilian could hear his voice as clearly as if he was next to her. It was a warm and jubilant voice, thick like honey and deep as a well.

“It was most successful Sage Fenric. Successful and beautiful. Even Tourmaline’s mood could not darken the sunshine.” Lilian heard the sage chuckle.

“Good, good. And what’s this? I see you managed to pick up more than just Sphagnum on your journey.”

“What do you mean?” asked the sister called Tourmaline. Sage Fenric’s response made Lilian’s blood run cold.

“You were followed.”

Episode 52

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

At first, when Doran spotted the man stepping out of the shadows and onto the moonlit road, he thought little of it. Another traveller making his own way to his own destination. But as soon as the man turned to face the oncoming cart and raised his hand to stop it, Doran’s heart sank. The old traveller cursed his distracted brain. Had he had his wits about him he would have seen the man up ahead and perhaps had time to change direction. But these were narrow roads and even the stupidest of travellers knows not to take them after dark. Doran felt even stupider than them right now, stupid enough perhaps to even to deserve the robbery that was about to take place.

“Woah there my good fellow.” The man in the road had a deep and smooth voice. He spoke with a smile but kept his eyes hidden under the brim of his travelling hat. He wore a green shirt, dark riding trousers and tall black boots. On his hip was a sword which he was making no effort to hide whatsoever. Doran’s stomach followed his heart in dropping. He ran a quick mental list of all the things that he kept on him that were of value, judging each in turn by what he could afford to lose and what might satisfy this man. Caramel, the donkey, brayed at the interruption to her journey. And perhaps she sensed her master’s nerves.

“I… I want no trouble,” said Doran.

“Then you shall have none,” said the man, his smile never fading, “so long as you do as we say and stay quite calm then this night shall remain trouble free.” At that he gestured with both arms to Doran’s flanks. Three more men were emerging from the tree line, dressed in similarly dark colours and each carrying weapons. Two were on his right, and one on his left. Doran muttered a curse under his breath.

“I suppose it’s coin you’ll be wanting,” said Doran, having given up hope of escape. There was no way Caramel could outrun the group. He directed the comment to the leader, who smiled again.

“You catch on quick, good sir. If you would be so kind as to direct my colleagues to your more valuable wears then they can relieve you of them and we can be on our way.” Doran tsked and pointed to the back of his cart.

“There’s a few pewter goblets and a silver plate there. The rest is only valuable to me.”

“We’ll be the judge of that.” One of the other men barked the retort, causing Doran to jump a bit. While they were rummaging through his life’s belongings Doran turned back to their leader.

“I’ve encountered many thieves in my time on the road, but few quite as eloquent as yourself. You’d do better making a living as a poet.” The man bowed low in genuine thanks.

“You flatter me, traveller. I’ll admit to have considered a career on the stage at one point. But this is just as lucrative and far less embarrassing than those dreadful tights.” To his surprise Doran found himself laughing.

“Well, here’s one paying customer you’ve entertained. Although I would have preferred to buy a ticket.”

“Rest easy traveller,” the highwayman replied, “imagine you’ve bought your ticket and the show is bad. If you close your eyes this will feel much the same.” Doran shook his head. This man’s brazen cheek had to be admired, even if he was a dastardly thief.

Just then a slight breeze rustled through the trees and pushed the fallen leaves across the dusty road. A shiver shook Doran’s spine. Autumn was in full fall and he’d taken to wearing his large travelling cloak at night. The whispering wind was the only other sound that could be heard above the shuffling and clanging of the thieves behind him. Doran kept an eye on them, lest they pull a dagger and steal his life on top of his wears.

“Just a few plates eh?” one of them, a short, stocky man with a beard, said gruffly, “what do you call this then?” He held a small wooden lock box up and over his head to show his boss. The verbose bandit craned his neck to see.

“Bring it here,” he said in that clear and confident tone of voice. Doran knew that protesting would only increase their interest in the thing. A part of him had hoped they’d overlook it, but that hope was dashed now. Doran’s mind played out a quick mental story of the coming weeks. Back to begging, back to sleeping in the cart, back to sharing his meals with Caramel, back to basics. His eyes followed the man holding his lockbox like they were watching an executioner carry an axe to the block.

When the fellow was part way between the cart and the gang leader the wind picked up again. As the gust that moved the leaves on the road reached him, he appeared to trip and stumble. His boss clicked his tongue as he watched him try to catch his balance.

“Well you won’t be making the dance troop this season, that’s for sure. What’s the matter with you man? Are you drunk?”

The man carrying the lockbox looked about him. His face was pale and his eyes were wide. All his bravado was lost, carried off with that last gust of wind. “I… thought I felt…”

“I… I… I thought, fumbling your words as well as your feet now are we? Bring the box here.”

Doran’s eyes narrowed as he watched the bearded man. He glanced over his shoulder twice before he was close enough to hand the box over to the gang leader. At that moment, a cloud passed in front of the moon temporarily plunging the scene into darkness. By the time he could see again the box was on the floor.

“Bumbling buffoon…” the gang leader muttered under his breath. By now the rest of the group had gathered around Doran’s cart to watch the interaction. The bearded man was mumbling some excuse and the gang leader was walking over to the box which had clattered to the floor some feet away. As he bent down to retrieve it Doran’s breath caught in his chest. There was no wind, he was sure of it, but somehow, the box jumped away from the leader’s fingers as if, well, as if it had been kicked. The whole group froze. The leader stood up in shock, as if the box had bitten him. His eyes were more curious than scared. He looked over his shoulder at Doran.

“A neat little trick, traveller. I’m sure the more superstitious thief would have left you alone by now is that right?” Doran didn’t even hear the question. He was transfixed by what he saw. One of the other robbers seemed to have noticed it too as he raised a trembling finger and pointed at his boss’s hip. There, slowly, his sword was working its way out of its scabbard seemingly, on its own. The metal reflected the silver light of the moon and illuminated the leader’s shocked expression. The nerves of the man on Doran’s right suddenly broke and he ran yelping into the treeline. The leader suddenly came to his senses and reached for the sword's handle, at which point the sword sped up and remained floating in mid air, its point aimed directly at its owner’s throat.

Not knowing what else to do, the gang leader put his hands up in surrender.

“Very good old man, you can stop with the theatrics now.” Doran detected the crack of nervousness in his voice.

“I’m doing nothing Sir…” Doran replied. A smile crept across his face as he watched this dangerous ruffian come to terms with the situation.

Then, as the moon shifted into a new position in the sky, a hand became visible gripping the sword handle loosely. The small crowd watched as a wrist, then an arm and even a shoulder slipped into view. In a matter of seconds a figure was there, her red hair bathed in moonlight. A young woman standing defiantly between the thief and his prize.

“Leave this man alone,” her bright blue eyes dazzled daggers at the thief. Doran could not believe it, this spirit or forest nymph must have heard his prayers and come to his aid. The highwayman tried to hide his surprise.

“And may I ask on whose authority this order is being given?”

“On the authority of the girl with a sword to your neck.” The highwayman smiled.

“So one girl against four… well, three grown men. What if we simply fight back and overpower you? Those boots look like they might be worth something.” Doran was once again in shock at this man’s brazen confidence. The young girl narrowed her eyes,

“Make one move that isn’t turning around and running away, and I’ll skewer you like a cooked apple.” The highwayman chuckled.

“Young lady, in my experience, those who don’t kill quickly don’t intend to kill at all.” The red haired heroin raised an eyebrow at this.

“Who said anything about killing?” at that she flicked the end of the sword upwards and darted it forwards with blink speed. The tip was driven up into the highwayman’s tri-cornered hat and came out from the top where it was held momentarily glinting in the moonlight. The highwayman was visibly sweating now, and Doran could see a trickle of blood mixing with the sweat. The sword had opened a cut on his forehead. Before he could do anything else, the girl hoisted the hat off his head and used the sword to place it on her own.

“You little tramp…” the highwayman was losing his cool now. Backing away he glanced over to his remaining comrades, “Don’t just stand there gawking, she’s just a girl, get her and get me that box.” The two men, emboldened by their captain’s plight, rushed over from the cart. The man with the beard pulled a cutlass from his belt, the other brandished a nasty looking club. The young lady with the red hair turned her attention to both of them and smiled.

