Eight Era, cycle 1721 – cycle of the squatting dog, season of Unkh, day 300

Amaka stood in a gentle, waist-high stream, rubbed her face with the cold water and contemplated her still new body. She was collecting an impressive amount of scars and was in the best physical condition of her life; add to that her transformed figure in her new non-human race, and it all resulted in her not recognising her own reflection and feeling alien in her own skin.

Amaka’s musings were interrupted by the arrival of a nervous woman who stripped and entered the stream, nodding to Amaka as they passed each other. Amaka assumed it was the stories of the sheer amount of bloodshed that were causing the girl’s nerves, because so far, the woman had been relatively liberal about getting naked around each other – but not so much around the men.

Amaka’s handicap meant that she could only dress in casual clothing; all items of armour – even leather armour – were designed for someone with both hands. Without her second hand, she couldn’t tighten the clothing properly, so even though she was facing powerful creatures nearly every day, she was unable to wear suitable protective clothing. On the subject of suitable clothing, this planet couldn’t make a bra worth a damn. Everything related to a bra offered little support, so it hurt if she exercised for an extended period. On the other hand, it meant she’d used her healing spell often and was getting her magicka attributes up. If she could invent the sports bra, she’d probably become the richest person on the Sphere.

Over the top of her camisole, Amaka wore a flannel shirt (they were a very popular fashion, and all the styles were what she thought of as a man’s cut); it was an impressive shirt that offered a 30% resistance to slash damage. A brown leather jacket, like a cowgirl jacket (she felt guilty about the leather, but there weren’t any synthetic materials in the Sphere), offered her 25% piercing resistance; her high-waisted, flared trousers – like those worn by a proper hippy – didn’t give her any real benefit, but they were the best she could find. The three magical rings she owned (the ring of weak haemostasis, the ring of fractural reduction and the lungs-of-a-whale ring) and her magical earring (the earring of rejuvenation) were the only items she owned that felt like they truly belonged in this game-style world. The rest of her ensemble was akin to something she’d pick up at a charity shop. She dressed in under five minutes, which was the only upside of her outfit. All things considered, however, the biggest complaint she had wasn’t her missing hand but her boots, which chafed. She’d had numerous blisters, even more than she’d had sore nipples from the lack of proper breast support. Her current pair of boots was a well-worn pair, and she’d partnered them with some good socks – her boots were a size larger than they needed to be, which allowed her to account for the socks – and she’d gone a day without any blisters. So far, so good.

After dressing, Amaka returned to the village to find a gathering of the elders with Ben seemingly holding court amongst them. Amaka approached hesitantly, wondering if she might be able to slip by without being noticed, but she was hailed and waved over by the group.

‘Is it true that you’ve surrendered control to Ben? I like Ben, he’s a good lad, but he’s never been… well, what you might call… “leadership material”,’ said a goblin called Scrag.

Amaka hesitated before telling them, ‘I didn’t surrender anything. Ben is… well, why don’t you explain what you are, Ben?’

‘This village – Tumbleswood – was once a named location; this means that someone discovering it will receive a few experience points and a notification window. It also means that, after having been destroyed, it can be rebuilt, and the beneficiaries – you – will have an immediate named location and all the benefits that entails. One of these advantages is a settlement guide. Normally, this would be little more than a prompt in your vision, showing the settlement’s information – like the bestiary description next to a creature’s race. You’d have a description of what each settlement window means. However, the last owner – Neffer Mawds – chose to mutilate the settlement and tied a sentient creature to the settlement to act as its defender; that creature was killed by Amaka and her party. During this process, my real self died, and because the settlement had lost its… its spirit guide, my soul was able to bond with the settlement. As such, I’m no longer Ben but neither am I Tumbleswood; I’m a combination. A physical manifestation of the settlement, if you will.’

‘An anthropomorphic personification?’ Amaka was rather pleased she knew the term for it.

‘No, that would mean I’m the result of the settlers’ minds shaping my form, and I’m not the consequence of that. My shape is that of Ben’s previous body.’

‘And you agreed to this?’ Helmhock turned to Amaka.

‘It was my suggestion. He’s sentient, so owning him is akin to slavery. Look, I’ve got a list of quests as long as my arm, and I’ve got this Neffer Mawds calling me out and sending damn vampires, so it seemed to me that what we need here is stability. Ben is possibly immortal, and a cross between a person and the settlement, so he’s going to do what’s best for everything and everyone here. Perfect solution.’ This was mostly a lie; Amaka hadn’t thought it through at all, and now spun the truth for all she was worth.

There was mixed muttering amongst the group, with some seemingly thinking it was a good idea and others mistrustful of having something un-alive in control.

‘Well, there’s very little that can be done, you know,’ Amaka concluded with a shrug. ‘Ben’s in control already, so there’s nothing to be done.’

‘Unless he surrenders control,’ someone shot back.

‘This situation isn’t just new to me but is almost unique to the Sphere. As such, there’s very little put in place to govern this situation. Whichever god oversees the rules of the universe is sending me interface messages with lots of ampersands, interabangs and ellipses, as well as a few choice words. I’m not sure I could undo this decision, even if it were in my best interests,’ Ben explained.

‘Right. Anyway, the more pressing issue is about this Neffer Mawds business. If he sent a kamikaze vampire just to deliver a message, can we really afford to ignore him? So, what’s the best way to head south? Is the desert easy to cross?’

‘I wouldn’t if I were you; it’s ghastly hot,’ Philippa said, shaking her head.

‘So what’s the best way to get through the desert?’ Amaka repeated.

There was still a lot of arguing about the Ben situation, but the general consensus to Amaka’s question was to travel via boat.

Ben held out his hand, and lights spread out into a luminous three-dimensional map with different colours showing the different topology.

A river labelled “Dunaj” was the first thing to appear on the map; it ran close to a mountain range before the river continued on a meandering route, passing not very close to a dot labelled Tumbleswood and another labelled Avalia.

‘These names always make me think of England. They have some old villages with really anachronistic names like Wootton Wawen or Wem. I’m amazed any Englishman can take himself seriously,’ Amaka declared, laughing.

Then the map revealed a second river labelled “Rhun”, which ran perpendicular to the Dunaj; the Rhun ended in branching rivers, like a simple drawing of tree roots, and a muddy, green bog covered the land between all the branching rivers that fed into the Dunaj. The Rhun ran through a hill and out into the desert.

Amaka rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Where would the Temple of Her Lady of Virtue be on this map?’

A new dot appeared, which confirmed that Tumbleswood was nearly equidistant between the temple and Avalia.

‘What’s that?’ a human named Helmsworth asked.

