Chapter 3
The monastery clung to the side of the mountain like a cluster of oyster mushrooms on a tree.
From its walls it was possible to see the Jih Forest spreading away across the foothills below, a dense carpet of trees that at this time of the year burned yellow and orange and red—and beyond that there was the ever-shifting sparkle of the sea.
Between the two lay Addersport, hidden by the rise and fall of the land, the only clues to its existence the trails of smoke that rose from its industrious buildings, and the steady arrival and departure of ships of all types.
The monastery itself grew out from the central tower, where the Sleepless were housed during the night; buildings with green and blue tiled roofs crowded around it like children around a nursemaid.
Behind its sea-facing walls, there was an interior garden so sheltered from the mountain weather that the monks and their charges grew most of the things they consumed there, from apples and cabbages to herbs and medicines.
Artair liked to look at the view as he made his way from the meditation hall to the garden, peering out of the many tiny windows that marked the corridor.
If he ignored the bustle of activity that gave away the existence of Addersport, it was easy to pretend that the Golden Tower was all alone in the world; there was just the mountains, the forest, and sea, with no people to make things complicated.
If the world was empty beyond the monastery, then it would be safe for him—for all the Sleepless—to leave the tower behind.
But it would never be safe. As long as the Other dwelt within him, he was dangerous.
And thinking about the world beyond was dangerous too.
Brother Elthem believed that such thoughts of freedom originated with the dark spirit, because what the dark spirits wanted, more than anything, was to get out into the wider world so they could cause chaos.
The monks taught them to keep their minds and their bodies occupied—with meditation, physical training, and simple chores.
Vigilance , thought Artair.
Down in the orchard the apples were ready to drop, and Artair spent much of the day with some of the younger novices, picking the fruits and carting them away in crates to the monastery kitchens or the cold cellars dug into the raw rock of the mountain.
In the afternoon, the monks gave them a couple of hours of leisure time, so they went to the natural spring at the edge of the gardens.
Over thousands of years it had carved a small pool into the rock, fed by a bubbling waterfall.
It was a good place to sit and talk with their bare feet dangling in the freezing water.
To be Sleepless was to be constantly seeking ways to stay awake.
‘My parents say they will visit after the next harvest,’ said Reah.
She had arrived at the monastery only six months ago.
She looked down as she spoke, apparently examining the freckles on the backs of her hands.
‘Which isn’t so long now. But…’ Reah shifted on the grass, her posture awkward and stiff.
‘I can’t believe I’m not there with them, helping them with it.
That I’m going to be stuck in this place… ’
She didn’t say it, but Artair could hear the word in her silence anyway. Forever. Stuck in this place forever.
‘It’s harder for you,’ said Chessun, in a matter-of-fact tone. He was one of the older novices, a broad lad with sunny blond curls. ‘Most of us found out we were Sleepless when we were little. How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?’
Reah frowned at him. ‘Fourteen.’
Chessun shrugged. ‘There you are then. You were too used to having a normal life. Didn’t know you had a monster creeping around inside you.
Now you’re wondering why you can’t just wander into town and buy a loaf of bread, or sleep in a room that doesn’t lock from the outside. It’s a rude wotsit. Awakening.’
‘It will get better,’ said Artair. He remembered being brought to the monastery five years ago, and the sense of dislocation that came with it. ‘You’ll get used to the place. The monks keep us busy. And we can go where we want in the gardens.’
‘At home, our farm was twenty acres,’ said Reah sulkily. ‘I could catch a cart to Addersport if I wanted to. I used to go and look at the markets. I’d save up my money to go.’
‘At least you don’t need money here,’ said Artair.
‘I didn’t even do anything bad, not really,’ Reah continued obliviously.
‘Nothing permanent, anyway. I can’t believe my parents would do this.
’ Her voice wobbled and she looked away from the rest of them, keen to hide the expression on her face.
‘That they’d just leave me in this place. In a prison.’
‘You didn’t do it,’ said Artair.
‘What?’ Reah looked at him. Her eyes were too bright, only moments away from spilling tears.
‘Whatever it was that happened, it wasn’t you .
