20 In the Footsteps of Giants

THE ONE NAMED Wither had trudged on ahead to scout. To Threadfin he looked like a wraith with skin. Though it was dark and he couldn’t possibly see within the forest, Wither appeared to defy the night. A man named Raze, along with a quiet woman called Lorn, half dragged Podral Pole between them. There were others, who no doubt flanked their group and guarded their rear. They didn’t bother with torches, but not a one stumbled. These Aidari did seem to know what they were about, at least where sneaking was concerned. They would’ve made good thieves, he supposed. Of all the people to end up with. Aidari terrorists.

A lithe woman with dark brown hair past her shoulders and creamy skin, Lorn appeared possessed of a cold strength. She seemed permanently angry, and managed a few glares in his direction too.

‘Where are you taking me?’ Threadfin asked.

‘We have mounts waiting for us beyond,’ Scatter answered. ‘Wither spotted you entering the forest and we split up on foot. It was luck that Podral found you in time.’

‘Ludwole Felps,’ whispered Threadfin, remembering the old soldier. He’d trusted him, sort of. Ironic, the man he’d loathed had turned out to be, well, an ally. It’s too soon to think of him as a friend. Threadfin wasn’t one who had friends, none apart from little Cat and she was gone. He forced the thought aside. Too painful.

‘Felps was nothing,’ said Scatter, ‘just a slave. Those that put him there, however, are very dangerous.’

He could bear it no longer. ‘You said you serve virals? Not to be rude, but I find it hard to believe. You lot are known terrorists, plotting against my family for centuries. You committed attacks in the capital dozens of times.’

She offered him a patient smile, her white teeth bright against dark skin. Pole groaned and cried out as they forced him onward. Threadfin glanced behind. They were too far back and he couldn’t make out anything other than shapes even with his viralic sight. How did they manage it?

‘Why are you helping me?’ Hundreds of questions melted away to leave that one, and he believed it the most important. Help was open to interpretation as he saw it.

‘We have served your kind since near the beginning,’ she answered, saying, ‘your kind’ in a manner he wasn’t used to hearing, with respect. ‘Ours is a secret society, dedicated to preserving the existence of virals. Yes, we did attack targets in Icarthya, but your family was never one of them. We knew, someday, one greater than any before would come and it would be when this world faced its darkest hour.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Fanatics then, the lot of them. He’d have to lose them somehow. ‘Will we ride the darags tonight?’ He was eager to get going, to close the distance between himself and Icarthya. If he could just steal a mount, whenever they reached them, and escape.

‘They do not see well in the dark,’ said Scatter, ‘and though the moon is bright beyond the forest, I will not risk it. We cannot travel by road for long, and the terrain ahead is boggy and uneven. In the morning, we leave.’

‘Not good enough.’ He felt an urgency to be moving, though he knew she was right. Too much time might’ve been lost already.

‘Yes, your sister,’ said Scatter, stepping over jutting roots. ‘I understand.’

Threadfin stumbled over the same roots.

‘Byrsa’s legions,’ she continued, ‘and those out of Tystria are within reach of the giants, but they will only delay Gog. They may buy us several days at best.’ She had turned to look at him, making out his face in the dark. ‘You look anxious.’

‘The Nephilim king?’ That must’ve been who he’d seen in his vision. It wasn’t the giant who’d stabbed his sister, however.

‘He is not the king, at least not yet. Og lives, but yes, it is the eldest son who leads the invasion. Gulacs have been landing for weeks, but he arrived himself several days ago. It won’t be long before he marches north.’

Eldest son of the infamous Og of Bashan, Gog was reportedly formidable, standing head and shoulders over his kin, as did his father. That he himself led Nephilim into the imperium was unprecedented. Og had never set foot on Adalalcas. It was as bad as Threadfin had feared. ‘Why is he attacking us?’

She paused for the others to catch up, turning to face him. ‘There is one within the capital who has a part in this, a person with their own agenda. We will explain what we can. There is much we need to discuss.’ She walked on then with a quicker step, which suggested all discussion had ended for now.

They continued north, leaving the forest for open grassland dotted with marshes. With the moon riding high, and for now free of cloud, a pale light washed the landscape. This was the southwestern edge of the Artaca Plains. Distant mountains rose about the plains like a half bowl. Icarthya lay one thousand four hundred miles, or thereabouts, to the east.

Not long afterwards, they happened on a track in the moonlight. Wide in places, it was narrow and rutted in others. It looked like a herd of grolg had stampeded through the area. Scatter knelt, examining it while Threadfin stood watching. Clouds to the west and north promised more rain.

‘This isn’t good,’ announced Podral as he struggled to remain upright between his helpers. He appeared to be coping better, at least.

‘What do you mean?’ Threadfin asked.

‘This should not be here.’ Scatter stood, staring at the track as it forged its way into the distance. ‘We’re too far west and north. This is not a natural trail. I have kept away from all known routes. This is recent and made by big creatures passing this way, many big creatures.’