‘It’s a place I received a quest from once. Hunters were being attacked there; I’m surprised I haven’t finished the quest yet. I guess that means that it wasn’t the caroks that were attacking them.’

‘I’ve not heard anything about hunters getting attacked,’ someone else said.

‘You have business with hunters?’ Amaka questioned, trying desperately not to make it sound like an accusation.

‘I’m the head of the abattoir; Amadeus is my name, and I speak to the hunters regular like. I’d check east of the temple not west,’ he suggested.

‘This is east, isn’t it?’ Amaka was confused.

Amadeus shook his head. ‘Nah, the map’s upside down.’

‘Right. Anyway, back to the original point: how easy is it to catch a boat going down the Rhun?’

The map zoomed out, and a few new towns were indicated.

‘The Dunaj is a heavily trafficked river; it’s one of the most popular trade routes around, and it goes through the Germanic tribes, the old Slavs Empire, the Achaemenid Empire and such, so you’ll get a boat easy enough,’ Ben explained as the map zoomed out still further.

Amaka frowned. ‘Can you zoom out a bit more? That shoreline looks familiar.’

‘This is a vague map; I’m using the lay lines, but they’re fluid,’ stated Ben.

‘That’s the Mediterranean, which means that this is Europe!’ Amaka exclaimed, pointing. ‘I mean, it doesn’t look exactly like Europe, but still – that has to be Europe! I landed in this planet’s version of Europe.’

‘Does that mean something?’ Philippa asked kindly.

‘Well, no, but it’s just strange to think.’ Amaka shook herself. ‘Anyway, back to the point, how do I flag down a boat?’

Skill increased: navigation

Well, you’ve just located yourself through extra-dimensional, er, dimensions, so how could I not reward you? Let’s say 20 levels.

Milestone unlocked! Navigation 32, 2,000 experience points (9,603 experience points to the next level)

A reward is warranted! I’ll think about it…

‘Most of the boats will be those of travelling Anasy, see, which are easy enough to get aboard. All you need is a pot of honey; the smell will attract the woozle,’ Helmhock said.

‘What’s a woozle?’ Amaka asked confused.

‘It’s a water weasel; they’re quite large, around 4 feet long, or 8 feet if you go snout to tail. They pull the Anasy boats, and they love honey. The Anasy are travelling traders. Goods, repairs, stories and songs – the Anasy do just about everything, and they’re everywhere. It’s best not to upset an Anasy; they talk, see?’ Helmhock elaborated.

Amaka shrugged. ‘I don’t really get the importance.’

‘Well, most people don’t travel; it’s unsafe, see? So the Anasy are their trade, and through their stories, many people get news of the world and even an education. If you upset the Anasy, you’re cut off from the world. Avalia’s reason for existing was the Anasy, who visited every few months.’

‘Got it. Get a lift off the Anasy, and don’t piss them off. Gotcha.’ Amaka stuck her thumb up like she was hailing a lift. ‘Where’s the honey?’

Philippa looked regretful as she said, ‘I have a couple of pots, but I can’t give them away for free. I’ll need around fifty silver.’

Amaka swore. ‘For a pot of honey, that’s outrageous!’

Philippa nodded. ‘I know, but honey isn’t found locally.’

‘We need to start keeping bees, yellow gold… er, liquid gold,’ Amaka grumbled, but she liked Philippa, so she gave over the money.

‘So when are you heading off? I won’t lie; I’m more than half tempted to join you,’ Golgharfinch the goblin said.

Amaka shrugged. ‘Feel free; if it’s a long journey, we could use the conversation.’

Golgharfinch seemed to be chewing over the decision, but then he shook his head, ‘I don’t think so. Bo mentioned you were hard work; I prefer more amiable travelling companions.’

Amaka blushed and stuttered, but she failed to come out with anything eloquent or indeed even articulate.

‘I think we should leave soonish; I don’t like the idea of that evil master sending more vampires here,’ Syeda suggested.

‘Evil master?’ Amaka repeated, rolling her eyes.

‘Well, if he can enthral a vampire, he must be really powerful,’ Syeda said shyly.

‘I don’t disagree; I just think the name’s a little bit pantomime.’ Amaka suddenly felt guilty at her last outburst.

Helmhock cleared his throat before asking, ‘Was there any indication about when you’re expected?’

‘No, but I do want to leave as soon as possible. I think we’ll get a good night’s sleep and head off early tomorrow,’ Amaka declared, and then she sighed. ‘There just ain’t any rest for the wicked. I have umpteen quests to do, but we can’t afford to ignore the threat of Neffer Mawds.’

‘Don’t worry; I’ll do my best to keep the land and inhabitants progressing towards their next levels,’ Ben vowed.

‘Good. “Constant vigilance,” as Mad-Eye Moody would say – well, technically, it was Barty Crouch Junior, but the point still stands,’ Amaka concluded with a nod.

‘So, if you’re leaving, who’s in charge?’ Scale asked before holding his hands out placatingly. ‘I understand that Ben is in control of the village, but not all problems will relate directly to the village. What buildings to prioritise, where to pull lumber, and where to grow food – these things Ben can do. But patrol routes, the head smith and sleeping arrangements – are these things really suitable for the village itself to organise?’

‘I agree, I don’t feel required to appoint the head smith,’ Ben concurred.

‘So what we need are two separate leaders: one for the physical things, which is Ben’s remit…’

Philippa smiled at Ben and then continued, ‘and the second leader needs to be more cultural, setting the local laws, assigning group responsibilities and whatnot. Now I feel this should be Amaka; I think this is a natural role for her.’

There was some mild agreement to this.

Amaka held up her hands. ‘Look, I mean I can’t just sit around here making decisions. I need to be out there completing quests and protecting us from threats like this Neffer Mawds character.’

‘However – personally speaking – that’s what I want from my leader. A front-footed, independent, brave figure whom people will respect. We live in the borderlands; we don’t need a politician so much as a general.’

This time there was much more vocal support for Philippa’s words.

‘But I’m leaving tomorrow for an indeterminable period if I even survive.’ Amaka threw her hands up in frustration.

‘A council, or a group of peers, that’s what we need,’ Scale added.

Amaka let out a frustrated sound; she’d hoped Ben would be her responsibility get-out.

‘Great, so we’re back to elections,’ Amaka muttered.

‘Sure, one man, one vote, and you’ll be the man with the vote,’ Helmhock joked.

‘Yes, I know that old joke; the problem with tyrannies is that they’re always ruled by insane people, even if they start out as sane. I think the only way to rule is with complete openness. We’re ruling for the good of the people, so there’s no reason for people to not see all we do, day by day, brass farthing by brass farthing. We need to have a glass cabinet that’s completely transparent in all areas to avoid corruption and stuff. And the rules are always to protect the weak, the strong can – by definition – protect themselves. Someone reword all that to make it eloquent, please.’

