Witch King

3. A Single Word Different

3. A Single Word Different

AndarThey met on the green grass of the orchard of witches: Cait and Danny, Ran and Nox, Johnny, Ashen and Hellen. In the middle of the circle were two identical books: the same red leather cover, the same etched diagrams of skeletons and skulls, even the same old stains. It was weird to see them side-by-side. The left and right hand halves of Ilminion's Grimoire, one brought from Cait's world by Johnny, the other stolen from the Witch King by Cait. Both of them originally stolen from the enemy by Nox.

They'd made landfall in Andar early the previous day. Hyrn had rowed through the night, never speaking, never pausing despite his age and seeming exhaustion. When they'd stepped out of his little boat he'd simply rowed off, back into the mists. Apparently he wasn't a man but some sort of woodland god. He looked pretty wrecked for a god. He reminded Cait of someone she'd met or glimpsed in a dream. She couldn't recall the details. She was just glad to be in Andar. Not safe ground, exactly, but safer. For now.

Johnny had been waiting for them on the banks, his dazzling, brightly-painted boat moored nearby. Smoke on the Water. That, in turn, had brought them down the An to the mouth of a river called the Gleaming which in turn led to Silverwater Lake and the island of the witches that she'd heard so much about.

It was good to see Johnny again. He'd explained everything that had happened back home as they floated along. Everything Cait's mum and gran and Fer had said and done. How they'd recovered his guitar and been hunted by the forces of Genera. And then how Cait's mother had died at Glastonbury Tor to give him a chance of returning to Andar. He hadn't known she was dead until Hellen, hearing word across the aether, broke the news to him.

“She gave me a message for Hellen,” he said. “Told her to save you, use the book or whatever was needed. But just to save you. That was all she cared about.”

Cait thought about that for a time, staring over the quiet waters of the An. Losing her mother so abruptly was still impossible to understand. It was like a coldness inside her. Now she'd lost both parents. How did you come to terms with something like that? So many things had been left unsaid. “But my gran and Fer survived?”

“So Hellen says, although communication with our world is patchy. They'll obviously still be in a ton of danger, but it looks like your mother managed to magic them away from Glastonbury before … the end.”

Cait nodded, not trusting her voice to work in reply.

At the island they'd been met by Ashen. He was tall and wiry, apparently taking after his dead father, the wyrm lord Borrn, but she could see something of Hellen in his face. A lot going on behind those eyes, Cait thought. She liked him immediately.

“I've heard a lot about you, Cait,” he said as they walked up from the jetty. “What you did was wonderful. Incredible.”

“Couldn't have done it without you. Your mother explained how you sent the message about the bridgehead to Phoenix.”

“Yes. With help.”

“We'd have been lost without that.”

“It was a small thing. The least I could do.”

“You did what was needed,” said Cait, thinking that she suddenly sounded like her gran. “That's all that matters.”

Now, they sat in the silence of the orchard. A sharp chill hung in the air. Grey clouds billowed toward them from the north, following the line of the An, bringing the threat of rain. There was a heavy, orange tint to some of them, as if they bore a weight of snow. Cait hadn't understood why they couldn't sit in the round, echoing space of the Wycka. It was open to the elements at the top but would at least have been warmer. But apparently the spirits of the dead witches lingered here, taking up residence in the trees. Spirits that liked to contribute to discussions. The crooked old boughs surrounded them, like the skeletons of proper trees, all twigs and knots.

Fer had described a gathering like this to her when they'd first discussed what was to be done about the book. Now it was her turn. Her and Danny's. He, alone, didn't speak the language of this world, so she would have to translate for him. The gift Phoenix had given her, the gift of voices, meant she could follow everyone's words with ease.

She huddled closer to Danny for warmth. Fortunately someone had lit a crackling fire of fallen branches. Not for visions from the stones that Ran wore around his neck, but simply to keep the chill off. Sweet-smelling wood smoke filled the air.

“So,” said Hellen. “Here we are. Now we must decide what is to be done about the book. And everything else, come to that.”