‘At least half a gulac,’ agreed Wither with a growl, who had been waiting there for them to catch up, ‘marching in a column.’ He seemed unhappy agreeing with Scatter, but perhaps he always looked that way. Pale-skinned Lorn wandered about kicking at stones as though disinterested, though she threw dark glances at the group. She’d left Raze to watch an unsteady Podral Pole. Perhaps she always looked that way. He didn’t understand these people, and didn’t want to.

Scatter nodded. ‘It makes our journey perilous.’

Threadfin shivered, staring about him. ‘There are none around now, right?’

‘I’m none too happy about this,’ said Podral. ‘We’re standing here too long. We need to move.’

‘I agree,’ said Threadfin.

‘Fear pulls at Threads,’ laughed Lorn, ‘and just watch him unravel.’

He turned and eyed the girl, seeing genuine delight in her eyes. What was her problem? She was cute when she laughed, for a breather. ‘How about you shut that gob of yours,’ he growled. How had she known Tezcat’s name for him?

Lorn laughed harder, voice full of scorn. ‘See what we are? A bunch of thieves, murderers, an undeader who is likely both, and,’ she gestured towards Scatter, ‘whatever she used to be. All of us insane or worse, drunk with power, isn’t that right, Scats? A price is always paid.’

Scatter said nothing.

Threadfin ignored her. What she felt about him didn’t matter, but hearing they were all criminals, well, it didn’t go a long way to earning his trust. You halfwit, he thought after a moment. Of course, they’re criminals. They’re bloody Aidari terrorists. Nor was he one to talk. He’d done his fair share of criminality. Still, he’d never murdered anyone. All deaths had been in self-defence or accidental, or should that be, incidental?

‘We have fallen from what we once were,’ said Scatter, ‘but that will change.’ She scanned the rocks above. ‘We are not in a good place.’

‘An understatement is that.’ Podral was holding his side and wincing. Lorn wandered back to his side, keeping a close eye on him, a look of concern in her eyes. Odd, since she didn’t appear the caring sort. ‘Never would’ve thought of that myself, now.’

He received a frown, but grinned and spat a blob at the hard earth. A hint of defiance, but he seemed to respect Scatter, a little. Threadfin couldn’t figure out what was between them. None seemed to like each other. What bound them together? Lorn was right, but for the moment, he had little choice. If he was to escape, he needed to get away clean.

‘We should keep out of sight and upwind,’ said Podral. ‘Etruria, save and protect us if they have wargs.’

‘Not this group,’ said Wither. ‘Would’ve seen their dung. They’re just scouts.’

‘Seems a few too many for scouts,’ noted Threadfin, staring at the mud, still unable to decipher anything. However, he knew enough to know a gulac consisted of one hundred Nephilim, which meant fifty had passed that way.

‘Nephilim do not see things as we do,’ said Wither. ‘They don’t call it scouting, but their name for it, which is near unpronounceable, roughly means to soften up.’

‘Oh,’ said Threadfin. ‘I see.’

‘They also use them to gather food,’ said Scatter. ‘This group will send back one or two actual scouts to report on whatever they find. Think of it as a robust and aggressive foraging party.’

‘Well, that’s an understatement, if I ever heard one,’ said Podral. ‘Right, it’s just giant’s poop we need watch out for then. The Grim take me but it’s a fine life I lead. Should’ve let them put me to death when the offer was going.’

‘Yes,’ Lorn said with a sweet smile. ‘You should have.’

Threadfin was doing quick calculations in his head. If fifty was the scouting party or whatever they called it, and he imagined they’d have more than one such group out, that meant the main force was massive. He had to reach Aiyana quickly. If the main army reached Icarthya first, there was no hope anyone would survive.

‘River’s arrived,’ said their own scout, and they turned to where he pointed. To the east, a mounted figure with several beasts in tow appeared over a rise. ‘Others shouldn’t be much longer. We should head to the ruins and wait.’

Scatter laid a hand on Threadfin’s shoulder. ‘Yes, we need to begin.’

‘Begin what?’

‘Your first lesson.’

‘Nah, don’t bother. Palace tutors used to hate me, since I already knew everything. Wasting your time. I didn’t even bring an apple.’

She stared at him a moment as though confused. ‘You must make ready. Your time has come. We live to serve—’

‘Yeah, yeah. You know, I’m sick of hearing about him, whoever he is. Bet he’s having a better time than me.’ Threadfin glanced at Pole who now sat on a small rock, clutching his wounded side. Lorn was examining the wound, laying her hands over it. He shuddered and gasped at her touch. She must’ve had cold fingers. Maybe she was a healer in training or something.

‘To serve you, lad,’ Pole croaked after a moment when he had stopped shaking. His face was paler. ‘You are the viral mage.’

It was then Threadfin realised there was going to be no escaping these nut-bags.

‡

THE PAIN SEARED THROUGH Threadfin in eddies.

He tried to rise, but couldn’t move. His surroundings were a monotone of grey as though colour and all but the faintest light had faded away.

Why can’t I move my arms? It took him a moment to realise he possessed none. Nor had he legs, or any physical form worth considering. I’m full dead at last, he thought. This is what it’s like then. Wonder what all the fuss was about.