The cutlass came in first, whipping through the gloom like a serpent’s venomous fangs. Whoever these men were, they were trained fighters, ex-soldiers perhaps, thought Doran. The girl was not phased though, she brought the sword up to riposte the strike before aiming a well timed kick at the man with the club. Her heel connected with his stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs with a sickening oof. He almost dropped the club but managed to collect himself quickly enough to unleash a flurry of fury powered strikes. The girl ducked, dodged and parried them deftly making sure the wooden weapon hit only air. Whenever a blow came close she would use her free hand to knock her attacker’s fist and send his weapon hurtling to the side of her. She used her newly acquired sword to deal with the cutlass. She moved it through the air like she was wielding a ribbon. Doran could barely keep his eyes focused on it. After dancing with the two men for just thirty seconds or so, she kicked her foot out again. This time it connected with the cutlass man’s knee, knocking it backwards and sending him straight to the floor. Then she waited for the club to come forward for a final attack before guiding it downward with her sword, curling her free hand around the man’s wrist and then popping the club out of his grip with the butt of her sword. She then threw her weight backwards and sent the man hurtling past her towards the grassy bank where he promptly got stuck in a bush.

With two of the three ruffians now writhing on the floor, the warrior sprite turned her attention back to their leader. She raised his own weapon up at him once again. The highwayman glared at her and shook his head. To Doran’s surprise, a smile crept across his lips.

“It seems as though I need to hire better help. My lady, you have bested us. I must say that I’m impressed. Now if I might get my hat and sword back then I promise to obey your previous order and leave this man, and yourself, alone.” The young woman seemed satisfied by his words.

“You can have the hat, but I’m keeping the sword.” The highwayman bowed.

“I expected as much. Still, you can’t blame a chap for trying.” As he stepped forward to take the hat with his right hand, Doran noticed his left hand reaching back and gripping something in his belt line. Before he could shout a warning though the highwayman’s left hand was out, clutching something silver and sharp. Doran breathed in and tried to form a warning with his words, but none came. His thoughts had stopped just as the dagger had done. On its way to the young woman’s throat the knife was trapped in middair. The highwayman looked at it with astonishment and started to grapple with the fixed point, like he was trying to pry his wrist free from an invisible hand.

And then Doran saw it. Not a hand. But a set of powerful jaws. A beast, big as a deer was crouched beside the man, freezing his arm in place with its teeth and becoming slowly visible just as the girl had done before. The highwayman was not prepared for that. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and a primal fear overcame him. He dropped the dagger and yelped, pulling his arm backwards with all his might. The creature let go of him at that moment and he stumbled backwards, tripping on his own ankles as he desperately tried to put distance between his body and the animal’s teeth.

Once the other men had spotted the beast, there was no stopping them. All three of them picked themselves up and ran straight for the treeline, following the path of their fourth comrade who seemed to have had the right of it from the start. Had Doran not been quite sure that this girl was on his side he might have joined them. He looked back at her and saw her chuckle a little.

“I guess I get to keep the hat too!” She spoke to the animal whom she then knelt beside and showered with thanks and attention. When she finished she turned her attention to Doran who was still sitting on top of his cart, dumbfounded. She smiled at him and went to collect his lock box.

“There you are Sir,” she said, grinning. As Doran took the box off her he noted that she seemed genuinely pleased to be helping him.

“Uh tha… thank you, young lady.”

“You’re most welcome, good Sir.” She looked back along the tree banked road, into the dark distance where the road twisted out of view. Her eyes narrowed.

“May I ask where you’re heading?” Doran was still shaking himself out of the shock of the past few minutes, but he found his words after a brief pause.

“Oh nowhere in particular. I travel the road in front of me. In truth I had planned on resting somewhere two days past but I… I could not.”

“I grew up in these mountains,” she replied, “so I’d be happy to travel with you until the next town.”

“Much obliged my lady. If we encounter more ruffians though I’m afraid I won’t be much help.” She laughed at this.

“It’s always safer to travel in groups, and you can leave any ruffians to Fritha and me.” She took the empty space on the cart bench beside Doran, “my horse is just up ahead, we could hitch the cart to him, give your donkey a rest.” Doran smiled,

“My lady, you are too kind. First you save my life, now you save the life of my donkey. I’m not sure which of us will be more grateful. I know these hills a little but I can’t remember a town nearby, where exactly are we going?”

The little girl patted a cloud of dust off her thick travelling trousers, Doran watched the dust get caught in a moonbeam that had wound its way through the forest canopy. The invisible girl smiled as she turned her attention back to the road ahead.

“There’s no need to keep calling me ‘my lady’, I’m no highborn heiress. My name is Lilian Lausanne and we’re going to Benlunar.”

As they rounded the last corner and the town gates came into view, Lilian was feeling many things. She was feeling excited to see her home again, she was feeling happy at the prospect of reuniting with her parents and for some reason she was feeling nervous. If her new friend Doran had noticed this trepidation, he said nothing about it. Both travellers were tired having journeyed up the rest of the mountain throughout the night. The sun was rising beyond the valley and as they passed through the town gates its warm rays touched Benlunar like a golden caress. The Stave Church came quickly into view, its brown walls turned burned sugar in the light. The houses around the town square soaked up the sun’s rays happily, reflecting the golden light back onto the flagstones. Lilian’s breath turned to spouts of fog in the morning freshness. The cart rolled past bare branch trees and Lilian listened to the crunch of dry leaves under hoof and wheel.

“That’s the inn,” she pointed a little ways downhill from the town square towards The Fox and Octopus, “you can find lodging and a stable there. In fact, I might come with you now and leave Afaran there.” She gestured to her large, black horse who was still pulling the cart. Doran turned the reigns to guide the beast downhill.

“Your home is beautiful Lilian. I didn’t even know they built towns this high up.” Lilian chuckled as she hopped down from the cart.

“You should stay a while. We get visitors in the Spring and Summer but it gets pretty quiet this time of year.” Doran considered the possibility. Looking around he saw flower pots on window sills and decorative family crests painted above the doorways of the wooden houses. He’d certainly stayed in worse places.

“I might just do that…”

Once they’d stabled the animals and parked the cart they said their goodbyes.

“I hope to see you soon Lilian, thank you again for helping me on the road.”

“A Pleasure!” replied Lilian, “Thank you for the stories and the company. I’ll see you around town Doran, find me if you decide to leave early.” And with a flash of white teeth and a whirl of red hair Lilian was off down the road followed closely by her faithful feinhound. Doran watched her go for a few seconds. He laughed to himself a little. Strange how one so gifted and magical made him feel like he was the special one.

The butterflies in Lilian’s stomach became more agitated with every step towards her home. Could she even call it her home anymore? Would her parents be happy to see her? Would her old room still look the same? She felt a wet nose prodding at her palm. She looked down.

“You’re right, I’m being silly.” Fritha let out a low jangling sound and ran a few steps ahead as if trying to hurry Lilian along. Lilian giggled and chased after her and in just a few distracted seconds, she was standing in front of her house.

It looked like something out of a storybook. She could hear the river in the middle distance and the light rustling of leaves as the breeze passed through the canopy. Sunlight dappled the vine covered walls and the bright blue door looked so warm and welcoming, it might as well have been wide open. Lilian never did like going through the front and she had not changed so much as to alter the habits of a lifetime. She went round the back to check to see if the kitchen door was open. A slight push found that it was and so Lilian walked in.

She looked up to see her parents, her mother in her nightgown and her father in a shirt and trousers. They were sitting at the table enjoying some breakfast but that was quickly abandoned. They looked shocked at first, then they smiled, then they laughed and finally they cried. And Lilian joined them in all these emotions. Laughing and crying as they hugged her so tightly that she could barely breathe. Her Mother said very little apart from whispering the words “it worked” when she first laid eyes on Lilian. Her Father was full of questions. How was her journey? Where had she come from? What road did she take? Was she well? Was she hurt? He asked them so fast that Lilian barely had time to answer one before the next was upon her. Tea was hastily made, bread quickly buttered. Fritha was fussed over terribly and given the biggest breakfast she’d seen in weeks, which she promptly gobbled up in a matter of seconds.

