The black fog cleared from James’ eyes, revealing a long, dimly-lit corridor. The noise of the chamber receded into the distance, replaced now by the echoed patter of footsteps. Craning his head over the shoulder of the one who carried him, he recognised the muscular figure of Balen’s daughter, her powerful legs beating out a belligerent stride.
As the tangled mess of his mind cleared, he found that he once more had cause to doubt what he remembered. As vividly as he recalled his confrontation with Lord Balen and the other lords of the Citadel, there was another part of it that could not possibly have been real: at the last moment, his execution had been postponed by a woman he knew to be dead. A creeping dread settled into the pit of his stomach when he realised the implications of these fabricated memories, for if Leander hadn’t come to his rescue, then no one had…
‘In obeyance of Gelder martial law, the prisoner will henceforth be taken to a place of execution, and there removed of his life by the decapitation of his head.’
‘Where are we going?’ James said, his voice querulous and small within the emptiness of the corridor. At first, his question was met with only silence. But when the man carrying him replied, James’ body tensed in shock.
‘Jame, we travel to the top of the tree, known to you now as the Clyst. It is there that we shall meet with the monk, Kloven-Perrin.’
‘Tavin?’ James gasped. ‘Is that really you?’
The voice was undeniably that of his friend, yet it was subtly changed. Its tone was flat and emotionless, as though all the joy and enthusiasm it once carried had been wrestled from it.
‘It is I,’ Tavin replied flatly. ‘We are both with you now.’
Instinctively, James glanced to the side as another figure materialised out of the gloom. Leander turned to regard him, her face wearing an uncharacteristic expression of concern.
‘But… how can this be possible?’ James asked, staring at Leander as though a ghost walked beside him. ‘That thing, that monster… I saw it… you were both killed! You were all killed!’
‘Jame, we were only fortunate that the beast was in haste,’ Tavin replied. ‘The armour we wear is not merely for decoration, it protects against such injury. But given enough time, the demon could have finished us easily enough.’
‘Then, you all survived?’ James asked in disbelief.
‘Not all,’ Tavin said quietly. ‘As you know, my brother, Wellin, was without his armour,’ he said, his voice tapering into silence.
When Tavin did not continue, Leander spoke for him, her jaw tight with undiminished anger for what had befallen them.
‘Myself, Tavin and Kirrin escaped injury no worse than cuts and bruises. But Fen’s arm was badly broken, and Torrinth gravely injured.’
‘Torrinth…’ James said, his voice catching in his throat. ‘Is Torrinth… dead?’
Tavin craned his neck towards him, a glimmer of his former mirth hitching a corner of his mouth. ‘The old man is made of something akin to melded willowing. He lives.’
The sudden relief James felt at the news took him by surprise, and despite the grave situation with which he was still faced, he felt the beginnings of his own smile twisting itself onto his lips.
The corridor curved sharply to the left before it straightened out again, a shimmering gleam of sunlight illuminating a distant opening. The echo of their footsteps once more punctuated the silence, their insistent report reminding him of their destination. If only to take comfort from the sound of another voice, James asked another question.
‘How are we supposed to get all the way up there, Tavin?’
Leander grimaced, as though his constant questions returned the memory of how much she disliked him. But before Tavin could reply, the muscular young woman who was Balen’s daughter, answered for him.
‘There are two ways to gain the summit of the Clyst,’ she said, nodding her head to the ceiling. ‘The first is by foot, a climb that would take half the day. The other, is by flight.’
‘Flight?’ James parroted.
‘Well, perhaps not the form of flight you are accustomed to,’ she added mockingly. ‘Ours is of a form derived of more natural means.’
‘If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather take the stairs.’
‘That you would,’ the young woman scolded, ‘and prolong the length of your life accordingly. Unfortunately for you, my father has insisted upon the latter. The sooner this folly is exposed for what it is, the sooner we may all move on from this unpleasant affair.’
The opening loomed ahead, and at last they emerged into bright sunlight. The giant sun was now at its zenith and it was some time before its blinding light cleared from his eyes. Blinking through his tears, he saw the wide platform upon which they stood, protruding from the tree like a great shelf. A railing surrounded the enclosure, and beyond that lay the vastness of the interior kingdom. Once again, James was captivated by the scale and beauty contained within the great wall of trees. Though, it wasn’t long before his gaze was compelled upwards; the cliff face of the impossible tree climbing into the dizzy heights above. With the word “flight” still foremost in his mind, he gazed distrustfully at the curious structure they were now approaching. Rising out of the floor, and tilted at the immense wall like an upended trumpet, was a huge funnel woven from a lattice of wood. At its base, a narrow doorway gave entrance to its interior, guarded by two men brandishing the same blade-topped poles he had seen at the guard tower earlier that day. At Balen’s daughter’s approach, the men uncrossed their weapons and one by one they filed inside.