*

The next day, Amaka dangled her feet in the Dunaj, waiting for a boat. Next to her was an open pot of honey and a sunbathing Syeda. It seemed that this planet had different standards of beauty, as the majority of the people Amaka had seen had some form of scar, and the woman didn’t shave their bodies. Amaka had asked about this, as she wasn’t used to seeing hairy woman, and one of the things she’d liked about her new form was its lack of hair. Apparently, shaving was seen as a sign of depravity and poverty because only those concerned with lice and such would bother to shave their bodies.

As they lay in the pleasant/bordering-on-too-hot sunshine, a myriad of boats passed by, around two of them an hour. They mostly travelled in packs, though, so a few hours might pass without the girls seeing anything. However, all of these boats were either mechanical-rune powered or even steam-powered, so the pot of honey hadn’t helped.

A random thought occurred to Amaka, and she pulled out her soul crystal. ‘Hey Syeda, do you know what this is?’

Syeda looked over, took the soul crystal and smiled. ‘Oh, it’s a soul crystal. Yeah, I know what these are. So, say you run out of magicka, you take a potion, right? Only if you take three of them, you get potion sickness, you have a migraine and your magicka doesn’t regenerate properly for the next day, yeah?’

Amaka shrugged. ‘If you say so. I know a little about the core stats, and that if you drain them and restore them with potions, you get ill… or something.’

Syeda nodded. ‘Sure, only there are ways around that. You have water and food infused with mana, stamina or health, and it restores a small amount, but it’s a healthy substitute. Although there’s only so much water you can drink or food you can eat before you get bloated. So imagine your core stats as a bar and not a number. So, my black health bar drops, and I want to restore it—’

‘Black health bar?’ Amaka interrupted, confused.

‘Sure, I call it my death bar. Vivid black on bright white; when the black is used up, I’m dead,’

Syeda expounded, laughing. ‘You can colour it what you like, as everything in your interface can be customised. Anyway, my health drops, I take a health potion, and the black returns. So far, so good, right?’

Amaka shrugged again. ‘Sure.’

‘Okay. Only it doesn’t heal me, just restores my health, so instead of filling my bar up with black, it should be grey. I have this much life to use up, but my health – the black part – hasn’t moved, though a grey bar has stretched past it. Now with a water infusion, my bar might go up a fraction, but it’s the black bar that’s moved, not the grey. So it’s a small restore, but it’s healed me, not given me more life,’ Syeda explained.

Amaka rubbed the back of her head. ‘So, it’s like a drink. If I have orange juice, drink half of it and then fill it up with water, then this means I have a full glass and can drink it, but only half of it is actually orange juice?’

Syeda frowned. ‘Yeah, sort of. Now a soul crystal is like that water infusion, only it holds more and it only restores mana. You put mana in the crystal, and when you need the mana, you take it back and you don’t get mana sickness. You can use as much mana as you like, and if you restore it from a soul crystal, it has no side effects. They’re really useful, and you have a big one here; it’s worth a lot of money.’

‘So why is it called a soul crystal?’ Amaka asked, confused.

‘I guess it’s because of the most common way of filling it. You cast this spell on something, and when it dies, you take its mana,’ Syeda told her.

‘Right, so what about someone’s soul? Can you fill one of these with a soul?’ Amaka pressed.

Syeda shook her head. ‘Not that I’ve heard of, but I’ve not seen one like this; normally, they’re clear, but this one’s a deep purple, almost black.’

They continued to sit in companionable silence until, finally, six boats drifted into view, pulled by strange-looking creatures. Each looked a little like a weasel, with a big, bushy tail and a long, slender body, but with big flippers and a long snout like a coati. As they swam closer, they seemed to catch scent of the honey and increased in speed.

Race: woozle

The woozle: ‘Not just a pet for Beltane, but a pet for life.’ These words have become synonymous with the woozle, as a woozle pup is adorable but grows quickly in its first few years, and so is often abandoned by the riverside when older.

Woozles have commonly been used by boatmen to pull their barges, as woozles have high endurance and even greater strength. They’re friendly, but if confronted, they’ll often choose to flee, so in these hazardous times, it’s caused many boatmen to stop using woozles for this.

Woozles love honey.

Genus: Mustelidae

Class: C

Affiliation: none

Harvestable items: none (although many will kill them for their flippers, believing them to be a homeopathic cure, but these people are mistaken because the flippers have no beneficial effects)

State: hungry

Level: 34

Health 1,700/1,700, stamina 1,700/1,700, magicka 1,700/1,700

Boon: water resistance (level of water resistance unknown)

Curses: easily distracted around honey – seriously!

Bestiary increased

‘Ahoy the shore!’ someone called from the lead boat.

Amaka waved and waited for the woozles to clamber up the levee and lap at the honey pot.

‘I’m Amaka, and my friend is Syeda; we require transport south,’ Amaka called.

‘The name’s Earnest. You’ve got a way of hijacking a journey. You know it would have been polite to call to us first,’ Earnest moaned. He had a voice that seemed naturally suited to moaning.

‘Oh, er, I was told this was how you do it?’ Amaka replied sheepishly.

‘Well, it works, but it’s not what you’d call polite,’ he complained.

‘So, may we come aboard?’ Amaka asked as she shooed Syeda away from the woozles; Syeda had fallen in love with them.

‘Get them aboard, Earney, and then we can get back underway,’ someone shouted from one of the other boats.

‘You’d best speak to Elder Xers; he’s downstairs, holding court,’ Earnest said, and he pulled out a broad slab of wood, which he put in place for Amaka and Syeda to board the boat.

The boat was similar to a canal boat but slightly taller and broader, and it was covered with esoteric items and symbols. Amaka had spent a year in the Netherlands and lived on a canal boat during that time, so she found the boat comforting.

The inside of the boat was unique to the world she now found herself in, as it was bigger on the inside. The grimy windows on the outside were broad and contained ornate stained glass, and the staircase from the deck was a decorative and spiral one. The boat’s inside was wood panelled from floor to ceiling, and the only metal items were small flourishes here and there for style. It was hot inside and smelled of hot brass, tea, coffee and that odd scent that heavy woollen carpets and old clothing seemed to generate.

Amaka noticed an old lady close by and approached her.

‘Excuse me. Hi, um… I was told to speak to… er, Xers?’ Amaka asked.

‘Elder Xers? You’re a bit late for that, love; he’s dead.’ The woman lit a pipe and pointed with its bit to a sheet near the centre of the room.

‘Wait, what? When did that happened?’ Amaka spluttered.