They caught up for most of the morning. Lilian told them all about her adventures on the road, her time in the capital and her journey to Zandt omitting certain details around the times where she’d been in mortal peril. Her parents worried enough. She also neglected to tell them about her advances in Gloaming, it would have taken too much time to explain and the last thing she wanted was her mother telling all her friends that her daughter could turn invisible. That was an awkward evening at The Fox And Octopus she would rather avoid.

Finally, after five hours of talking, nine cups of tea, some salted pork and beetroot salad, many more hugs and a few more tears everyone had finally caught up.

“So how long will you be staying in Benlunar?” asked her father, setting down his teacup with a satisfying clink.

“Oh Edward,” protested her mother, “she’s back for good now, isn’t that right Roux?” Lilian couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. In this instance she told the truth,

“I’m not really sure. Certainly I want to stay for the foreseeable future. But after that…” she trailed off, not wanting to upset her parents prematurely. Lilian stood up to go and put her plate by the wash basin in a not-so-subtle attempt at avoiding the question.

“I’m still amazed at how tall you are,” said her mother standing up to measure her shoulder to Lilian’s, “when you left you barely came up to my elbow!” she turned to show her husband the difference in height and as she did, her eyes fell upon the weight driven clock on the wall. “By the stories! Look at the time.” Both Lilian and her father looked at the clock, but the time shown didn’t mean much to Lilian. Her father on the other hand slumped his shoulders and gave his wife a pitiable look.

“Darling, Lilian just got back, do we really want to…” his wife interrupted him.

“Lilian’s return is what I asked for and here she is, I’m not going to deny Sage Fenric my presence after that. Lilian,” she turned excitedly to her daughter, “you should come too.” Lilian looked at her parents, confused.

“Go where?”

“To the Stave, to meet the visitors.”

And so the Lausanne’s left the comfort of the kitchen to walk back into town. Lilian had no idea who these visitors were, but she was glad for the excuse to go back into Benlunar and see a few familiar faces. They bumped into Liny and Xander who were also heading to the Stave, they saw Stine Vichas, a few of Lilian’s old classmates as well as Madam Streng the school mistress. After only a few moments of meeting everyone it became clear that they were all headed in the same direction. It seemed as though half the town were heading to the Stave and not in their usual way like they might do to go to weekly service. There was a buzz in the air, an excited feeling that Lilian found contagious. Everyone spoke of these ‘visitors’ like they were royalty. In truth, Lilian was glad that the attention was off of her. By joining the growing throng all headed to the Stave, she slotted right back into Benlunar life. It was like she’d never even left.

Once inside Lilian took her seat beside her parents. She glanced over at Brother Thomas who was sitting on a small stool beside one of the stalls. His face was a strange mix of emotions, Lilian thought he looked worried or even scared, but as soon as he saw her his face lit up in delight. He mouthed a few words of promise to speak to her after the service and Lilian nodded fervently. As everyone finally found their seats she expected him to stand and take the centre spot. But he remained seated, that look of concern falling back over his face.

Silence descended over the congregation. Lilian felt a flurry of butterflies in her stomach, it was like she was waiting for a play or circus to begin. The crowd were sharing excited smiles and pinching each other’s knees like they were lucky to be there. In a moment, three women entered the main hall from one of the back rooms. They each wore dark cloaks with hoods pulled low over the tops of their faces. Lilian thought their cloaks to be black like Mr Attorcop’s but when they passed the candles she saw how they shimmered a deep blue. Even though most of their faces were hidden Lilian could tell these women were very beautiful. They reminded her of her friend Serena, only they had darker skin.

They took their places in the centre of the hall, facing inwards from the three points of a triangle. Their movements and attire felt oddly ceremonial, like they were about to perform some sort of ritual or wedding. Then a flutter of whispers rippled through the crowd. Lilian followed the gazes of her fellow townsfolk towards the main entrance. A man was walking there, his face similarly hidden by a hood. But his cloak was not dark. It was a muted and beautiful shade of yellow. Like the colour of a sunflower or the middle of a daisy that had been dried in the sun. His cloak dragged a little along the floor behind him, but Lilian did not see any signs of wear on it. He walked slowly, but with purpose. When he reached the centre of the hall he removed his hood revealing a smiling face; fair skinned, green eyed and kind. He looked at everyone in the hall and really seemed to see each one of them. The way he moved, so slow and mesmeric, captivated Lilian as much as the rest of the town. Finally, the service or meeting began. In a crisp and clear voice, the mysterious Sage Fenric said,

“My friends, welcome. Today I would like to begin with a question. Do you know of the garden?”

S4 Bonus Episode

Most people will never have an adventure

At the mere sight of trouble their arms go up in surrender

Some just want to live quiet lives

And who can blame them in these troubling times

Some bite off more than they can chew

And in pursuit of a meal end up in a stew

But some know adventure like a close friend

And they’ve made up their minds, to never see them again

The wheels of the old cart rumbled and crunched their way along the dry, dirt road. It had been seven days since rain, as told by the patches of yellowing grass whispering in the wind on the roadside. Caramel, the donkey, would occasionally nibble at these clumps, swallowing one or two mouthfuls before Doran could pull her away. They were both thirsty, and Doran knew that the dry grass would only upset her stomach in the long run. It had been a foolish decision to travel during the heat of the day, but these were dangerous roads and Doran would always choose thirst over thieves. Besides, he had a little water left in his skin and if he was not mistaken, this particular road led down to a lake. There was a town there. More of a hamlet really. He’d been once before, what was it? Eight? No. Eleven years ago now. Doran shook his head and chuckled to himself. She was a cheeky thief; the road. Stealing time out from under him in the most pleasant and charming of ways.

He looked over his shoulder quickly out of habit to check on his belongings. The dust sheet covered most of them and he worried that his bread might spoil in the heat. Caramel brayed suddenly as the hill began to incline.

“Come now stop with your complaining. This one’s no bigger than the last. Just a few more and you’ll have a nice drink and some oats, I promise. There might even be an apple waiting for you if you’re good.” His words seemed to work and Caramel kept on, trotting calmly forwards up and over this newest peak.

Thankfully, once they reached the crest, the lake came into view. Doran thanked his memory and smiled at the scene. The sun sparkled on the surface of the lake in a million dancing lights. A breeze blew through the grass and Doran’s eyes were drawn up, across the lake to the mountains beyond. Their peaks still capped with defiant snow, they stood taller than any building, loftier than any dream. Even Caramel seemed to pause in awe at their beauty, although Doran suspected it was more likely due to wanting a rest after climbing the little hill. He’d seen these mountains before of course, but each time he came back to this part of the world, they astonished him all over again, like a work of fine art hanging in a room that one just can’t seem to get tired of staring at. The hamlet was there too, down at the base of the hill. Doran spied the little wooden rooftops and the gleaming white dome of the church. Although his memory had led him here sure enough, it couldn’t quite bring itself to recall the name of this place. Fanning? Fontly? He couldn’t be sure. He took the reins up and with a flick of his wrists Caramel complained and started walking again, clip clopping her way down the winding road. It was days like this that reminded Doran of all the sweetness that travelling life could bring. The road, a lake, the mountains and the sun, the sun, the sun.

You can never be sure how a town will greet a stranger. Some are told to believe that strangers are enemies, coming to steal your livelihoods and cart them off back to where they came from. Their citizens look at strangers with fear and mistrust in their eyes, seeing every bit of difference as evidence of some invented crime. Other towns, the nicer ones, see strangers and new friends. They welcome them into their homes and around their hearths, pressing them for stories in exchange for cakes and local delicacies. Doran seemed to recall that this place fell into the latter category and so he was sure to wear his broadest smile as Caramel trundled in the main thoroughfare. It was not a big place, although it had had a few more buildings added to the edges since the last time he was here. As the cart wheels hit the paving stones and their chorus changed from crunching stones to creaking wood Doran looked up and around expectantly. The buildings here were little more than shacks, although most were painted quite beautifully in pastel colours of lilac and light blues. Each had a little porch to raise it off the ground for when Autumnal floods filled the streets and folk would go about on little boats. It smelled of fish. Predictable for a fishing village, but thankfully it was not that kind of rotting fish you smelled in big city markets. This fish was fresh and alive and wriggling only recently. Doran glanced into windows and down little alleyways. He had expected to see a few people at least but right now there didn’t seem to be anyone about.

Odd, he thought. Perhaps they were all at Church or out on the lake.