Tavin lowered James back to his feet, causing the floor to move disconcertingly beneath them like the car of an antiquated elevator. As with every other construction he had encountered in this strange world, the wooden cage in which they stood felt as though it were alive. His skin crawled when he noticed the dark shapes squirming in the shadows around them; countless black vines which hung from the funnel like a host of compliant snakes ready to be put into service.
When the last of them had entered the small space, Balen’s daughter reached her hand towards a wooden post protruding from the centre of the platform. The post was topped with an orb of dark wood; a gleaming black ball as dark and dense as polished ebony. Pressing her palm to its smooth surface, she slowly brought her fingers down to clasp its edges, her knuckles white against her pale skin.
The young woman turned her head and addressed Leander, a mirthless grin parting her thin lips.
‘Ward your man well. We would not want him to be flung from the Clyst, now would we?’
Leander scowled back at her cousin, but promptly nodded her assent to Tavin, who clasped his arms around James’ chest in a tight embrace. The platform creaked and groaned, and with a sudden lurch it began to sink beneath the platform. The ponderous descent brought them out into the open, the countless vines now pulled as tight as steel cables around them. Peering between the bars of the quivering cage, James’ stomach churned when he saw the interior gardens hundreds of feet below. At the very last, he realised with dismay what this contraption really was… it wasn’t an elevator, but a catapult; a human catapult!
‘Get me off!’ James yelled.
With numb fingers he tried to pry the young man’s arms away, but Tavin resisted.
‘There is nothing to fear, Jame,’ Tavin reassured from behind. ‘The melder determines the force necessary to lift those upon the Riser. Too little force and we would not reach the Catch. Too much, and we would perish upon the face of the Clyst.’
Grimacing, James twisted his head to look back at his friend. For the first time since the horror of the demon’s attack, Tavin was smiling like his former self.
‘But rest assured, melders never fail in the task.’
James turned his anguished eyes back upon the young woman whose eyes were now tightly closed, her lips mouthing a string of unspoken words. Gradually, the frown furrowing her brow lessened and her fingers opened, leaving only her palm pressed to the gleaming orb of black.
‘Keep your legs straight, Jame,’ Tavin muttered at his ear. ‘When her hand leaves the surface of the Draw, brace yourself for the lift.’
With his heart pounding, James fixed his eyes upon the woman’s hand, his own hands now grasping Tavin’s arms like a frightened child waiting for a rollercoaster ride to begin.
The young woman’s hand left the orb of black and pressed itself to her side. The vibration in the platform beneath their feet suddenly increased, and then with the sound of collapsing air they were flung upwards in one breathless push. The woven tube that had surrounded them moments before raced past them in a blur, and then they were flying through the air.
‘We’re going to bloody die!’ James screamed as the vast face of the white tower loomed before them.
From out of the deafening roar of air thundering past his ears, he heard his friend laughing joyfully behind him.
‘All will be well, Jame! All will be well!’
Despite his friend’s attempts to reassure him, James continued to scream as the white face of the wall bore down upon them. But as terrible as the sudden acceleration had been, the slowing of their flight was altogether worse. By slow increments, he felt the force of gravity tugging away the last motes of energy imparted by the Riser. The wall of the tree was now almost within arm’s reach, the surface detail of its bark materialising out of the blur it had so recently resembled. But as the arc of their flight approached, there was nothing but the unending sheerness of the wall before them.
To his horror, Tavin’s arms unlaced from around his chest. His arms and legs flailed in mid-air, and just as he was certain he would begin his fall back to his death, a platform miraculously rose above his head and settled beneath his feet.
James sprawled in a heap as the others landed gracefully around him, his last scream silenced by the hard wooden floor knocking the air from his lungs. For a moment, he continued to scramble frantically upon the ground, until Tavin placed a hand upon his shoulder.
‘Be still, Jame,’ Tavin said soothingly at his ear. ‘We have alighted upon the Catch, you are safe!’
‘Perhaps now I understand why you wish to keep the man alive,’ Balen’s daughter chuckled. ‘He does entertain so!’
Getting unsteadily to his feet, James recovered his wits enough to return the woman’s mocking stare before Tavin hoisted him on his back.
