Chapter 17
They arrived at the gates of Ashingdown just as dusk began to melt into true evening, a sharper note of cold on the air.
The first touch of winter , thought Elver.
Winter was always a difficult time in the Jih Forest, when it was harder to hunt and fish and there was little in the way of greenery to eat.
But now that she was out in the human world, the thought of winter in the forest was a comfort: the peace of a heavy snowfall versus the cacophony of human company.
Ashingdown itself was a walled town, and as they approached the gate, she felt a stirring of disquiet: there were red stone pillars to either side of the gate, tall as a man, and on the top of each was a lion carved from grey stone, their jaws open to display brightly burning torches.
The dirt road of the gate jumped with shadows full of teeth.
‘We’re entering enemy territory.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Artair. He’d been quiet since he’d wasted time with Lorian. Elver nodded to the stone lions as they passed them.
‘It looks like the Bloody Claw is a big deal in this place. We might want to keep our heads down.’
Artair’s eyes widened. The guards on the gate, Elver noticed, had leaping lions embroidered onto their leather tunics.
‘Let’s find somewhere to stay and get something to eat,’ said Artair, ‘and we’ll leave as early as we can. Just to be safe.’
‘Agreed.’
Inside, the town was a place of narrow, jumbled streets, with buildings that looked as though they’d seen better days—blinds hung off of windows, piles of broken crates filled corners, and the cobbled stone paths were grimy and smeared with mud.
There weren’t many people around and those that did walk the streets walked hurriedly, their collars turned up to the night air.
And here and there, dotted on corners or leering from the corners of windows, there were statues of the Bloody Claw.
To her surprise and annoyance, Elver found herself missing the bright sparkling waterways of Addersport.
‘Think about it,’ she said. ‘If you only have to give that mage a poem to get him to tell you your future, how good is the prediction really going to be? Why did you even bother?’
Artair was quiet for a moment. Inside the sack, the cub was asleep in Elver’s arms, snoring ever so slightly.
‘When this is all over, I will return to the monastery with the rest of the novices and I suppose we will attempt to rebuild the order. While I am out here in the world, I want to try all the things it has to offer.’ He paused.
Elver found she was slightly put out by that. ‘You mean you really intend to go back to your cell? Just… spend the rest of your life shut away from everything?’
‘It is my duty,’ Artair said gently. ‘If I don’t, I am putting the rest of the world in danger. The Other that is inside me can’t be allowed to roam freely.’
Elver thought of Lucian, how he had walked right up to the guard in the fair and gotten himself punched.
‘Don’t you intend to return to the Jih Forest when this is done?’ continued Artair. ‘You are also shut away from the world. You just do it amongst the trees.’
‘That’s different,’ said Elver, frowning.
‘Because I think you could live amongst humans if you wanted to,’ said Artair.
He lowered his voice as a woman in a long coat strode past them.
‘Your golden eyes are very striking, but you could explain them away, say that it runs in your family or something. They might never know unless you told them. Or touched them.’
‘That’s the whole point! Why would I want to live amongst the people who had me… the people who hate me so much? I choose the forest because… because that’s where I belong.’
‘I suppose that’s the difference between us,’ said Artair. ‘You have a choice, and I do not.’
Elver opened her mouth, sure she wanted to argue with him on this but not quite sure how.
She closed it again when a tall man emerged from a side street ahead of them.
He had blond hair and a face half hidden under a dark scarf, and he was walking stiffly to her eye.
Half a second before he reached them, she realized who it was.
‘Wait—’
The priest of Trilot pulled what looked to be a shuttered lamp from inside his long coat, and using his other hand, pulled a cord.
There was a blinding flash of light, searing white, and before she knew where she was, Elver found she was lying on the dirty cobblestones.
She felt as though she’d run full pelt into a brick wall.
The sack containing the cub had rolled to one side, and she locked eyes with the startled monster.
‘Run!’ she told him.
Artair, who had largely missed the blast of light, stumbled backwards in surprise as Kantor Witt crouched over Elver.
From another pocket, the priest produced a knife that he pressed to her throat.
The scarf had fallen down, and Elver could see her own livid handprint emblazoned onto his pale cheek.