‘Some half an hour ago. I hope it wasn’t important? I’m Faye, but most call me Granny,’ the woman said with a wide smile.

‘Oh, well, I was looking to barter for passage. I want to travel down the Rhun,’ Amaka explained as her stomach sank.

‘Oh, is that all? Well, you don’t need Xers for that. Stuffy old bugger, he was. You can take my boat, The Floating Bear; I was looking for inspiration on where to go next,’ Granny declared happily.

*

The Floating Bear smelled of smoke and dog; it was a smell Amaka didn’t mind as it reminded her of her paternal grandparents’ house, but Syeda seemed uncomfortable at the concoction of smells.

‘So who are the Anasy?’ Amaka couldn’t help but ask.

‘We’re travellers, tinkerers and traders. We fix anything and will sell anything; sometimes, we’re the only source of repairs a settlement will ever see. We’re storytellers, performers, pests and even bad omens, but mostly, we’re welcome,’ Granny stated, puffing on her pipe.

‘Sounds like gypsies,’ Amaka said. ‘So where’d you come from and why do you travel?’

‘Well, the story goes like this: a long time ago, a king decided he wished for his people to have music and stories, so that they would have joy and be happy. He sent for musicians from a distant land, and upon their arrival, the king gave them the means to feed themselves before he sent them off to travel his lands and play for his people. Unfortunately, these musicians were foolish and greedy, and once they saw the crowds that their music gathered, they charged the people to listen. When the king heard this, he was furious and banished the musicians from his lands. So the musicians left and kept travelling, with no home and no lands to call their own, never settling in one place. Slowly, the musicians became humble, and they started to listen and learn.

‘They discovered old and forgotten tales, secret and lost knowledge, powerful talents and traits, and forbidden magicka, and they became custodians of it all. They were our ancestors, and today, we continue to travel and tell our stories. Even now, we still learn new tales, and we teach the young the ceremonies of their elders so that they’ll continue to give offerings to the forgotten gods to keep them appeased and stop them from returning, angry at being forgotten.’ Granny spoke in a voice heavy with import.

‘Sounds like a cross between gypsies and wiccans: travellers looking to protect and love the land and the past,’ Amaka mused.

Granny shrugged, as these people were unknown to her.

‘So Granny, would you tell me a story?’ Syeda asked.

Granny mused for a moment and nodded. ‘Very well. Here’s a story about how I joined the Anasy…’

I was deep in the forest; the sun had reached its peak, yet not a glimpse nor glimmer of sun reached us. The shade of the trees kept us cool as we walked deeper into the forest. Yet despite the serenity, as I looked around at the forest, I thought I could see strange things from the comers of my eyes: a shadow out of place here, the hint of movement there or even a whisper on the wind. Oh aye.

I was there with my beau – my man, Burr – and we were even more on edge than usual, there being such magic in the air. For there were rumours of people sleeping in the glens and disappearing, and perhaps returning the next day having aged decades or got decades younger. There were stories of babies being snatched at night and changelings put in their place. These are all stories that often signal the presence of elves.

(There was a shiver from the collected group of listeners.)

Never touch anything an elf gives you, as it places you under their ’fluence.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

The elves have many clans, and every clan has its own customs; they are very quick to anger, so you must know what clan you’ll be dealing with if ya want to avoid suffering their full wrath. Since that day, I’ve scanned many an old text, and I believe it to be the Álfar we dealt with that day.

We reached a massive oak tree that looked to be etched from time itself. It was the oldest-looking tree I’ve ever seen. The bark was split and looked like stepping stones; the leaves looked to be carved from old leather. I turned away for but a moment, distracted as a young jackalope hopped past and when I turned back…

‘Wasn't that tree standing alone a moment ago?’ I asked Burr, for now there were two old trees.

They were the oldest trees I’d ever see standing together, but I tell you this now, one of them wasn’t there before.

‘Elven tricks; they love casting illusions to break your resolve,’ Burr replied. ‘For instance, there are a lot of bits of spider web, yet I haven’t noticed a complete web yet.’

There was a… a pinch in the air, which was barely noticeable except for something akin to a heat haze, and Burr was attempting to interact with it.

I had a somewhat heated discussion with Burr, and then before I had time to wallop him for being rash, he looked triumphant and his hand vanished. A moment later, there was a slight catch behind my nose, as though I was caught, like many a fish has been, and I was standing somewhere quite else. I’m no mage, but that wasn’t a clean process, and the shoddy spellwork seemed to include our destination: the sky seemed to have dropped to barely 8 feet off the ground, so that I could jump up and have my hand in space, and the trees were growing through the sky. It was like looking at a reflection. I kept thinking that something was wrong with the tress, apart from the sky thing, and after a moment, I knew. The trees were flat, and as I looked around the small clearing we were in, I noticed that all the surrounding trees, bushes and flowers on the edge of the clearing were flat, as if I were in a picture.

This crappy illusion even affected me and Burr; as Burr moved around, the air behind him left an after-image like smoke. The after-images would hang in the air for a moment and grow longer as Burr continued to move, until they dissipated slowly. I looked behind myself, and the sight of my own image hanging in the air disturbed me; for a split second, I caught my own eye.

‘I think we may actually have discovered an Ingang,’ Burr said to me. ‘The entrance to the realm of the Álfar.’

There’s a story about the Álfar, which explains that they acted against their kind in some way and were exiled. So perhaps the reason for the poor state of the Ingang was due to the fact that they had to hide this entrance to protect it from the other elves finding and destroying it.

Not much happened for a long time, and then, not much continued to happen.

As for me, I enjoyed the time. The safety of where we were allowed me to meditate and restore all my stamina, mana and health. Yet Burr didn’t like prolonged periods of rest, and he paced constantly.

Finally, something started to happen. Slowly, the air in front of us started to shimmer and ripple visibly. An indistinct image appeared in the middle of the agitation, and the ripples started to spread, using the image as a focal point. The small image started to grow, or was it more that the ripples started to withdraw from the focal point, so the image had always been there, just hidden beneath the air in front of it?

As the space in front of the apparition withdrew, I tried to guess what it was. After a few moments, three humanoid figures stood facing us. They were thin and tall, each one being over 6 feet, with hair hanging down to their shoulders. They were all female, and I do wonder if all dwarfs are male and all elves are female – who can say?

They seemed to be wearing cloaks made of shadow; nothing could be seen but the outline of their bodies. When they had appeared fully, they took on the same texture as the background, seeming to be only two-dimensional beings.

The first of the three apparitions appeared to try to speak; it felt as though the voice was coming from everywhere, drifting in and out, and that it wasn't actually coming from the being facing us.