“Is there any way we can fight the undain without using the death magic?” asked Cait.

“How big was the army you saw?”

“I don't know. Huge. There were thousands of them.”

“Hundreds of thousands,” said Nox.

Hellen cast a glance at Ran. “And there are only a thousand or so wyrm lords.”

“But there must be other armies in Andar,” said Danny. “Other defenders?”

“Not really,” said Ashen. “There are a few watchmen in Guilden and the other cities. Then there are the wyrm lords and the witches. That's about it. We've grown complacent. There's never been war in Andar. The events of five hundred years ago are distant, an old story. Or maybe that's what people like to think. But we won't be enough, not nearly enough. I was at Howl Hill at the equinox, I saw what the coming winter will be like. For all we know, the invasion may have started already, up there in the high north.”

“So then we have to use the book?” said Cait. “Turn their own magic against them?”

“You don't like the idea?” said Hellen.

“It feels wrong. I don't know, bad.”

The air buzzed with a murmur of half-heard words. The voices of the dead witches in the aether.

“There are many here who would agree with you,” said Hellen. “But is it so different from what you did at the White City? That was magic many on the Witches' Isle would have shunned. Sometimes, I think, we have to get our hands dirty.”

“Still,” said Cait. “I don't like it.”

“We have to use all the weapons at our disposal,” said Nox.

“We may not have to work the magic Ilminion did,” said Ashen. “Perhaps, if we understand the rites, see why Menhroth wants the Grimoire so much, we'll find a weakness we can use without having to work any death magic ourselves.”

“Is that likely?” asked Cait.

“Perhaps,” said Hellen. She pulled another book from the folds of her skirt, this one smaller and black, its cover plain. “This is Akbar's journal, brought to Andar with your ancestor, Cait, and held at Caer D'nar ever since.”

“It says something?”

“No one has been able to make sense of it these five hundred years. Fortunately, we now have someone who can.”

“The bookwyrm?” said Danny. “I thought the creature was all over the internet in our world.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “It is. But I brought a copy of it in my phone when I came here.” He waved his mobile around as if to prove the point. “Before the battery died we managed to transfer the wyrm into the journal. Back from pixels to ink and paint.”

“And it can read Akbar's words?” asked Cait.

Hellen smiled. “You know what the creature is like. It tells me that the handwriting is extremely difficult and the language all-but forgotten, but that it is, thankfully, wise enough to interpret it.”

“And what has it found?”

“It's still working its way through Akbar's writing,” said Ashen. “But one passage has emerged that is of interest. Before he split the Grimoire in two, in what little time he had, Akbar studied it. He noted that there were two different versions of the Ritual used by Ilminion to resurrect the King.”

“Two different versions?” said Cait. “How do we know which one was used?”

“We don't. But it is interesting Ilminion set down a second.”

“So he made a mistake with the first version,” said Cait. “That's not so strange. You should see my schoolwork.”

“It might have simply been a mistake,” said Hellen. “Or, then again, it might not.”

“Can we even tell how the two differ?” asked Danny.

Ashen threw another branch onto the fire, flaring it briefly into life. “Akbar said they are almost identical. Only a single word different.”

“I don't see how a single word can make much difference,” said Cait.

“Perhaps,” said Hellen. She looked thoughtful as she spoke. “Or perhaps it makes all the difference in the world. Depends on the word. If we can recreate the Grimoire then maybe we'll be able to make some sense of it ourselves.”

“Are we able to do that?” asked Nox.

“Not yet,” said Ashen. “But once the archaeon has finished translating Akbar's words we might be able to get somewhere.”

“Only a mancer could unwork Akbar's magic,” said Hellen. “Fortunately we have Ashen here to attempt it.” The pride on her face as she spoke was clear.

“The book may not be a weapon,” said Cait. “There may be nothing there we can use.”

“True enough,” said Hellen. “In that case it makes little difference. All we can do is fight and hope that somehow, by some miracle, we prevail.”