‘The light of Trilot burns you, monster,’ he hissed, before looking up at Artair. ‘Move even slightly, Sleepless, and I’ll open her throat right here on the street.’
‘How did the other priests like that pretty mark on your cheek?’ she asked, before reaching for his exposed face, but Kantor pressed the blade closer and she felt it bite at her skin. A hot trickle of black blood traced a path down her neck.
‘Stop! Stop it, please,’ said Artair. He had his hands held up in front of him. ‘We’ll do what you ask.’
‘Good. Get up.’ Kantor put his lamp down on the ground, the shutter having fallen back into place, and with his gloved fist took a handful of her hair.
Gritting her teeth, Elver got to her feet.
The sack on the cobbles was empty and the cub was nowhere to be seen.
That was something at least. ‘You’re both coming with me. ’
The magistrate’s premises looked in better condition than the other buildings they’d seen so far, and it also had the largest statue of the Bloody Claw; he prowled over the stone lintel, his mane caught in an imaginary wind.
Kantor Witt had summoned the town’s guard, and so they had quite an entourage as they were escorted up the steps.
To Elver’s annoyance, the guards wore leather gauntlets and made short work of binding her hands behind her back in tough steel manacles.
Inside, the place was deep in shadows, lit with the odd oil lamp here and there—presumably due to the late hour—and Elver only got brief impressions of this main room as they were hurried through it: a raised pulpit and rows of chairs facing it; a structure not unlike the cage the cub had recently escaped, made of polished brown wood; and a stone altar carved with deep runnels across it that led to similar recesses in the floor. Elver frowned at those.
‘We shouldn’t have sold your bow,’ she said.
Artair glanced at her and she caught a rueful expression on his face, but the guards shoved them on before he could reply.
Beyond the main room, some of the town guard split off, and they were left with Kantor Witt and two burly young men who looked like they had been pulled away from the important business of downing ales at the local tavern.
One of these opened a heavy wooden door onto a much cosier room.
The walls were lined with books—despite herself, Elver found her eyes widening—and there was a fire burning in a hearth.
In front of it were a pair of comfortable chairs with two figures sat in them.
One of them rose as they entered, standing with her hands clasped behind her back.
Elver’s gaze glanced over her face, then snapped back, suddenly unable to look away.
‘ You. ’
The woman frowned at her. She was older than she had been, of course, and a little thicker around the waist, but her skin still shone with health, and her hair was braided beneath a red cloth cap.
Elver waited for the moment of recognition to come, and there was something—a little flicker in the creases around the woman’s eyes—but then the woman turned her attention to the figure sitting in the other chair.
This was clearly another priest of Trilot, although one of higher rank than Witt.
He wore a featureless ivory mask lined with silver filigree, white robes and long white calfskin gloves.
‘This is what I’m dragged away from my dinner for, Faceless Isnere?’
The priest shrugged.
‘What am I to do with reports of two jih spirits loose on the streets of Ashingdown, Magistrate Dalesh? Or would you rather I let it go and your people can learn about them when they’ve killed someone?’
‘We’re not the ones killing people,’ said Elver.
To her own horror, she was finding it increasingly difficult to speak.
Looking at Dalesh, all she could think of was the fall from the Tumble Stone, the slippery thump of landing on hard serpent flesh, and the dwindling light as she was dragged down into the lair of the Queen of Serpents.
She’d never forgotten their faces, the two who had dragged her up those steps.
‘You should ask her about that,’ she said, jerking her chin at Dalesh.
‘Sacrificed any orphans lately, Magistrate Dalesh?’
Dalesh sighed. ‘Who are these people? This lad looks barely old enough to shave.’
Witt stood to one side of them, trembling with what Elver assumed was rage. He was sweating, and the hand mark on his face was especially clear.
‘The girl is a jih creature straight out of the forest to the west. Her touch is poison.’ His hand floated up to his cheek, fingers brushing the mark.
‘She has tainted me, stolen from me my purity and my connection to Trilot, who has turned his back on me. I demand she be… cleansed. The boy is one of the Sleepless, escaped from the monastery in the Broken Path Mountains.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Elver, at the same moment Artair said, ‘How do you know that?’