’ Artair gave her a smile. Reah was only three years younger than him, but in that moment she looked painfully young.
‘The evil spirit inside you, the thing that comes out when you give into sleep. That’s what did those things, not you.
We can’t control the spirit that waits inside us, but we do what we can to limit the damage it causes.
By living here, in the Golden Tower, away from the world.
’ He thought of the view from the monastery windows, that open sea that could lead to anywhere, and he felt a dull ache in his chest. But close on the heels of that thought was the memory of what had happened when the Other had first shown itself.
Smoke and blood and ruin. ‘It’s safer for everyone this way. ’
‘I know it wasn’t me,’ said Reah, although she didn’t sound certain.
It was, Artair knew, one of the hardest lessons of the Golden Tower—that the Other was something separate, something evil, even though it lurked under your own skin.
Even now, after five years in the monastery, Artair still carried the queasy guilt of what the Other had done.
Chessun chuckled. ‘You sound just like Brother Benzin, Artair. Come on, the sun is still out and I’m sticky with apple juice.
’ He stood up in the freezing stream and waded out deeper into the water, soaking the bottoms of his rolled-up trousers.
All the novices wore soft white trousers and yellow shirts, with a mustard-coloured half robe over the top.
This last he pulled up over his head to make a rough hood. Artair laughed.
‘Thank you,’ Reah said quietly. ‘This place is just so… far away from everything.’
‘It’ll feel like home eventually,’ he said, wondering if he even knew what home meant any more. ‘Come on, before they find other work for us to do.’
The afternoon was passing pleasantly enough until Chessun decided that he wanted to climb to where the waterfall started, which meant shimmying up a number of slippery, moss-covered rocks.
Artair had begun wading out towards him, trying to talk him out of it, when the big novice slipped, falling back into the spring with a sizeable splash.
Some of the other novices gave out cries of alarm, and a few of the more skittish ones ran back across the gardens to fetch the monks.
Artair, strong and lean after years of martial training and exercise, dragged his friend out of the water and onto the grassy bank.
Chessun had grazed his temple on a rock and blood was running freely from the wound, turning his yellow robe scarlet at the shoulder.
‘Twelve save us Chessun, you idiot.’ Artair gave his friend a little shake, but the boy’s eyes rolled back into his head. Dread seized Artair. ‘No, don’t—don’t do that…’
Reah appeared next to him, her face so pale that the freckles stood out like spots of ink.
‘Is he alright?’
‘I don’t know. I think he’s passed out, and if he has… Reah, get back into the monastery, I’m not sure that—’
Chessun’s eyes snapped back into focus. For a split second, they looked to be a shade paler than they had been moments before, and the broad, kindly shape of his face was transformed into an expression of fury.
In that instant, the Chessun that Artair had known for years vanished.
He was leaning over a complete stranger.
‘Chessun, wait—’
Artair scrambled backwards, his bare feet sliding on the wet grass, but Chessun moved faster. He reached out with his big brawny hands and grasped Artair by the throat.
‘ That’s not my name. ’
Artair gasped for air. He was a few inches taller, and even with Chessun’s greater bulk he normally would have had no difficulty in throwing his friend off, but Chessun’s strength was coming from a different, darker place. The Other had taken over the moment the novice had lost consciousness.
‘I am outside!’ The being inhabiting Chessun looked around at the spring and the gardens in apparent wonder. ‘ Finally. I can get out of this stinking, pish-ridden hole.’
With a grunt he stood up and threw Artair back into the freezing water.
When Artair had scrambled back onto his feet, soaking wet, he saw that Chessun was heading for the Red Gate.
The other novices had fled, and a number of Brothers and Sisters had appeared from the buildings, moving swiftly towards the rogue Sleepless.
Artair heard them calling his friend, telling him to wake up, to come back to them, but he knew it wasn’t going to work.
The spirits were at their strongest when they had just taken control—it normally took an entire night’s worth of sleep for the novice to be close enough to the surface to return.
Even so, he called his friend’s name, a rising flutter of panic in his chest.
‘Chessun! Come back!’