“OK, so,” said Danny, “while Ashen gets on with that, what about the rest of us?”

“I've been thinking about it,” said Hellen. “I have an idea or two.”

Cait caught Danny's eye and had to look away for fear of bursting into laughter. They'd privately agreed that Hellen would say almost exactly that. Nox frowned at them.

“Go on,” said Johnny, covering for them.

“Five hundred years ago,” said Hellen, “the witches of Islagray Wycka marched north to the ice, to bring the An into flood and so sweep the great bridge away. Witches and mancers on both sides worked together to seal off Andar. Now I think it is time to repeat that march. The snow and ice will be creeping south. I think we have to move north to meet it, everyone save a few to continue singing the Song. Wherever the undain choose to attack, they need the frozen river to do it. We should go and try and stop them. At the very least warn people of what is coming.”

“What chance will we have?” said Cait.

“Very little,” said Hellen. “At best I think we can try and delay them, give Ashen and the witches who remain here at the Wycka more time. The dragonriders will defend Caer L'dun, and they, too, may hold out for a while. We have to hope Menhroth takes each city and town as he moves south rather than racing directly here.”

“You said the witches melted the ice in the old days,” said Danny, Cait still translating for him. “That they flooded the An. Can't you do something similar again? Melt the ice under the feet of the undain?”

Hellen shook her head. “It is beyond us. There are so few of us, and what was done five hundred years ago, great as it was, was simply to hurry along the thaw that was going to happen anyway. Mountainsides of ice and snow slide into the An every spring, thankfully not all at the same time. Even the witches of old couldn't have melted ice up the length of the river.”

“OK, so,” said Danny, who'd clearly been thinking about this, “What about the serpents? You said they smash up any ship that attempts the crossing. Why can't they break through the ice and drown the army?”

“There is something in that. But the serpents are Hyrn's, as I think you know, and he is far gone, weakened by everything that has happened. The effort of rowing us back to Andar may have finished him off. And even the serpents may struggle to break through the ice when it is ten feet thick. But … perhaps they can be persuaded to play their part.”

“We have to at least warn Guilden,” said Ashen. “No one there has a clue. The city will be thronged with revellers for Midwinter. I tried to tell them but they wouldn't listen.”

“They might listen to me,” said Hellen. “So I will go north, along with most of the witches and wise men of Islagray. We may not be able to do much but we will do what we can. The rest of you should stay here. Cait especially.”

“Why?” demanded Cait.

“Because it is safer. Because I was given a solemn duty to look after you, and I'll carry that duty out as best I can.”

Not so very long ago, Cait might have crumbled and gone along with Hellen's wishes. Not any more. Not after everything that had happened. “No. It's no safer here, not really. I'm coming with you. Perhaps I can help slow them down. I've fought them before, remember. The only witch here who has.”

Hellen studied her for a moment before replying. “And what would your mother say to such a suggestion?”

“She'd sigh and complain about headstrong Weerds and then let me go.”

With clear reluctance, Hellen came to a decision. “Very well. Come if you must. At least I can keep an eye on you.”

Hellen peered around the circle to the others. “And what will you all do? Ran, I think you, at least, should be spared this journey. You have suffered much, by fire and sword. You have watched over Fer and then Cait, done far more than I could ever have asked. We could leave you at Caer D'nar as we head north.”

Ran shook his head. “No. I will go with Cait.”

Hellen frowned but appeared to be aware it was pointless trying to argue. “And you others? Johnny? Nox? Danny, it seems, can hardly be separated from Cait.”

All three indicated they wished to travel north, although Johnny looked distinctly alarmed by the prospect as he nodded his head.

“Good,” said Hellen. “I think we can allow ourselves a few days rest. We've all been through a lot. But winter is drawing on, and we must reach Guilden soon. Find warm clothes and good boots for the journey. We'll need them.”

“One other thing,” said Cait. “It just occurred to me. When we were in the White City we saw cartloads of Spirit being wheeled along after the army. Vast amounts. They must need a constant supply of it for the invasion.”