‘Y-Y-You dare enter our forbidden realm! We are the keepers of Clo…’

And that was that. We were left for over an hour with no more sign that the place was alive.

‘There’s not much we can do. Can you taste what’s on the air? Like old, damp leather? Fresh magic is a clean, ozone taste, and old magic that’s still active tastes like mould. But this…’ Burr smacked his lips and pulled a face. ‘It’s like a well-used leather jockstrap.’

I never asked him how he knew what that tasted like.

Anyway, eventually, the terrible taste of the magicka started to ease, and the three figures started to reappear; this time the process was almost instantaneous. The figures seemingly winked into existence.

‘You dare enter our forbidden realm! We’re the keepers of Cloan Ny Moyrn,’ the lead figure declared.

Now this was an improvement on some level, as even I was starting to fret about how long we’d been stuck in limbo. The downside was that neither I nor Burr immediately recognised the name

“Cloan Ny Moyrn”.

‘Cloan Ny Moyrn, er, the fallen children.’ That was my best guess, and I dare say my lips moved slightly as I translated the words in my head. ‘Er, they were thrown out when their alliance with the overlord Xaphan backfired, as he double-crossed the Adhene and tried to gain control of their realm for himself.’

‘Well recalled,’ Burr said. ‘However, if Xaphan was successful and we enter this realm, we may be responsible for the return of one of the demon overlords.’

‘A claim to fame to be sure,’ I responded. ‘We look to gain entry to Cloan Ny Morn lands. Will you allow us access?’

‘We can’t allow you free access to the realm we guard,’ the figure stated, which was an unsurprising response, to be sure.

‘Is there a riddle to solve or a passphrase to use that will allow us to pass?’ Burr asked, as tradition indeed dictates there has to be.

‘Solve for X: 26 plus X equals 8.’

‘Minus 18; well, that was easy,’ Burr answered.

But then another guard spoke: ‘Two horses each leave a different guard post, which are 425 miles apart. The first rider has a skill of 10 in riding and can travel at 15 miles an hour for 4 hours without rest; the second rider has a skill of 30 and can ride at 20 miles an hour for 6 hours without rest. How long until the riders meet to exchange demands?’

‘Are you serious?’ Burr was getting increasingly irate as he spoke.

Anyhoo, we came up with 8.5 hours, but what about breaks? In 8 hours, one rider would need two rests and the other just one. But then Burr had a thought: what’s to say that the riders were even taking the same path? We decided it was a trick question and answered, ‘Never,’ which was the correct answer.

Unfortunately, we had one last question to answer.

‘What is the next number in the series: 81, 243, 729?’ the third guard asked.

Now this one really had us stumped; fortunately, we were invited into the Ingang, so these quests were moot as they were made for uninvited visitors, and we were allowed entry after all.

‘You’ve done very well; we’re the Adhene,’ the lead guard confirmed.

The forest that had lain in their path was replaced by a white light emanating from an unseen source.

‘Ooh, wow, a distant light. How original,’ scoffed Burr, who was a man easily irked. ‘At least it gets us out of limbo. They couldn’t turn down the candle, could they?’

Indeed, the light was rather bright, and we had after-effects of little red spots marring our vision. After blinking vigorously, the bright light had gone, the red marks were receding, and we were left with calm blackness and shrinking angry-yellow after-image blotches. Even as we stood still, it felt like the air was resisting us and yet pulling us in at the same time. I thought my back was moving faster than my front; the back of my head seemed to be travelling through my skull and it soon passed through my head entirely. The process only lasted for a few moments, and once my whole body had gone through this process, I was released from the hold and I staggered to the ground.

‘All of that just to get us facing in the opposite direction,’ Burr complained. ‘I’ll never wear a jumper inside out again.’

I felt rather alarmed, especially as the new realm we’d entered was in a soft negative. The sky was a dull orange, the few trees that grew there were in a sickly shade of blue and the ground was mustard yellow. The worlds of the elves are known to be in sync with those who live in the realm, so I felt that any elf who could live in a world like this, well, they must be insane.

A single elf sat on a large rock beside a placid lake that stretched into darkness. The elf was indistinct and didn't pay any attention to us as we walked around the clearing. At some point, it got up and walked away without ever turning to face us. I wandered off to explore the lake. The area was dark and damp; the only light was emanating from a pool, which was reflecting light back from an unknown source. Nothing else could be seen. The closer I got to the water, the more a feeling of enclosure spread over me, and when I spoke, my voice echoed back, hollow and cold.

‘We must be in a cave,’ I said. I’ll admit it wasn’t the most profound statement I’ve ever made.

‘Welcome to Cloan Ny Moyrn,’ said a voice that went straight into my subconscious. ‘A joke, at our expense, for the name in the old langue expresses our downfall. Feel free to laugh.’

As you can imagine, Burr and I exchanged glances, as neither of us had any idea what the voice meant, what with not speaking this old langue.

‘We’re not interested,’ Burr declared quickly, desperate to get the next word in. ‘We’d be pleased to leave.’

‘Yet here you are, and our hospitality is priceless.’

That sentence was rather troubling, as you can guess. It could either mean that it was free – and elves aren’t known for their hospitality or generosity – or it could mean that the price was beyond measure. A bit like the cost of a healing after a two-farthing hooker.

This time I spoke, fancying myself a rather better disputant than Burr: ‘We appreciate being welcomed into your realm—’ I was cut short.

‘Then to repay your gratitude, you’ll listen to our story.’ This was a rather generous offer, which immediately had us on edge. Things are rarely too good to be true. Except dogs – what did we do to deserve dogs?

The voice began, ‘An age ago, there were more dangerous and powerful creatures than you can imagine. These were wild ages; the lives of men were but playthings. Creatures undreamed of roamed and chaos ruled. It was a time like no other. But now the world is left for man, and many of these creatures have been locked away in the dimensions where they spawned.

‘You fought, and still do, against things that you feel are invading your world. You’re wrong, of course. You invaded this world, like all others; your true realm is one of spirit, and your brief stint on this plane is no more valid than any other being.

‘However, there are some creatures that are so foul an evil that they have no place in this world, for their power and influence is terrible. Only the mad want a return to the pandemonium of the First Era. Mankind wouldn’t live through it again; you’ve become soft in the belief of your complete ownership of the Sphere. Your power and strength has waned, and so has your knowledge. Yet beings from that time have survived, and they are slowly forcing their way back. You thought the Overfiends from the Great War were terrible, but there are some that would make you beg for the rule of the Overfiends.’

Burr asked, ‘Do you mean Xaphan?’

This was not the right thing to ask; as you can imagine, the name of the one who betrayed them made them rather irate. The still water started to froth and boil, the stale air whipped and buffeted us, the lone elf who had stood guard started to screech and scream, and a chorus of elves took up the cry, despite the fact we seemed alone in the inhospitable landscape.