He guided the cart down ever narrowing streets until he found the inn that he remembered. It was the Hamlet’s only boarding house and it also doubled as the legal offices, the meeting house and the guard station. If anyone was going to be anywhere it would be here, at the Golden Cat. Doran tied up Caramel, brushed, fed and watered her and then, after still not seeing any signs of activity, entered the inn.

It was dim inside, a single streak of sunlight illuminating the flecks of dust in the air. There were chairs tucked neatly into tables, cups cleaned and put away on shelves. Doran’s footsteps thudded on the floorboards, they sounded rude, like they were disturbing some meditative silence. He walked slowly around the room, more confused than ever. There were no signs of a struggle, no smashed glasses or broken tables. It looked as though everything had just been cleaned and readied for the next day of business, but that day had never come. He approached the small stage at the back of the room. A lute was propped up against the wall there, ready and waiting to be played. Doran scratched his head. Surely someone will be back any minute? The door was not locked after all and judging by the lack of dust on the surfaces the place had not been left empty long. After a quick tour of the upstairs where he saw perfectly made beds, a clean washroom and several tidy closets he went back outside.

As he stepped back into the sun he was considering checking the food stores in the kitchen, but thought he’d better wait just a while longer, in case everyone got back within the hour. He glanced down the road towards the church and was about to go and look inside when, for the first time since arriving, he saw movement. His breath caught in his throat. Had he imagined it? No, something had been over by that yellow house, it had seen him and then ducked away quickly. Doran took a tentative step down onto street level.

“Hello there?” he called out. Fear caused his voice to crack a little. This whole situation was too strange. Surely there was some kind of logical explanation. Perhaps whoever, or whatever, had moved just now was the key to unlocking this local mystery. Doran took a few steps forward and considered calling out again. Caramel suddenly sneezed, causing Doran to nearly jump out of his skin. He chuckled at his own fright. “Come now Mikhail, jumping at sneezes. You old fool. Be sure it's nothing. ‘Lo there? I saw you just now. Could ye come out? I swear I mean no harm. Just an old traveller looking for a day or two’s rest.” He took another few steps towards the yellow house, more confident now than before.

As he peered into the gloom of the alley, although alley was a generous term for what was just a gap between two houses, he saw movement again. There was something small there, shuffling around in the gloom. At first Doran thought it might be a cat and was about to turn and walk away when he saw its dirt stained face and tousled hair.

“Ooh, good morning child. Ye can come out from there, I promise I wish ye no hurt.” The urchin’s face did not move, it just stared at him with wide, fear-filled eyes. Suddenly, Doran had a flash of inspiration. He walked back to his cart and rummaged around under the dust sheet. “I swear it was here the other… ah! Here we go.” He turned back to the alley and held up the toy he’d gone to fetch. It was a doll, made from bits of cloth. Its round, button-eyed face smiled brightly in the light. Doran shook it a little, making its hair and arms dance gleefully. The child’s expression barely changed but upon seeing the doll it took a few steps forward. As it stepped into the street, Doran had trouble telling if it was a girl or a boy. Its hair was matted and dirty, it wore a little red shirt and grey trousers, done up with a button. It wore no shoes or socks but seemed confident in its ability to walk. Doran guessed it was about six years old.

“Here, little one. Take it. I’ve no need for him.” The child stepped tentatively forward and held out its arms to take the doll. It smiled up at Doran and his heart melted just a little.

“It’s not a him,” the child spoke quickly as it examined the intricate pattern of leaves and flowers on the doll’s body, “it’s a little girl.”

“Why, so it is,” replied Doran, “Silly me. A little girl. Just like you eh?” The child smiled and nodded. “And tell me, what are these little girl’s names?”

“My name is Elski, I don’t know her name though.” The girl held up the doll. Doran had many questions but he knew that he would need to gain this little one’s trust before bombarding her with all of them. He crouched down beside her and smiled.

“Well you know, I’m very good at coming up with names, perhaps we can come up with one together, hm?” the girl nodded. “My name is Mikhail Doran, everyone just calls me Doran and over there is Caramel.” The girl’s head whipped round on a swivel.

“A donkey!” Doran laughed.

“Yes! And as stubborn as they come. Would you like to meet her?” They went over to where Caramel was tied up and the little girl giggled as she held her hand out for the old donkey to sniff.

“Here!” said Doran, “I might have something you can give her.” He reached into a small sack in the cart and found a bit of old carrot. “There you go,” he said, handing it to Elski, “give her that and she’ll love you forever.” The girl clutched the doll tightly to her chest and took the lump of carrot. She turned slowly to the donkey and paused, staring at the vegetable in her hand. “Go on,” Doran urged her, seeing that she was nervous, “She doesn’t bite.” Elski stepped forward but still didn’t hold out her hand. Instead, she waited, and then turned back to Doran.

“Can I have some?” The question hit Doran like a pack of wild horses. Of course she was starving. How had he not even considered it? He berated himself and then responded.

“Ooh, you don’t want that. I’ve got something much nicer in here for you. Give that to Caramel and you can have some lunch with me alright?” Elski’s face lit up and she practically ran up to Caramel, who, had it not been for the carrot, might have startled at her pace.

Half an hour later, with some bread, cheese, dried spiced meats and an apple in their bellies, the two unlikely friends were sitting in silence on the front step of The Golden Cat. Elski’s eyes were beginning to dip, tired from the day’s heat and a full stomach. Doran only had a few minutes before she would be fast asleep.

“Elski?” he ventured. The little girl looked up at him, bringing her hand up to shade her eyes from the sun behind Doran’s head. “Might you be able to tell me where everybody has gone?” Elski looked back down at the ground. Doran had feared this reaction, clearly some tragedy had happened and she was getting upset at the memory. Doran readied his most comforting words when she replied.

“They’re trying to go to The Garden.” Doran faltered.

“The Garden?” He repeated, unsure of what she meant. After Elski didn’t elaborate, he followed up with, “and how are they doing that?”

“They’re praying.”

“Ah!” Doran sighed in understanding. He glanced back down the road at the church. A wave of relief washed over him. Thank the stories he thought to himself. They’re all at church service. Admittedly, it was a rather long service, he’d been in town for the better part of an hour, but at least they were alive. “That’s good. And everyone is there eh? What time do you think they’ll be finished?” Elski waited a moment before replying.

“It’s not good. I hate praying.” Doran smiled. He was remembering his own childhood church visits, he would get bored as well and often got into trouble after playing pew games with the other children.

“Ooh it’s not so bad. Sometimes it's nice to ask for things, or wish a friend well. You’re saying you have nothing that you would pray for?” Elski scrunched up her face in thought.

“I would pray for everyone to stop praying.” Doran chuckled, then he slapped his knees and stood up. He groaned as he pushed himself up and off the step. His back dealt badly with long cart rides these days.

“Well I shall see if I cannot be the one to answer your prayers Elski. Hold here and look after Caramel won’t ye?” He smiled at the child and set off towards the church.

As he walked along the dry stones he began to have doubts about interrupting a religious service. Each community handled religious practices in their own particular interpretation. Perhaps this town valued silence and meditation and having a stranger interrupt that time would grant him no friends. Doran shook these doubts out of his head. He’d given the community plenty of time, any more and he would have to sign papers to become Elski’s legal guardian. Besides, Caramel needed a stable and he needed a rest and some clean water.

Doran walked up to the church double doors, old sturdy structures made from local pine, and listened out for signs of activity. He was hoping to interrupt during a natural break in the service but could hear nothing from inside. Shrugging, he placed both dust stained hands on the doors and pushed.

A large hall opened up in front of him. Its domed ceiling stretched two houses high. The architecture told him this was an imperial church, possibly one of the first to be built during the reformation considering its age and proximity to the capitol. Stone cut vines guided the eye down to cleverly crafted parapets made from wood but built in seamlessly to the stonework. The pews were made from the same wood and were laid out in neat rows. Doran thought there must be at least a hundred, maybe more considering the distance to the altar.

As he had suspected, every seat was occupied. Elski might have fit in somewhere, but it would have been a tight squeeze. Despite the sound of the door opening, which reverberated off the stone walls, no one looked round to greet him. Doran put on his most charming smile and was ready to excuse himself and bow and beg forgiveness for the interruption, but no one even glanced in his direction. They all had their heads down, their eyes closed and their hands clasped together in prayer. Everyone’s fingers were interlocked to make one tight fist. Doran saw a few people gripping their hands so hard that their knuckles were white from the strain. There was a low whisper humming throughout the hall. Everyone was muttering some phrase or personal prayer. Doran couldn’t catch any specific words.