The platform known as the “Catch” was a precarious platform indeed. It was scarcely five feet deep, and without a barrier of any kind, a fall of hundreds of feet yawning at its edge. As they skirted the narrow ledge, James kept his eyes trained upon the wall beside them, unwilling to trust his sanity with the sight of the perilous drop below. It was with a sigh of relief when at last they passed through an opening and back inside the tree.
They walked on in silence, again surrounded by the unadorned walls of a meandering corridor. The adrenaline that had so recently flooded his body following the terrifying ascent was quickly replaced by bone-weary tiredness. Feeling a soft tapping upon his shoulder, he sluggishly raised his head from where it now rested upon Tavin’s back and found Leander peering at him through the gloom. Taking something from her belt, she reached over and offered him a small wooden vessel.
‘Drink this, it will revive you somewhat.’
Her words were kindly meant, but a residual harshness marred her voice as though she were unfamiliar with displays of kindness.
James screwed up his face and turned his head away, ‘I’m not drinking any more of that stuff!’
‘It is not the water of the wellspring,’ she chided impatiently, ‘it is metheglin, an alcoholic beverage fermented from honey, Merrin berries and the sap of the Hobine. It has certain restorative powers that will aid your recovery.’
Lacking the strength or will to refuse her a second time, James took the bottle in an unsteady hand and took a tentative sip. The instant the first of the liquid filled his mouth he instinctively gulped the entire contents down his throat. It tasted the way orange blossom smelled, but laced with a sweetness that was just beyond description. There was a momentary sensation of burning, as when consuming strong liquor, but when it had cleared he was left feeling strangely revived. The constant pain in his wrists and arms dwindled to a dull throb as the darkness at the edges of his vision began to recede into the depths from which it had come.
‘Thank you,’ James said, confusedly peering back at her with eyes that felt suddenly fresh and alert. ‘I feel… better, much better.’
‘You will need all the strength and lucidity you can muster for your meeting with the old man, for I fear this will not be easy,’ Leander said, stowing the bottle and casting a troubled glance at Tavin. ‘My father told me of the monk’s… incapacity.’
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
‘Incapacity?’ James said, screwing up his face. ‘Just who the hell is this guy anyway?’
Balen’s daughter spoke before Leander could respond, causing the young woman to scowl darkly at her cousin.
‘Kloven-Perrin is a monk of the order of Kloven, the sun-worshippers of the Klovelli Mountains.’
James remembered Lord Galen speaking the same incomprehensible nonsense the night they had left Galendar.
‘And what the hell is that supposed to mean?’ he growled.
‘The Kloven are a monastic sect that resides high among the peaks of the Klovelli Mountains,’ the woman’s stern voice intoned. ‘Theirs is a religion based upon the worship of Yophine, a god who they believe resides within the sun. Whether or not such a god truly exists, their worship grants them certain powers beyond the ken of normal men.’
‘What kind of powers?’ James asked doubtfully.
‘The monks of the Kloven do not sleep, nor do they partake of food for sustenance. They are far-sighted, yet physically blind. They are formidable adversaries in combat, yet require no weapons other than what they possess of hand and foot.’
With a measured pause, the young woman turned and fixed him with her stony gaze.
‘And, they are immortal.’
James’ first impulse was to smirk, but as these preposterous descriptions settled onto his ears, he realised with dismay that he had heard them before. He remembered now the young mother – was her name Lynnia? – telling her son of these old men of the mountains.
‘Perrin,’ James muttered beneath his breath, ‘you were taken by the Kloven into the mountains… but you were just a boy! How can it be you?’
‘So what’s he doing here?’ James asked, trying not to succumb to the uncertainty now boiling within his head. ‘Your father said he was mad. What happened to him if he’s so untouchable?’
‘I said that he is immortal, not infallible,’ the woman retorted. ‘The cause of the monk’s madness is a mystery. All we know is that ten turns ago he appeared one morning, standing before the Citadel gates. Somehow he had evaded the sentries within the outer forests, as well as those upon the bridge fording the lake. He would not answer the hails of the guards, but merely stared up at the sky as though he were deaf as well as blind. The guards were foolish enough to lay hands upon him when he did not respond, and were promptly tossed into the lake like helpless children. It was only when my father approached him that he spoke the tongue of our people.