‘He’s the father of lies!’ was screamed into our heads

Once they’d calmed down, I challenged them: ‘So what do you want of us? Why take us from our journey, and why reveal yourselves?’

‘We aren’t the child-snatching, soul-stealing elves of yore. We’re a small crop of fay creatures tarred with the same brush as the elves. We wish for freedom; take a look at this world… it’s dying! You have nothing to fear from us,’ the voice confirmed.

As you can imagine, this was an astonishing statement. Free a clan of the elves? They could free all elves! How could they expect us to take on such a quest? Well, they used the obvious ploy: they threatened our lives unless we helped them. We were stuck in their realm at their mercy after all. And to be fair to them, they didn’t want us to free them from banishment, but from a threat. They were infuriating with their use of wording; I don’t remember the exact phrasing of the quest, but it was full of double meanings and triple negatives.

They took us to a graveyard, but the elves weren’t buried; instead, they were placed on the ground, evenly spaced. It was all rather morbid.

‘And now what?’ Burr demanded.

I agreed with the sentiment; what were we to do with a load of dead elves?

There weren’t just the dead: five shapes – small, thin humanoids – moved in an animated fashion around the graveyard. They looked like slender children; they were dressed in rags, had lank hair, the pallor of their skin was enhanced by the moonlight, and occasionally, they released little noises from excited exhalations of breath. There was a loud crack and a gagging sound; I turned, only to see that Burr had kicked over a bucket and was trying hard not to vomit. The smell from the bucket was vile and assaulted my senses.

The children had stopped moving, and so I took a step closer, then another step, and another step, and still the children weren’t moving. As I continued to move towards them, a shiver ran through the group of children, and I paused, perhaps 2–3 yards away from them. Who were these children, dressed in rags and tags and tending to the dead? And why where they suddenly so still and lifeless?

I reached into my pocket and withdrew a strong clay pot; it’s opening was covered by a square piece of leather, which was tied under the lip with string to keep the leather taught. I also retrieved a metal item to use with the contents of the pot. I untied the string, pulled out a pinch of the grainy powder within and placed it in a little dimple on the top of the metal item. There were two hooped finger holds, which I pinched, and the powder dropped in igniting with a purple flash before burning with light-blue flames. It wasn’t my intention, but it scared the children off. Kneeling, I checked the prone figures, being interested in the burial rituals of the elves. Imagine my amazement and surprise to find it was a young girl, naked like all the dead elves, yet with her eyes open!

‘Hello?’ I asked confused.

She was lying with her head sideways, her cheek pressed against the floor, arms placed loosely beside her and a listless gaze in her eyes. However, she didn’t have waxen skin and her eyes, though vacant, weren’t glazed.

‘Hello,’ I repeated softly, and I shook her shoulder.

‘What?’ she asked (and I promise you I’m not lying).

‘How are you secured to the ground?’

‘You should leave us.’

‘Are you injured? Can you not walk?’

She ignored me.

I frowned, feeling annoyed. ‘Then why are you just lying on the floor?’

‘Why…? What…? How…? Why don’t you just leave us?’

‘Are you injured? Ill? Dead, and this is a way you return to life? What is it? Why are there so many of you on the ground? Who are those children? What is going on here?’ I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what I was expecting as an answer.

‘Tal,’ she said, her voice never once betraying any emotion.

‘Well, Tal, we’re here to help you – I think. I’m not sure why we were sent here really.’

‘You can’t,’ Tal replied.

I’ll be honest, friends; by this point, I was all for giving up, were it not for the fact that Burr and I weren’t ever leaving without some sort of resolution.

‘There’s no help for the inevitability of life,’ Tal stated, which I found rather confusing. The inevitability of death – sure, that can be difficult to face. But life?

‘Why?’ I asked in consternation.

‘There are some answers you should not form a question to.’

I stood up, annoyed and less concerned than before, but I looked around to see if the others might actually be alive. ‘What happened to this lot?’ I asked one of the elves who’d brought us here.

‘We don’t know,’ it replied simply.

And so I continued trying to get a response from the prone elves.

‘Don’t ask; you don’t want to know,’ an elf called Yadira said when I spoke to her.

‘We’re trying to save you lot from bad stuff, and you’re just lying here,’ I grumbled.

‘Leave us,’ Yadira stated, her voice just as empty as the others I’d had spoken to.

‘What have they told you to make you just stay here?’ I was getting exasperated.

‘Truth, pure and unfiltered. You must leave before you find it.’

Rather a tempting offer, I thought, but I used my better judgement, compounded by the fact that there were thousands of prone elves who were unable to summon the will to move after learning the truth.

‘Well, arseholes to the lot of them,’ Burr declared in his usual short-tempered way, and he picked up one of the elves.

There was an angry outcry from the odd children as Burr handled the elf, and one of the children ran up to Burr and lashed out with a hand. Burr dropped the elf and staggered back clutching his face.

‘That little git; I’m bleeding!’ he raged.

I have to admit that I had very little sympathy. ‘Oh, it’s just a graze,’ was my concerned reply as blood was streaming out of slash wounds across his chin and jaw.

‘They’ve got poisoned claws, and this bleed debuff is going to last over a minute! What in the eight are they?’

‘Did you get a good look at them up close?’ I asked, still full of warmth.

‘Fay. They aren’t children – not human anyway,’ Burr confirmed, holding his sleeve against the freely bleeding cuts.

‘You need to wet your sleeve, otherwise your sleeve will stick to the cuts and just reopen them as you pull it away,’ I replied helpfully.

Burr ignored me and instead continued speaking: ‘They have no faces, no eyes, no noses, no ears or anything. Just small, sucking mouths and rank breath. They’re so thin – you can see ribs and things! And their hands must end in razors. Damn, this hasn’t stopped bleeding; my sleeve is coated in blood.’

I looked over at the children; they were moving forwards slowly in perfect unison, spreading out and flexing their fingers, like wind chimes drifting in a breeze. When they had separated to their satisfaction, they closed in and moved without signalling to each other, yet they acted in complete harmony. They may have looked like children, but after seeing what they did to Burr, I had no compunction about killing the little bastards.

Burr was a fighter of the Metal Fist School, so he leaped 10 feet forwards and smashed a child in the face, throwing them back several yards. I had a bow with knock-back ability, so we had the advantage of range, and I just kept firing arrows and knocking the children back a few steps with each hit. But they seemed rather resilient and simply kept getting back up.

‘Enough,’ a voice called, and the children swarmed together and stilled their movements.