The strangest thing was, that there didn’t seem to be anyone leading the service. The altar had the traditional branch and veil but no one stood in front of it as was usual in imperial church services. Perhaps this was one of the idiosyncrasies of this particular town. Self governed and self guided, Doran had heard of something similar years ago.

He decided to approach a young woman who was seated to his left. Tiptoeing carefully so as to not disturb the rest of the congregation, Doran approached her and put his hand on her shoulder. She wore a blue dress, the hem of which was stained brown with dust. Her shawl looked old and was peppered with grey green blotches. Her hair was tied up in a bun but several strands had broken free as if trying to escape the heat of the mass. When Doran touched her she jerked with shock as if awakening from a deep sleep.

“So sorry Madam, I didn’t mean to scare or disturb you,” Doran whispered. When she turned her face to look up at him, Doran had to suppress his reaction. Her eyes were lined with dark circles and looked as though they were sinking into her head. Her lips were pale and when she spoke, Doran caught sight of yellowing teeth and bright red gums. Her hands shook and when she spoke her voice came out as a thin rasp.

“What? Who are you? Where is…?” She seemed visibly confused to Doran and so he tried to comfort her.

“I’m a traveller mam, a friend to your town. I don’t mean to interrupt but I would like to enquire about fresh water or a bed for the night? Who might I speak to?” As he waited for an answer the woman seemed to notice her hands for the first time.

“Curses…”

“Excuse me, mam?” Doran was confused.

“My prayers, I must… I must go back to my prayers. I…” Doran felt a pang of guilt as he watched tears well up in the corner of her eyes. “If I stop then I might not be considered. I swear I didn’t mean to, I was interrupted. Please, hear me, hear my devotion, I swear I did not mean to falter in my faith.” By now she had gone back to clasping her hands tightly and closing her eyes, forcing the tears gathered there to fall onto her whitening knuckles. Doran stepped back in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I swear I did not mean to falter, I swear…” her voice was becoming more and more panicked. Doran considered touching her shoulder again to try and console her, surely no deity would condemn a follower for helping a man in need? He wanted to explain this to her but his attention was drawn to the front of the room. A man was standing up there and pointing at him.

“You there!” he exclaimed, “what is your business?” Several of the other worshippers looked up at the interruption, but most kept their heads bowed and their mouths unceasing. Doran raised his hands in front of him in what he hoped to be a calming gesture.

“My apologies, sir. I mean no disrespect. I’ve come from away, a traveller. I seek fresh water and a place to stay and then I’ll be on my way. I’d gladly work or pay for the kindness.” Doran held his breath, hoping his words might assuage the man’s obvious irritation, but they did no good. The man, who was similarly dressed in worn looking clothes and had that same sallow look about him as the woman he’d just spoken to, continued to glower at him with real hatred in his eyes.

“An outsider,” he said.

“Aye sir,” Doran confirmed, “but a kind one, if perhaps a little dirty...” Before he could finish the full thought, the man interrupted him.

“We heed no apostates here. You are among the pious, sir.” Doran was thrown further into confusion.

“Apos… I’m sorry sir, I don’t know the word. But I assure you that I practise my own faith and have the fullest respect for all others, lest they wish me harm.” He had intended this last phrase to be a joke, an off-the-cuff quip meant to lighten the mood. But the man’s face became even more intense, Doran had not thought that possible.

“Apostate, sir. A non-believer.”

“A heretic,” another woman, a few feet away from him, stood up and pointed at Doran. Suddenly, more people began to stand and shout.

“A stranger!”

“Recusant!”

“Dissenter!”

“Recreant!” Doran started to back away. The anger on their expressions he could understand, but some of them had a strange and gleeful look on their thin and wasted faces. It scared him. It was the look of hungry dogs when they finally found food. They smiled with hatred and Doran knew then that nothing he could say would sway them. It was time to leave.

He turned and made for the door. Behind him he heard the scraping of wood on stone and knew that folk were standing up. Doran tumbled out of the church and into the daylight. Not quite sprinting, but certainly not walking he made his way to his cart and Caramel.

With shaking hands he tied the tired donkey back to the cart, occasionally glancing back towards the church as he worked. A few people had stepped out and were glancing up and down the street. From this distance the wear on their clothes was even more pronounced. It looked as though they had not left the church in quite some time, some were even having trouble holding their own weight as they stumbled on cramped up legs.

The cart was tacked and ready to go in record time. Doran didn’t know if the townsfolk meant him any physical harm, but he’d decided back in the church not to hang around and find out. He’d travelled enough in his day to know when he was not wanted and he’d left towns before for less than this.

His joints cried out for rest as he clambered back onto the seat. Whipping the reins he ignored Caramel’s protests and guided the donkey down the road towards the other end of town, directly opposite the way he had entered. He was sure the people would not pursue him once he reached the main highway, now it was just a question of outrunning them.

The cart wheels creaked and groaned as if they were also objecting to the sudden departure, but Doran ignored them too, his mind was made up. He risked a glance back over his shoulder as he navigated his way round the houses. A few people were walking sternly towards him, shouting things that he could not quite make out. Thankfully the houses began to thin before they got too close. Doran thanked his star at the sight of the wider road and whipped the reins again to make sure Caramel was going as fast as she could. He felt bad for the poor beast, and made a mental note to treat her to a bushel of apples during their next stop.

Looking back on the situation later, Doran would wonder how it was that not one of the villagers had caught up to him. Caramel wasn’t exactly the world’s fastest steed. It would be with a twinge of sadness that he would realise that the people of the small fishing hamlet had been too exhausted, too hungry or too scared of leaving the comfort of their treasured church to catch him.

As his cart rejoined the dusty road he turned back once more to check that he was safe. He saw no angry mob, and for that he was thankful, but what he did see was something that would stay with him for the rest of his days. A lone child, clutching a doll made from scraps of material tightly to her chest. Her eyes filled at first with pleading, then sadness and finally hatred.

Episode 51

The system of power turns like wheel

You can rise to the top through money or steel

You could lift up others or leave them in muck

But it’s the poor who will suffer when the wheel becomes stuck

If the problems aren’t met with any solution

The wheel must turn in bloody revolution

The vermin will rise as the predator sinks

Let’s see then if the fox can outsmart the lynx

Lilian Lausanne was standing in the light of the moon shining bright and blue through stained glass. She was at the top of the palace in Freedos, in a large, empty space with several dark doors leading off it. By her side was Fritha, the feinhound in shimmering blue and at her feet, lying prone on his back was a man called Nicholas Telson. This man was the founder of the mysterious group called The Guiding Hand. They were racketeers, war mongers and if they weren’t power hungry, they were power mad. But now that Lilian had cut off the stinger, the scorpion would hopefully be less dangerous. She had never been one to gloat and so she said nothing. She watched him struggle against dark ropes and when that did no good, she saw his eyes cycle through fear, anger, resentment and finally acceptance.

Lilian heard a sound from the staircase which she had used to reach this place. She looked up to see Mr Attorcop, cloak billowing in haste, rushing up the stairs and into the moonlight. The sight of him made her feel safe and so she relaxed. The sense of power and connection with the darkness around her gave way and she could feel herself going back to normal. She looked down at her forearm and watched the moon and the mountain fade away. It gave her comfort knowing that they were there and that they could come back if she needed them.

Mr Attorcop rushed towards her, he was followed by William who was clutching a cut on his left arm, and a small group of men and women who seemed to all be holding improvised weapons. Lilian saw sickles, rakes and even a table leg.

“Lilian, are you alright?” said Mr Attorcop, glancing down at Telson, “restrain him,” he pointed at two men and they rushed over to Telson and quickly bound his hands behind his back with thick rope.

“I’m fine. What about you?” Mr Attorcop looked a little pale and out of breath, but he nodded.

“Yes, yes. Fine. There was some trouble down on the balcony but thankfully a group had broken through the main entrance and came to our aid.” He gestured to some of the newcomers. They were either looking around the strange room, up at the big circular window or at Lilian and Fritha.