‘We have few dealings with the world outside of the Gelding, but the legend of the Kloven is known to us and could not be chanced. There is an oft’ told tale of one such monk who faced an entire army that had laid siege to a peaceful settlement in his keeping. Of the two hundred barbarians that faced him that day, only one survived to tell of the encounter. Whether there is any truth to such a tale, the council of lords decided it prudent not to make enemy of such a man.
‘However, it was not long before my father discovered that the monk was not of sound mind. Of the many hours they spent in conversation, only two fragments of information made any sense. He told my father that he was named Kloven-Perrin and that he must be granted access to the summit of the Clyst to meditate.
‘And it is there, upon the Watch that he has resided ever since.’
‘Ten years? Up there?’ James asked incredulously.
Balen’s daughter sighed with irritation.
‘He paces the Watch endlessly, talking to himself in a tongue none can decipher. He is guarded day and night, but in all those turns he has not altered his behaviour nor uttered a string of words that has made any sense.’
‘And my life depends on him?’ James barked. ‘A bloody madman?’
Balen’s daughter smiled ruefully as they reached the end of the corridor and back into sunlight. ‘Unfortunately for you, that is indeed so.’
James groaned when they emerged to find another of the cage-like funnels, and soon the sound of his screams once more filled the air as they took their second jump into the ever greater heights of the tree. The great white wall of the tree pressed upon them, and again they alighted upon a ledge that settled beneath them as though conjured out of thin air.
There followed another journey through twisting corridors and precarious ledges before they finally mounted the last of the Risers.
This last flight was perhaps the most terrifying, for the white tree no longer resembled a sheer wall, but a rapidly narrowing column. The final Catch, when it settled beneath them, was scarcely large enough for them all to land upon, and were it not for Tavin’s hand so tightly grasping his arm, James would surely have fallen to his death.
‘We reach the entrance to the Watch,’ Balen’s daughter intoned, solemnly touching the hilt of her wooden sword. ‘There is scant space above, so I will accompany the prisoner alone.’
‘Jame is our charge,’ Leander replied through gritted teeth. ‘If any are to accompany him, it will be us.’
‘As you wish, cousin,’ the woman replied tartly.
And so saying, she grasped James’ arm and pulled him along the narrow ledge. The wind howled across them, tugging James’ robes and threatening to unbalance his clumsy feet. The trunk of the tree was now less than twenty feet wide, and as he trailed behind the young woman, he pressed himself flat against the curving wall, the only solidity remaining in a space consumed by sky.
When the platform ended, it was replaced thereafter by a flight of stairs protruding from the diminished trunk like the stumps of severed branches. With dismay, James’ eyes followed the precarious way ahead, the crude staircase ascending around the curve of the trunk high above their heads. Without hesitation, he lunged for a small opening cut into the wall and dropped obstinately to the ground.
‘That’s it,’ James cried, trembling violently. ‘I can’t go any further, I simply can’t!’
Balen’s daughter sneered down at him.
‘A bird afraid of flight,’ she grimaced, tugging at his arm, ‘a coward afraid of height! I see that the entertainment you provide is of a limited variety indeed!’
‘Enough!’ Leander shouted above the droning wind. ‘Tavin will take him from here.’
Reluctantly, Balen’s daughter relinquished her hold and stalked away up the stairs followed closely by her cousin. With Tavin’s help, James stood, pressing himself against the wall as his robes fluttered and snapped around him.
‘Tavin, please, I can’t do this!’ he pleaded.
But the young man only shook his head in regret before hoisting him upon his back. The vertiginous stair rounded upon James’ vision and he quickly clamped his eyes shut as the wind bore down upon them. The younger man swayed with his burden, but his ascent was unfaltering and it wasn’t long before his disconcerting movement ceased.
With the concealing trunk of the tree now beneath them, the view he had tried so desperately to avoid since gaining its heights now shuddered back into his consciousness. The sky was the first to demand his attention, a depthless blue which seemed to stretch on forever. And then it was the encircling mountains, pushing through the layer of forest and hoisting it into the sky in peaks of bronze and copper. But it was the view below that almost undid him, for the crater valley was now reduced to a monstrous pit; the shimmering lake at its centre a mere pond at his feet.
Hurriedly, he pulled his gaze from these sights and back to those gathered around him. With his arm braced around Tavin’s lean frame, he saw that they were perched upon the last of the perilous ledges adorning the white tower. A few paces away, two ornately carved posts gave entrance to what Balen’s daughter had called The Watch; a small flat roof bounded by a railing no higher than his knees.