‘Greetings, travellers; I grant you rest and succour if you would but break bread with me. Perhaps I may offer assistance? What brings you here?’ The voice was above us, and the soft rattle of a metal stairway informed us that someone was descending from above. ‘Why are you here, gentleman and lady?’

‘We were ordered to help them,’ I replied, holding off on the fact that it was to win our own freedom.

‘Really? Well, they don’t want to be helped. In fact, they don’t want anything,’ it clarified.

I was getting bad mojo from it. ‘Why? And who are you?’ Again, it wasn’t my most original work, but not everything can be a speech worthy of the bards.

‘My name is Kayal, although that will doubtless mean nothing to you. And these people are simply content to stay on the floor. Do you really wish to know why?’ His voice was deep and pleasant, and he walked towards us, perfectly at ease.

I said that we did.

‘They were told something. I spoke to them of a truth about life,’ stated Kayal.

‘I doubt that it was true,’ Burr responded, and I agreed.

‘Oh, but it is; that’s what makes it so terrible,’ Kayal explained.

‘What about them?’ I asked, pointing at the children.

‘My children, do you like them? They’re a little skittish, but the love they have for their father is absolute. Is it not, my children?’ Kayal queried, spreading his arms wide; the children ran to him.

‘What have you done to them?’ I asked, sickened.

‘They’re perfect, are they not?’ crooned Kayal.

‘No, you’ve removed their faces – their identities!’ I cried.

‘Individuality is a punishment for sin, so I’ve freed – absolved – them,’ Kayal confirmed.

‘By the eight, you take children and do this to them?’ Burr was sickened, as was I.

‘I’ve taken no one; they come to me or are presented to me,’ replied Kayal.

‘You should see his back; I think I can see bone. There’s no way he should be able to move so easily,’ Burr called to me as he’d circled Kayal in case of a fight.

‘It seems that, in my weakened state, you’ll kill me easily,’ posited Kayal with a hint of mocking in his voice.

‘We have no wish to kill you,’ I said, hoping we could find a way out of this. (This man was bad juju, my friends.)

‘Oh no, that won’t do. I think this should be a fight to the death,’ Kayal suggested, and then he raised a finger. ‘Although if you do that, you won’t learn my secret – the secret of what I told these people.’

I told him that I wasn’t sure I was that interested to know it. After all, something had affected the elves.

‘It’s a dark secret, a special secret, a true secret,’ Kayal revealed, his lips curling.

I decided to use a scroll of identification to find out what we were up against. These scrolls cost a small fortune each; however, we were getting absolutely nowhere painfully fucking slowly.

A description appeared above the children when I used the scroll: ‘nightmare children’.

‘I thought they were a myth,’ Burr insisted.

‘They’re no myth, but they’ve not been seen in any realm for over a millennium,’ one of the elves with us explained.

The children stopped short and gathered together, moving about excitedly.

‘Did you know the word for “despair” in the Letveon langue has the word “hope” in it? The Letveon people thought that to know despair, you have to have some hope – the more remote and unattainable the better – as without hope, you can’t truly understand despair. It’s the hope that kills you, after all. To see the hope but not reach it makes you understand how bad your situation is. It’s the absence of hope that has affected these elves. They have nothing,’ Kayal explained.

‘What do you know about this Kayal?’ Burr asked one of the elves who’d come with us.

‘Nothing, no one returns who comes this way, and our scrying spells fail. His aura is everywhere; it’s too massive to make him out,’ the elf replied.

I used a second identification spell and nearly laughed out loud. ‘It says he’s a djinn,’ I said.

Suddenly, the elves were screaming once more.

‘I take it that by “djinn”, you don’t mean “genie”?’ Burr questioned once the elves had calmed down somewhat.

‘They’re fallen angels. Some djinn were forced into servitude of the nature you mention, but this one is free! This explains why no one returns; he knows the secrets of the gods!’ the elf declared, scurrying backwards.

‘So what do djinns have to do with genies, except having a similar name?’ Burr continued.

‘Djinns have extreme power. I know not why or how, but angels fall, and some are trapped as genies and some are free. We’re all dead,’ the elf whimpered with tears in her eyes.

‘I do enjoy the moment when hope gives way to despair,’ Kayal gloated, having allowed us time to speak so we could understand the depths of our imminent destruction.

The children moved slower, uninterested in pressing their advantage, and strange hissing noises escaped from them, more like animal frustration than communication.

‘Think fast!’ Burr shouted, and then he threw an object at the ground.

It exploded with a tremendous sound, and my interface informed me that I was deafened for the next hour.

Kayal opened his arms and spoke, but the words were muffled and carried no power.

‘There’s no point, djinn; your tricks have no power anymore.’ Burr told me afterwards that this is what he’d said.

Kayal said something in reply, and then he frowned as his words went unheard. Kayal spoke again; his eyebrow twitched at their blank expressions and his face darkened as his power was for naught. He moved forwards, his arms outstretched, and the children skittered forwards, clawing at the air excitedly. Kayal smiled sadly; he started speaking, regardless of the fact that no one could hear him. He walked around slowly, occasionally waving a hand as he spoke, and he finally turned to look at his audience. He shrugged at our lack of response and rolled his wrist with a theatrical flick of his fingers.

The children sprinted forwards, and so, too, did I. I jumped forwards, hoping to catch the child closest to me off guard. It sort of worked; the creature was caught in mid-stride, but the child was too quick and twisted away, avoiding my fireball. Instead, I returned to my arrows, and Burr kept jumping and punching.

Kayal was a force; he didn’t use weapons and fought the elves’ blades with his bare hands.

Burr decided to use his ultimate ability. If he were still alive, I’d never share this part of the story, but he’s dead now, so I can tell you his move. He created pure lightning, which flashed through the air as a beam of energy so strong it left a wake of plasma, and it hit Kayal clean in the chest. He was thrown back a few steps, and an angry burn appeared on his abdomen. Kayal wasn’t prepared to actually be hurt, and he summoned a portal that we could see the sun through. He gestured at us to leave; Burr and I looked at each other, and we just left. Because, quite frankly, fuck the elves! Evil, vicious, vile race that they are. Maybe the Adhene aren’t as bad as elves, but that quest was too high a level for us, and I don’t have an ounce of regret about fleeing.

As we stepped through the portal, some form of mental attack struck our minds instantly, forcing us into unconsciousness. I came to as I slammed onto a rough dirt floor, and my chin cracked against the surface. The accompanying thump told me that Burr had joined me on the floor. The guttural tones coming from him proved he’d also woken. We seemed to be back in the forest, though possibly not where we had entered the Ingang, as the layout of the trees was sparser. Something was nagging at me as I looked around, but the pain from the landing had put me in no mood to listen to myself.