“Cromwell,” Lilian lowered her voice, “something happened…” Mr Attorcop cut her off.

“I saw Lilian, no need to speak of it now. I saw you and I know. But the fight is not over, we need to find the Empress.” Lilian nodded, hearing the urgency in his voice.

“Telson came in from over there,” she turned and pointed to one of the far doors, the two guards who had swallowed the Nightshade were still lying nearby in crumpled heaps. Mr Attorcop turned to William.

“Take Telson to the tower and keep him there under guard, while you’re at it, find Katherine and release her.” William looked concerned,

“What about the guards?”

“Once they hear about the fall of the palace,” replied Mr Attorcop, “they should reassess their positions. Persuade them if you have to. We’re going to find Empress Sylvia.” William nodded, shot Lilian a smile and then turned away to catch up with the group who were already leading Telson away.

“You think this will change things!?” Telson was shouting over his shoulder, “You think you’re better than me? You’re just the same, you’ll see, one day soon you’ll beg for my return. You hear me?? You’ll beg for me to help you!” A thudding sound followed this twisted prophecy and Telson bent double from a swift punch to his gut. Lilian called out to Telson as she watched him get dragged away.

"Nicholas!" he turned back to glower at her, "Eleyna has not forgotten." Telson's face flashed a confused sneer, but after he processed the words, his expression changed into one of understanding mixed with fear. As he was lead away, Lilian took solace in the fact that his past had finally caught up to him and that she was able to deliver her sword mistress's message.

“Lead the way, Lilian.” Mr Attorcop was already setting off towards the door. Lilian followed him, still reeling a little from what had just happened. What had just happened? She wondered. Fritha was thankfully uninjured and was padding happily alongside them. Lilian reached up and round to touch her shoulder, there was the hole in her armour where Telson had stabbed her, but she felt no pain there. Too many questions were racing through her mind, she decided to put them to one side for the time being and focus on finding the Empress. They had handled her guard dog, but who knew what kind of trouble they would encounter while trying to actually apprehend her. Mr Attorcop remained silent and determined.

The doorway revealed a set of steep steps, twisting up and round, presumably leading to one of the palace's many towers. The trio bounded up two at a time until they came to a door. It was big, made of thick, old wood and peppered with ancient woodworm holes. This part of the palace had not been changed in many years. Lilian looked at Mr Attorcop who studied it. He tried the handle but it was bolted shut from the inside, as expected.

“Step back,” he instructed Lilian who turned and took Fritha down a few steps before turning back to observe. Mr Attorcop closed his eyes and breathed in a long breath through his nose. He then pushed all the air out slowly through his mouth whilst bringing his right hand up to his side, palm facing forwards. A few more breaths followed the first and after about a minute he thrust his hand out with a quick breath and it struck the door with the speed and force of a battering ram. Lilian felt it shake and heard the hinges rattle with the impact. One hit was not enough though. Lilian found herself wishing for more of Peter’s exploding powder. But it was not necessary. After three minutes and four more big hits, the door swung open.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” whispered Lilian. Mr Attorcop nodded,

“Let’s get out of here first shall we? Come through, and stay on your guard.” Lilian stepped across the threshold but strangely did not feel any sense of nervousness or fear. She’d dealt with the Empress’s attack dogs and although animals were at their most dangerous when cornered, she did not anticipate much trouble from this particular cornered creature. What she did begin to feel was a mounting sense of rage.

The darkness of the stairwell was overwhelmed by the brilliant glow coming from inside the room. The ceiling was tall, for a tower chamber, and its height was made all the more impressive by the mountains of objects guiding the eye upwards to the old ceiling beams. These piles were made up of precious things: golden rings nestled in silver cups, necklaces of pearly strings draped on paintings and platinum plates. There were only two or three torches, spitting and flickering in brass sconces but this was enough to bathe the room in a shimmering golden light. It reminded Lilian of the sun room where she found the bird statue in Zandt. Only there was no water or stained glass here, just velvet carpet and stacks of wealth. Lilian, Mr Attorcop and Fritha wound their way through mounds of copper coins, heaps of important looking papers and Lilian even spotted a small lock box, filled to bursting with a rainbow array of gemstones. As her footsteps pressed against the floorboards she saw two or three cascade carelessly down onto the floor. Lilian was in awe, but that feeling was quickly replaced by anger. There were enough riches in this room to feed a starving town for several years. Enough to make sure every citizen in Freedos had a warm and happy home. Enough to banish the city’s poverty problem into the realms of mere memory. All this made Lilian hopeful, and furious.

As the trio rounded a particularly voluminous mound of silver cutlery they saw her. She was sitting on what looked like a footstool. Its squat and sturdy legs supported a red velvet cushion, trimmed with gold thread. She was dressed in white a gown, accented with silver icicles around the collar and sleeve hems. On her head was a silver coronet with a deep red ruby embedded in its centre. In amongst the heaps of haphazardly scattered treasures, she looked like just another trinket. Dwarfed by a bronze statue of a lynx to her left and a large portrait of a serious looking man to her right. She looked up at them as they approached. Her big brown eyes glistened in the gold. The Empress. The woman. Kitty Sylvia.

“Lilian?” she said, in disbelief. Her eyes darted from Lilian, to Mr Attorcop, to Lilian’s tungsten switch. Her mouth curled into a small smile. “When I invited you to come back and see me this is not exactly what I had in mind.” Lilian’s hand tightened around the handle of her weapon. Surrounded by all this inordinate wealth, this physical manifestation of injustice, The Empress didn’t have the humility to admit she was beaten, instead, she was making jokes. Lilian took a step towards her. Mr Attorcop whispered softly behind her.

“Lilian…” his voice was tense with caution. It fell on deaf ears. Lilian took another step, her boot folding into the softness of the carpet. A vision flashed through her mind, followed swiftly by another and another. She saw herself grabbing the nearest plate and whacking her royal smugness with the flat side, she watched herself feeding a coin to the Empress and asking if it sustained her, in her mind she tore down the mountains of money, ripped up the paintings and beat the empress with all the unbridled rage she could muster on behalf of the people dying from starvation all across this supposed great city. But she did none of this. Instead, she took a deep breath, shut her eyes and brought her emotions under control. Lilian Lausanne then brought herself down to the floor and sat cross legged. Then she opened her eyes, looked at the Empress and said,

“Talk.”