Like a child reaching for the pillared legs of its parent, James lurched for this last bastion of solidity and clasped a hand around each of their carved forms. Only after he had wedged himself between did he did he allow his gaze to rise, seeing for the first time the man who held his life so precariously in his hands. He realised now that what he had previously thought to have been the tattered remains of a flag, fluttering from the top of the tower, was in fact the rotting garments that hung in shreds from the man’s emaciated body. Perhaps once they had been the brilliant yellow robes he remembered from his dream, but time beyond reckoning had reduced them to the blackened rags barely fit to cover the frail body beneath.
Another measure of the monk’s time upon the summit was imprinted upon the weathered ground at his feet. Ten years of endless pacing had left its mark, etching a shallow groove within which he was trapped like a marble enslaved to an unbroken circle. A profound sadness descended upon James then, for the monk looked anything but the dangerous man Balen’s daughter had described. It was more like watching the forlorn footsteps of a lost child or the senile wanderings of an old man.
In the centre of the circular space, James noticed a tiny object sitting within the middle of the circle worn by the monk’s endless pacing. It was a small hoop of wood, blackened and tarnished by age, a focal point that seemed to pull the old man around it like a lost moon caught within its gravity. With blinding force, a memory of the two young boys running along the shifting weave of the Willow Barrow returned to his mind. He saw again the ring of willowing that the boy’s younger brother had made as they looked out across the meadow to their home beneath the mountains. The boy had tossed it into the wind where it had hovered for a moment like a Frisbee before it had fallen to the ground at Perrin’s feet.
‘Well? What are you waiting for?’
James flinched, brought suddenly back to reality by the scornful voice at his back.
‘Your audience with Kloven-Perrin awaits,’ Balen’s daughter mocked.
James turned uncertainly, his hands clutching the carved posts as though they were the only things keeping him aloft. Balen’s daughter smiled back at him mirthlessly, her uncompromising stance rigid with impatience. But Leander’s expression was harder to read. Brushing a wisp of dark hair from her eyes, she returned his scrutiny with what might have been concern. But as her gaze lingered, she seemed to hesitate, offering instead her silent affirmation with a curt nod of her head.
Unwilling to trust his legs across the precarious rooftop, James got onto his hands and knees and crawled along the ground, the cold wind raking its fingers through him. Reaching the shallow depression, he tentatively got to his feet and nervously regarded the old man as he approached. The monk’s opaque eyes stared through him, as sightless and unyielding as marbles. His skin was as dark as cured leather, his head completely bald as though once seared by fire. And yet… the shadow of the boy he had once been remained within the sun-blasted skin of his face. The boyish features were hardened and more robust, but they were unmistakably those of the boy he had last glimpsed in a dream.
‘What did they do to you?’ James muttered as he regarded the darkened husk of the man the boy had become.
Abruptly, he came to a halt. The sightless eyes continued to stare through him, his blackened lips mouthing words that could not be heard. A gust of wind pulled the ragged remains of the man’s robes across his body, exposing the gauntness of his skeletal frame.
Before James could utter a word, the old man moved. James flinched, fearing he would be struck. But instead, he merely shuffled to the side and resumed his endless walk.
‘Return,’ Balen’s daughter commanded, ‘you have failed.’
James winced, and turned awkwardly on the spot. The woman made to walk forward but he raised his hand, warding her back.
‘I haven’t even tried yet!’ he shouted.
Goaded by the terrible implications of failing, James limped forward, again placing himself in the path of the monk’s mindless pacing. The old man came to a halt before him, his wizened face betraying no hint of reaction to the obstruction once more barring his way. James was about to speak when the old man again proceeded to shuffle past.
Instinctively, James raised his hand, pressing it to the man’s bony chest. Remembering all too late what Balen’s daughter had said of the guards that had been thrown into the lake, he recoiled, suddenly petrified that he would be cast from the tower. But the old man remained perfectly still, only a faint flicker of movement continuing to linger upon his blackened lips.
When Kloven-Perrin finally spoke, its sound sent a cold shiver rippling down James’ spine. The voice was cracked and hoarse as though his vocal chords had atrophied from years of silence. But gradually, his fragile words took shape in the air between them…
‘… a place of rubble, tottering towers and bridges unsound… brine at its depths, gulls in its rafters…’
‘I… I’m sorry, I don’t understand,’ James interrupted, his hand trembling upon the man’s chest.
‘… within the stone vaults of the columbarium… there, I saw him walking among the dead…’ the man said, his voice trailing away into a hoarse whisper.
‘You saw who?’ James asked uncertainly. ‘Who did you see?’