Now, the next part of the story involves the first time I’d cried for around thirty years. You see, there was something uncomfortable digging into my hip. (Actually, if it was digging into my hip, I don’t need the uncomfortable part. This prune rum is strong!). Anyway, after getting to my knees, I felt around under my hip and found the uncomfortable thing that I had fallen on; and this is where I cried. It was my bow.

It was an epic tier bow! It had 5-yard knock-back ability, and the string on the bow didn’t

deteriorate! String is five silver a thread! I was saving a fortune, and I broke it. Even thinking about it now brings a tear to my eye.

Burr had to kick me on the shoulder to get my attention; he pointed and said, ‘The land rises a little. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a clear view of the landscape. Should we find out where we are or just follow a river to the sea? If the gods are willing, we may even see a village from the vantage point.’

After giving a moment’s silence for my bow, we headed out.

‘Are we just ignoring the fact that we’re possibly on the wrong side of safety?’ Burr asked.

‘Meaning?’ I replied.

‘Well, the lords and ladies are fighting a fallen angel. If it has them on the back foot, we should be concerned, too.’ He used the term ‘lords and ladies’ in case they were still listening.

‘I wouldn’t worry,’ I replied. ‘You know that their lands don’t abide by our laws of time. They could have been warning us of something long past or millennia in our future.’

The hill turned into a cliff, and we found ourselves standing overlooking the open, expansive isolation of the sea. Below us, a few tiny boats were fishing or sailing to and from a city sprawled around a large harbour. The walk was tedious; the divots, mounds, holes and inclines spattering the field made the walk tough. It was like a giant hand had leaned down and cleaved chunks out of the ground and piled it up in sporadic places.

It was there that we found the Anasy and joined them.

Granny puffed contemplatively on her pipe.

Syeda applauded the story and asked for an encore.

Granny smiled genially but waved off the request. ‘A story for a story; tell me of yourselves. What brings a human to team up with an elf? And what brings the evil race to our shores? Where are you headed and why should I not kill you now?’ Granny said, the smile never slipping from her lips.

Amaka threw up her hands. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m no elf! D’you have someone with the skill to read people’s information? Get them to read mine, and you’ll find I’m no elf!’

‘I have such a skill, and it says “unknown”, which I find highly suspicious, as I have quite the comprehensive bestiary,’ Granny rejoined.

‘Well, I’m a draconic creature,’ Amaka clarified.

‘Really? Well, if I don’t believe you and my information isn’t updated, then I shall have you killed.’

No sooner had Granny spoken the words than her eyes widened. ‘Well, well! I had a good feeling about you – and thus your invitation onto my vessel – yet I never expected you to be of one of the extinct races.’

Amaka exhaled deeply. ‘Would you really have killed me?’

‘Oh yes,’ Granny asserted. ‘If I hadn’t been willing to trust you or kill you, I’d never have got my answer.’

‘Well, maybe you could repay me with a bit of information?’ Amaka asked.

‘I’ve already given you a story,’ Granny complained at Amaka’s importunity.

‘Not a story,’ Amaka corrected. ‘I just want to know what this is.’ Amaka pulled the soul crystal from her pocket.

Granny shrugged as she spotted it. ‘That? It’s a simple soul crystal. Smaller ones go for less than a silver, but you’ve got a nice-sized one there, I’ll grant you.’ Granny held out her hand as she spoke, took the item, and then cursed and struck Amaka across the face.

Battle log:

Hit by impact strike, 100 damage points

‘Where did you get this? Did you make it?’ Granny now towered over Amaka, and the dark crept around and closed in on Amaka and Syeda.

‘I-I-I found it – in a carok den,’ Amaka stuttered.

‘Nonsense, the caroks can’t use magicka,’ Granny’s voice boomed.

‘I found one that could – a carok mage,’ Amaka responded in a faltering voice.

‘Where? Take me there!’

Granny’s presence was like a blow torch softening Amaka’s iron resolve; admittedly, her resolve was more marshmallowy, but then the metaphor wouldn’t work.

‘I can’t… my patron wouldn’t let me,’ Amaka offered hesitantly.

‘How did this carok learn? Where are his books of magic?’ Granny demanded.

‘I don’t know, but I have his things.’ Amaka was finding it hard to speak; her words came out as if Granny’s presence was a force on her chest.

‘Show me!’ Granny thundered.

Amaka held out her hand and summoned Stirgar.

‘Daemon!’ Granny cried.

Amaka found that Granny hadn’t truly been exerting her force until now, as she found it suddenly impossible to take her eyes off Granny, and Granny’s presence pinned Amaka more securely than manacles.

‘I’m not; please believe me.’ Amaka forced the words out.

Granny studied her carefully; Granny was seemingly more inclined to believe Amaka as she had held to her story in the presence of Granny manifesting her will. ‘Very well; we shall take you to the proving grounds.’

Granny called in a couple of the others on the boat, and they tied up Amaka. Granny ordered that Amaka was to have a constant guard whilst The Floating Bear left the assembly of boats and set course for whatever the “proving grounds” turned out to be.

*

‘So what now?’ Amaka asked boldly as the ship docked in a mangrove swamp.

Granny let out a stream of smoke, which curled into a large question mark.

‘How to test your heart? That’s the question,’ Granny replied, blowing out a second lungful of smoke, which curled into a set of scales, tipping back and forth. ‘Your friend likes you, and I sense no glamour on her; she seems like a sweet girl, so to have such love from a friend is a good sign. Therefore, I’ve decided to put you through The Trials.’

There was a sudden susurration; Amaka heard sounds of an argument and some of encouragement.

‘The Trials aren’t for testing people,’ someone said.

Both Amaka and Granny looked confused at the oxymoron.

‘Well, be that as it may,’ Granny mused, ‘she shall undergo assessment. Survive The Trials without a mark of taboo and you shall be a freeman of the Anasy. Fail and… well, perhaps we shall let you go under banishment.’

‘And if I don’t survive?’ Amaka jutted her chin forwards and stood there bravely.

Granny rolled her eyes. ‘You want the metaphysics?’

Amaka shook her head. ‘I meant what would happen to my friend. And if I refuse, what then?’ she asked.

‘Your death in The Trials will be her freedom. Your refusal will be met with the death of your friend,’ Granny said without inflection or pause.

Still, Amaka called her bluff. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Very well, we’ll only kill you,’ Granny offered instead, feeling uncomfortable with threating the life of an innocent.

Amaka stormed off the boat; Syeda got up and leaped off the boat, following Amaka.

Granny shot to her feet and called after Syeda, ‘Wait, child, it’s not safe!’

But Syeda was lost to the mist as she hurried after Amaka.