“Well, what do you expect me to say? That I’m sorry? That I feel bad? Well I won’t. You know why? Because everything I’ve ever done was for this city. For the people, for my people. But how would you know? You’re just a child. You probably look at all this and think, well isn’t she greedy, isn’t she dishonest? But tell me, when a famine hits the farms, who do you think pays for overseas shipments of grain? Who helps business owners, people who provide jobs, when they’re struggling through hard times? Do you think that money just appears out of thin air? No. It comes from here, from me. How do you think I pay the army to help keep us safe, hm? And you have the nerve to march up here and… what? Drag me away? Kill me, perhaps? I was your age once. I came from a small town too, just like you. And, just like you, I was brought here by men who thought they knew what was best for me. My father, my uncles, counsellors, politicians, priests. They all had their say in what I was supposed to do, supposed to say, supposed to be. And I suppose it worked. I married the emperor. I was the acceptable, loveable face of his reign of terror. It was… awful. When he wasn’t drunk he was plotting the murder of his enemies. And that could be anyone from a rival lord to the cook who burned his breakfast. And then I met Nicholas and he promised me a different life. His methods might be unconventional, but compared to the company I was keeping he seemed positively placid. And he delivered on his promise, something few other men in my life ever managed to achieve. The emperor met his mysterious end and I was free to take over. Of course I don’t have to tell your friend about all that. I suspect he’s forgotten to mention the part he played in my late husband’s demise.” She shot Mr Attorcop a dagger-sharp look. She seemed to see him for the first time then, she looked him up and down and tutted. “I suspect he’s conveniently forgotten to mention a lot of things. They never tell you the whole story do they? Has he ever explained why he’s taught you all these things? How to fight? How to lie, how to perform dark and dangerous deeds. Look at you Lilian, what child your age knows how to wield a sword, what child wears armour and is forced to take her life into her hands each night as she fights, steals, is thrown out of windows, consorts with criminals and is sent away to far off lands with no way of knowing if she will be safe? No child should have to go through what you’ve been through Lilian. Girls your age should… they should be with their parents. They should play with their friends and do simple things and get upset over trivial matters. But look at you. What has he made you into? A walking weapon for him to wield without mercy. And you call me a tyrant? Let me guess. Whenever something truly terrible happens, your aged friend here is not far away. Yes. I see it in your eyes. Ask yourself, really ask yourself, can you be sure he did not cause the injuries you’ve suffered, the pain you’ve endured, the deaths of your friends. Ah… So there was a death. And he was there wasn’t he? Offering comfort with one hand and poison with the other. Men like him, they don’t stop, you know? Just look at where you are now, poised and ready to drag me away and feed me to the wolves or perhaps to your beast. There she is.” The Empress looked at Fritha now, taking in all her colourful splendour with envious eyes. “All I wanted was to see her for myself. And here she is, just as beautiful as the rumours described her. An animal straight out of a story. You’ve likely twisted her as well. Taught her how to attack and maul and maim. But she seems calm now, pretty even.” Lilian looked back at Fritha, the feinhound was sniffing the rim of a large vase, seemingly oblivious to the seriousness of the situation unfolding around her. The Empress spoke again. “But that’s what they do, these people, men like him. They take something beautiful and twist it into something useful. You’re looking at me with hatred in your eyes Lilian but how can you be sure you’re not going through exactly the same thing as I did? Hm? How can you know you’re not becoming just… like… me.” Lilian pondered the Empress’ words. There was something desperate about her tone, something sharp. She was reminded of a bird or a cat caught in a trap, scratching at the humans trying to free it. She thought about what the Empress was suggesting, about how she too might be becoming the very thing she fought so hard against. But then, a word popped into her mind and with it her body relaxed, her shoulders dropped and she smiled. She had spoken this word, this concept in the Stave Church in Bonneville a few weeks ago, just before Mr Attorcop’s attic rooms were blown to smithereens by the Weardian. She thought of Kilde, she thought of her friends and of all she’d done these past few months. The word was forgiveness and it was the difference between her and the Empress. Not that she was ready to forgive her majesty for all she’d done, but she was ready to try and understand her, to treat her with kindness, even though she hated her. This was not just the end of a dynasty, it was the beginning of a process.

Lilian stood up, she’d heard enough for now. A plan was forming in her mind, but she needed a little distance to figure out the finer details. She looked down at Empress Sylvia and saw fear in her eyes.

“Kitty Sylvia, you are from this moment, no longer the Empress of Freedos and the western realms. You are a citizen, like the rest of us. You’ll spend some time in the tower to pay for your crimes and then we will figure out what to do with you. Take off that silly crown now and follow me. We’re leaving”

A long silence followed the order, but slowly, the reality of Miss Sylvia’s situation dawned on her and her expression transformed from hatred to understanding. There was even a trace of gratitude there as it was well known that treason under her rule was normally met with swift execution. The one time leader slowly removed her coronet and placed it on the floor. Her fingers lingered on it for a few seconds, as if they were leaving the hand of an old friend as they said their goodbyes. But then, ever proud, Kitty Sylvia stood up, held her chin high and followed Lilian and Mr Attorcop down and out of the palace, Fritha padding beside her, tolling her gong with each passing minute.

When they reached the entrance to the palace they were met by a thousand silent gazes. The stunned and quiet faces of nobles, beggars and labourers stared at them as they left the grand building. Lilian glanced at the ground and saw the fallen weapons of palace guards, scattered besides pitchforks and pickaxes. The traces of blood on the flagstones and the bruises appearing on the cheeks of those around them all pointed to signs of a great struggle. The people of Freedos had joined the fight and by the looks of things, they had won. Now they were watching as their fallen leader was marched through their ranks. They did not shout, they did not throw things as Lilian feared they might. Instead, they just looked at her, every face telling a story of how this woman had hurt them. Mr Attorcop lead the way, making sure the crowd parted as they approached. Word quickly travelled down the slopes and as they walked out of the palace gates and began their descent, they saw the crowds lining the roads. The sun was just rising on the horizon, shining its warming light on the hundreds of faces that stretched down the side of the extinct volcano. It was a beautiful morning, the sky was clear and the only thing that broke the silence were the footsteps of a deposed Empress and the sound of birds singing.

They left the city and walked the dirt road to the tower. When they reached it, they saw that the guards had laid down their swords and halberds and were sitting in a group by the door, their hands bound by thick twine. A group of revolutionaries, lead by William, were close by. By the looks of things, the guards had not put up much of a fight. William greeted them.

“We’ll take it from here. Thank you Lilian, and Cromwell and Fritha, the city owes you a debt.” Lilian shook her head.

“Everyone played their part, we just did what we needed to do.” William smiled.

“You did so much more than that. And if you won’t take my thanks perhaps you’ll take someone else’s.” He moved to one side and glanced behind him. A few feet away a woman looked up and smiled.

“Katherine!” Lilian jumped for joy and ran to her friend, throwing her arms around Katherine’s waist and squeezing her tightly.

“My darling, I was so worried about you.”

“I was worried about you, I’m sorry I left, I didn’t know you would be sent here, if I had I…” Katherine pulled her close again, shushing Lilian’s apologies.

“Hush my love, you had nothing to do with this. You did the right thing in leaving or you would have ended up in here with me.” Lilian wiped a tear from her eye and looked up at Katherine’s face. Her cheeks had lost some of their colour and she’d clearly not been eating well, but her eyes still sparkled with that same kindness she’d seen in her first week in Freedos. William walked Miss Sylvia through the tower gates.

“Come on your majesty, I’ve got a cell in here with your name on it.”

As they watched her get swallowed up into the dark halls of the tower she turned to look back at them. Lilian saw fear in the Empress's eyes and felt a small pang of compassion in her heart. Once she’d disappeared from view Mr Attorcop put his hand on Lilian’s shoulder.

“You did well Lilian. Few would have gone into that room and shown her that kind of mercy.” Lilian looked at the floor.

“If we’re going to start from scratch, then we can’t be like her. We start as we mean to go on.” Lilian turned to look her mentor in the eye, “we have a lot of work to do.” Mr Attorcop nodded.

“Yes. But it’s not your work. I think we can all agree that you’ve done more than enough. The Empress said a lot of things up there, she was wrong about most, but she was right when she said that you’re still just a child. I’m… I’m sorry if I’ve robbed you of that.”

Lilian saw remorse spread across the old man’s face as he slumped his shoulders in shame. Lilian hugged him.

“Everything I’ve learned, everything we’ve done together, it’s all thanks to you. I wouldn’t change anything.” She broke away and looked at his face, his eyes wrinkled in a smile. “But, in the nicest possible way, I do think I’d like a break. She got in my head a bit back there and I just think some time apart might do us both some good.” Mr Attorcop nodded.

“I understand. And you’re quite right and even though it does not need to be said, I still feel as though I should tell you, I had nothing to do with Kilde…” he faltered and Lilian interrupted him.

“I know.” Mr Attorcop nodded and wiped his eye with the back of his hand.

“Ahem, well. I think we should probably head back to the city, maybe eat something, hm? What do you say? After some food I’ll start organising a way to manage the city and you, well, you should do what you wish.” Lilian looked at her friends and smiled.

“I’d like that.” They all started to walk away and after a few steps, Lilian realised that Katherine was not following them. She turned to look back at her, she seemed hesitant to leave.

“Katherine? Are you coming?” Katherine turned to look at the tower and then back at Lilian.

“No… No I don’t think so.” Lilian was confused.

“Why not?” Katherine considered the question.

“I think I need to stay here. I know that I didn’t hurt those officers, not directly, but it was still my fault that they suffered. Walking away freely from doing that feels… strange. I think I’m going to stay here and work with the Empr… with Miss Sylvia. She’ll need feeding and guarding and I think I’d do better to serve here than to go back to looking after some very wealthy children. Heh… maybe my job won’t be as different as I thought.” Lilian understood and went back to hug her again.

“If anyone can do it, you can.”

“Thank you my love,” said Katherine, “And it’s not like I’ll be disappearing. I’ll still be able to visit you in the city for tea and cakes.” Katherine returned the hug and squeezed Lilian just that little bit more, to tell her how much she meant to her, to tell her all the things that words were too ill equipped to say. Then they parted, said goodbye and Lilian turned back to the city.