But his question went unanswered, the old man’s gaze lingering upon a point beyond physical distance.
‘My… my name’s James,’ he continued. ‘I don’t know how I got here, but I’m in big trouble!’
James hesitated, feeling suddenly out of his depth and uncertain how to proceed. Looking over his shoulder he caught the eye of Balen’s daughter and felt a wave of panic wash over him.
‘Bloody hell, they want to kill me, and only you can stop them doing it!’ he shouted.
The old man’s head tilted to the side, his sightless eyes narrowing. For the first time, the monk appeared to register his presence, a sensation which raised gooseflesh across his body.
‘I need your help,’ James said, taking a nervous step backwards.
The old man remained motionless as the wind tugged at his rotting garments, his body as still as a stone statue wrapped in rags. Only the sightless white orbs of his eyes appeared to be alive, conveying a scrutiny more penetrating than any he had ever experienced before.
At last, the man’s darkened lips twitched and closed, pressing together with unsettling finality. Then, with what might have been sadness or pity, he shook his head, sending the searchlight of his focus recoiling back into the oblivion from which it had emerged. This time, when the monk strode forward, James had to stumble from out of his path.
‘It is over!’ Balen’s daughter shouted triumphantly.
The young woman strode confidently forward, and in sudden desperation, James lurched out of her grasp, lumbering into the centre of the tower. Balen’s daughter hesitated, stopping dead in her tracks, her satisfied grin replaced by a grimace of terror.
‘Do not!’ she gasped.
But it was too late.
James was already stooping towards the ground, his desperate eyes fixed upon the blackened ring that lay like a scorched circle in the pristine white of the wooden floor. The ring was as smooth as polished stone and at first his fingers fumbled clumsily across its glassy surface, but at last he grasped it, raising it into the air in a trembling fist.
Balen’s daughter recoiled from the sight, scrambling from the rooftop like a frightened child. But James no longer cared about her. He looked down in fascination at his hand and the hoop of black curled between his fingers. A familiar numbness pulsated in his hand and traced its way up his arm, filling the left side of his body like a swarm of bees. But for once it wasn’t the cold, unyielding fingers of the cancer still residing within his brain, but a generous warmth, imbued with feelings of love and affection so overwhelming that it brought tears of joy to his eyes. The incessant howling of the wind receded from him, and somewhere far away, distant bells chimed upon the air.
A violent tearing of fabric cut through the silence, bringing with it the return of the howling wind. Compelled by the jarring assault on his senses, James looked up to find the monk towering above him; his white marble eyes blazing with cold hatred from the blackened husk of his face.
Gripped by terror, James froze on the spot, his hand opening in a spasm of contracting muscle. The ring hit the ground with a hollow thud, before rolling like a dropped penny across the wooden floor. Bracing his face between his arms, he held his breath and peered up at the monk whose mouth was now open in a snarl of blackened teeth. Somewhere out of sight, the ring spun, rattling away the last of its energy; the sound of its final retort loud despite the wind that howled across them. When silence registered its final resting, the old man’s fury suddenly dissolved back into the vacuous depths from which it had sprung. No longer mindful of his presence, he dutifully reclaimed the ring from where it had fetched up before returning it to the epicentre of his diminutive domain.
Cold fingers roughly closed around his arm, dragging him savagely out of the space. Balen’s daughter was livid with rage as she pulled him unceremoniously down the precarious stairs.
‘Fool!’ the young woman seethed as James sprawled upon the platform of the Catch. ‘You risked all our lives with such a reckless action!’
Before he could recover his senses, James was again dragged to his feet and pitched through the arched doorway within which he had cowered earlier. The room they entered had been hollowed out of what little remained of the tree’s diminished girth. Roughly circular in shape, the chamber was empty but for five ominous holes, which sat in the middle of the room like the gaping mouths of sewer drains.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ James cried desperately.
With a painful shove, his feet were brought to the edge of one of the holes.
‘Tavin, help me!’ he yelled, as the young man entered the small room with Leander. But Tavin remained silent, turning his pained eyes to Leander.
‘Calapine,’ Leander’s voice snapped, ‘give him more time. He spoke with the monk in his own tongue. We cannot know what transpired between them!’
‘Time has been wasted enough!’ Calapine seethed.
Pressing her mouth close to James’ ear, her last words were for him and him alone.
‘Your gods have failed you!’
With a violent shove, James pitched backwards. His bare feet teetered for a moment on the edge of the hole and then he was falling like a stone into darkness.