“A lot of it will be coming through the pipe from the refinery, no doubt,” said Danny. “Bled from the people of our world. Perhaps we should try and disrupt the flow, do something to the pipeline. We talked about trying it before, when we were back home. It'll be dangerous, obviously.”

Hellen considered, the dead witches of Islagray Wycka joining in with the conversation. After long moments Hellen replied. “Perhaps it is for the best. We have the book now, so even if Fer or Cait's grandmother are captured Menhroth won't be able to complete the rites. It is a hard thing to say, but perhaps now the risk is worth taking.”

“How do we get the message through to them?” asked Cait.

“I will attempt it,” said Hellen. “As you know, the aether is disturbed thanks to the Tanglewood and the aethernal dwelling within it, but perhaps I can get word through. If not, we'll have to hope they work it out for themselves. Now, let's all get some rest. There may not be much chance in the days and weeks to come.”

When everyone was heading away, Hellen came up to Cait and placed a hand on her arm, drawing her aside.

“Cait, there is one thing I would like to ask you while we are alone.”

“Oh?”

“The truth is I didn't only try to dissuade Ran because of his injuries. Are you sure you want him to come with us?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

Hellen gazed at the disappearing figure of the rider. She spoke quietly. “I don't know. I wonder about him sometimes. He's so hard to make any sense of. The riders all are.”

“You were happy enough for him to go with Fer to my world.”

“I've learned a little more about the events of five hundred years ago now, thanks to Akbar's journal.”

“What have you learned?”

Hellen took a moment to reply. “Nothing detailed, nothing definite. Rumours and suspicions. Maybe only folks' fear of the riders and what some of them did.”

“But what rumours?”

“Only that the riders aren't really to be trusted.”

“That's mad. He's always protected me and fought for me. I thought you were the one who always dismisses such talk.”

“Yes, I did. I do. But still … he's never done or said anything, I don't know, odd?”

“I have no idea what odd means any more,” said Cait. “Everything is odd.”

“But you trust him? You were with him all the way across Angere. And in your world.”

Cait considered. There were times when they'd been separated, but that had never been at Ran's suggestion. She tried to recall everything the rider had said and done. It was hard; he was basically always there, saying nothing, standing in the background. Did she trust him? A damn sight more than she trusted Nox. “Ran always did what he could to protect us. You've seen his injuries.”

“Yes,” said Hellen. “I have.” She considered Cait for a moment, as if peering into her thoughts, then relented. “Good. Nothing more than unfounded fears. My apologies, nothing seems certain or clear to me any more. If we can't trust each other then we truly are lost.”

Cait left Hellen and headed down the green slope toward the spire of the wycka and the huddle of huts and shacks the witches lived in. She called to Danny, Johnny and Nox. They turned to wait for her.

“Listen,” said Cait. “None of you need to come with me, you know. It's all very noble and heroic, but I'm not sure there'll be much any of you can actually do.”

“And you will?” said Nox.

“Perhaps, I don't know. But you might actually be more useful here, Nox. You could get involved in the plans for defending Andar. Isn't that the sort of thing you do?”

He considered her words for a few moments, eyes narrowed. “No. It's too late to be of much use. And somehow I don't think they'd listen to me if I started ordering them around. I'll come north. Might be able to do something to hurt the undain.”

“OK, so you, Johnny. I know you're not keen. You've done so much already. Perhaps it's time to get back in that boat of yours and sail away south. No one would blame you.”

“Tempting, I'll be honest,” said Johnny. “Don't think I haven't considered it. But, nah. I wanna see how this story ends. Besides, if it's true what they say and the An is an endless circle around this whole world, I'd just end up back in Andar anyway. I'd like to be sure it's still here before I set off.”

“Looks like you're stuck with all of us,” said Danny. He took her hand, interlacing his fingers through hers.

Cait frowned, as if she were cross with them. Although, secretly, she was delighted and very, very grateful.