Lilian spent the next few months in Freedos. She spent her days training, walking Fritha and helping people when and where she could. Occasionally she would go back and visit Mr Twitchett who, after a brief explanation, had understood why Lilian had left her position at his shop so suddenly. He’d hired a young lad to help him and Lilian was always happy to drop by and catch up over a pot of hot tea. Some days she would shadow Mr Attorcop and observe how he went about setting up a new way of governing the city. Representatives from each quarter formed a small council, the members of which would meet once a fortnight to discuss how best to run the city. The nobles and business owners were allowed to keep their enterprises running but stricter rules were put in place surrounding the treatment of workers, and how much profits they would be allowed to keep before having to reinvest their money back into the society that made them. It was complex work which involved a lot of arguing but even in just a few weeks Lilian began to see changes. The royal coffers were raided and used to pay builders and workers to fix the poorer parts of the city. Anyone living on the streets were employed to do menial tasks or paid a small sum to attend classes. The bad smells emanating from the base of the volcano slowly disappeared and even the rat population seemed to decrease. Occasionally Lilian would catch sight of Bried or one of her gang, doing their best to keep alleyways dark and dangerous. They did their best to ignore each other but Lilian knew that Bried would never stop trying to carve a piece of the city out for herself. A stranger sight in Freedos than the queen of crime was the ex-empress herself. Katherine came to believe that simply locking her away was not enough. Kitty Sylvia owed the people of Freedos a debt and she would not be able to pay it from behind the bars of a cold cell. Katherine accompanied her into the city most days where she was promptly put to work. Together, they worked in kitchens feeding the hungry, they helped to paint old buildings, fix broken things and generally tried to place themselves wherever they were most needed and most useful. At first the old tyrant was treated with cold indifference. Food was aggressively slopped into her bowl, harsh whispers followed her wherever she went. The first few weeks she was spat upon, shoved, kicked and treated with utmost disdain. But she was diligent and under Katherine’s watchful eye she persisted in her duties. One day Lilian was watching her clean an old sewer grate. She was on her hands and knees and up to her elbow in muck. Lilian was nearby helping a stall holder sell her wares when out of the corner of her eye she saw an old woman approach the ex-empress and hand her a cloth with which to clean herself. Lilian watched Kitty Sylvia accept it warily, as if expecting some trick. But there was none. The old woman just smiled and walked away. It was a small moment, and Lilian had nearly missed it, but just as soon as she had witnessed this small act of compassion, something clicked in her mind. Lilian was ready to leave.

It took a week to get her affairs in order. She planned a dinner with Katherine and William, took Mr Attorcop to his favourite drinking house, brought Mr Twitchett a bouquet of wild flowers and even found a gift for Katrina. It was a small perfume box built to house a tiny bottle of perfume. It was made of bone porcelain and painted red with gold detailing. Lilian gave it to her in the rare flower market, between the tall shelves stacked high with perfectly preserved materials.

“My goodness Lilian, it’s beautiful. Oh, I’ll be so sorry to see you go. And not just because I’ll miss you, but when you’re around Cromwell is just easier to get on with.” Lilian smiled,

“Hopefully he won’t change too much.” Katherine laughed,

“Ha, if only you knew how much he has changed. The years before he went to Benlunar and met you he was, sad, and bitter. Watching him do his work with the council now I see real hope and energy in him. It’s marvellous. Thank you, Lily darling, and not just for the box, but for that.” Out of the corner of her eye, Lilian saw Peter appear at the door to the back room. She turned and smiled at him.

“You’re really going?” he asked. Lilian nodded. She felt a lump appear in her throat but before a tear could escape from her eye Peter was already across the room and hugging her. “I’ll come visit, aye? If Benlunar is as beautiful as you say then I should think it’s worth a trip to see my friend.” Lilian giggled and sniffed.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, her voice muffled by his woolly green jumper.

“Then it shall be the easiest promise I have ever kept.” They both smiled and then the mood shifted to bittersweet sadness.

“Farewell, Lilian Lausanne.”

“Farewell, Peter Sturgeon. Bye Katrina, I’m sure I’ll see you both very soon. And in case I don’t see her, please send my love to Serena.” Peter’s face turned a bright shade of pink.

“Who?” exclaimed his mother and Lilian left before she put her foot any further into her mouth.

On the morning of her departure Lilian got up early. She wanted to take Fritha to all her favourite spots before leaving. They went to the park, to Checkhad square, and they even did a small tour of old town before going back to The Greedy Goose to pick up their belongings. Lilian struggled a little to pack everything she had amassed during her time in Freedos into the little travelling pack she’d brought from Benlunar. Thankfully though, Beatrice and Chester, the innkeepers, had a spare pack that had been left by another guest. This one had straps that looped over both shoulders meaning the traveller could have both hands free while they walked. Lilian thanked them profusely and after a hearty breakfast, left for her appointment at the city gate. The journey there was strange indeed. People she’d only spoken to once or twice in her life smiled when they saw her and wished her a pleasant journey. Some would rush over to her in a sweat, thankful to have caught her before she left, and thrust packets of dried meats or sour berries into her hands. One older man gave her a beautifully carved walking staff in the shape of a thin tree, a full moon was at its top nestled in the intricately cut branches. No one accepted any payment and with each new street there were more people rushing out of their homes to say their goodbyes. Children threw their arms around her as their mothers enquired about which routes she would be taking. People leaned out of windows to wave and if Lilian hadn’t been so shocked, she might have been overwhelmed with emotion. They all said thank you, and they all had stories about how their lives had improved in the week’s since Empress Sylvia’s deposition. Fritha was just as delighted as Lilian, as everyone wanted to pat her head, hug her and feed her expensive cuts of meat. By the time she reached the city gate, a small crowd had gathered and Lilian became so inundated with gifts she began to worry how she might carry it all. But then, in the middle distance, she saw Mr Attorcop. Lilian was just thanking a young lady for her generous gift of a bag of grain, when she noticed him standing beside a very large and very handsome looking horse. He was holding the reigns and, perhaps even more surprising, smiling.

“Is this…” Lilian pointed up at the animal, not daring to speak the full question.

“This,” began Mr Attorcop, “this is Afaran and yes, he is yours. The least I could do really after having made you walk here.” Lilian gazed up into the horse’s jet black eye, he was calm, probably distracted by the bag of grain in Lilian’s arms but he remained placid as she approached him and lifted her hand to touch his nose. His coat was all black, save for a diamond patch of white on his forehead.

“He’s two years old and well trained, you might wish to keep him or sell him when you get to Benlunar. Speaking of which, there’s some money and food in his saddle bags and…” Mr Attorcop faltered. Lilian glanced at him, if she didn’t know any better she might have thought he was getting emotional. “Ahem, so, stay safe and I will see you soon.”

“Really?” she asked, excitedly,

“Oh yes. I’ll be due a visit to our mutual friend in Benlunar in a few months so I’ll be sure to say hello.” Lilian smiled. Words were nearly running out so she hugged him and whispered,

“Thank you,” into the folds of his starry cloak.

“Remember to keep training, I want to see that strange power of yours when I see you in Benlunar. Don’t eat food that you haven’t seen being properly cooked, boil your water before you drink…”

“Alright alright,” Lilian giggled, “I’ll be fine.” Mr Attorcop relented.

“I know. Here,” he offered her his hand and helped her up into the saddle on Afaran’s broad back. He was a little bigger than most horses she’d ridden before, but she sensed a confident calmness in him. This beast would not scare easily. Lilian took the reins in her hands and glanced down at Mr Attorcop. He was packing her various gifts into the saddle bags and making one final check to see that Lilian had everything she needed. Then he stood back, smiled and said,

“Be safe, be clever, be kind.” Lilian grinned and nodded. Then she turned to wave goodbye to the crowd who all cheered and waved back. Then she tugged on Afaran’s reins to make him turn, lightly kicked his side to make him walk and she headed out of the city gate.

The road stretched out in front of her paved with hopes and stones. Fritha ran ahead in excitement and Lilian rocked happily in the saddle. She felt a little sad to be leaving but excited to be going home. She found herself hoping the trip would not be too boring but remembered then that the way to the western mountains is long and dangerous. Many things can happen on such a journey. One might even have an adventure.