‘You must regain control,’ commanded a voice. It came from out of the nothingness surrounding him. He didn’t know what the voice meant, or who had spoken. He supposed there would be many disembodied voices hanging about. It appeared he had joined them.

Near him, he discerned another presence. It was a large form, half concealed in shadow. Claws raked the hair of a woman’s corpse, as the Watcher – that’s how Threadfin thought of it, its name coming to him out of nowhere – looked into unseeing eyes.

The Watcher looked up from the cadaver in its scaly lap. It scrutinized this new arrival.

It’s been waiting for me. He felt a chill. Worse, I think the ugly bastard knows me. If this was his fate in death, he felt ready for a resurrection.

The creature’s talons stroked the frozen cheeks of the woman, breaking the skin. It appeared to enjoy the company of corpses. Threadfin knew it felt the silent echoes of torment, which had been their lives. It fed on those echoes as though tangible things. Though he knew he should’ve felt repulsed, instead, he felt sadness.

It was not used to feelings. Forever alone, it loved to stroke things, especially the dead, for there was nothing else. It was a creature part shadow and part substance, its form as shredded smoke. It had vast feathered wings of a bluish-purple hue, and a dark sinuous scaled body. A coiling tail with horns slithered beyond it. A face filled with teeth and prodded with horns watched him with human-like eyes. No, they held intelligence and a knowing far beyond human.

The voice called to him again, but he ignored it, fascinated by the creature. He wondered if this wasn’t death but a dream. No, that didn’t feel right. He stood on a border between worlds. He had stepped into a crack between realities. Or, well, something like that. Whether any of it meant he was full dead, he didn’t know. He had no memory of arriving.

About them, a metropolis took form. It was the reflection of a city in the physical world like Byrsa or Icarthya. The Watcher told him these things, though without words. It didn’t know cities, but he did and it had gotten the image from him. It seemed to like the idea of cities.

It enjoyed games too. It loved when a human touched that place, though it didn’t want to play games with Threadfin. He was different. It wanted to control him, to bend him to its will, and it would be best to allow it, for torturous pain was the alternative.

‘Threadfin,’ shouted that annoying voice. It sounded female. ‘You will lose yourself.’

He began to walk, though he didn’t have legs, which was an unsettling feeling. He headed towards a set of tall buildings lining a dock. Odd looking ships with vast, wispy sails fought thunderous waves. The sky grew boisterous. Shadows darted between the ruins. They had sinuous bodies with those horned tails. The creature’s gaze followed him, as it hunkered within the ruins. A howling wind arose in the distance. No, it wasn’t the wind, but that voice, insistent and full of fear.

‘Threadfin, come back.’

A hand made of flesh and bone touched his shoulder. A metallic bowl came into view, filled with water. He was holding it cupped in both hands, and the image of another world within the liquid faded. He dropped it, water pooling on the damp black clay. Now, that had never happened before.

‘What am I?’ he asked in a hoarse voice, realising he was back among the Aidari. He blinked at the hazy world coming back into focus. They sat in a damp hollow rimmed with alders and birch, and a complex ruin of tumbled stone. It was part of a forgotten city, which spread inward from the forest’s edge for two miles. A fire set in a deep hollow in the earth cast flickering shadows across the ruins. Above their heads was a partial roof that once belonged to an ancient palace. Half of a stone head the size of a boulder stuck from the sodden earth to his right. Podral Pole sat on the nose, watching him, his left foot resting on a nostril.

Wither, and four other newcomers, kept watch. They climbed high into the shattered remains of towers or domes, patrolled through broad overgrown streets, or within the forest beyond. Threadfin had gotten a vague impression of how large the ancient city was on arrival. His viralic sight had shown him enough to know that once, this city had dwarfed Icarthya.

River, a scrawny pale girl, wandered about and never spoke. The other newcomers kept their distance and didn’t introduce themselves either. The sydarags were corralled in a clearing beyond the ruins. He heard their snorts and the periodic stomp of powerful hind legs.

Scatter sat opposite him on a blanket. Behind her and to her left was a tall jagged window frame, the wall damaged and smothered with creepers. Broken tile in various faded colours and fractured painted images littered the ground around them. There was the sound of rushing water, a river nearby, and the rich smell of mead wort and water mint filled the air.

Scatter righted the tin cup on the ground in front of him. Tresses of long black hair splayed about her bare shoulders, marred by a lock of silver on the right. This was his first proper look at her. She had a narrow face with broad cheekbones and a crooked nose. Scatter wasn’t a woman many would’ve considered beautiful, but something about her drew him. Not that he could fancy a breather.

These breathers showed him a kindness alien to him. Yes, they sniped at one another, but beneath the surface was a camaraderie, something he couldn’t define, and they’d invited him into their midst. Instinct bade him to remain sceptical, but something had pierced his armour. Armour, he had spent his entire existence forging. He shook his head to clear it. He needed to stay focused.

‘What do you think you are?’ she asked.

‘I’m a viral, not a mage or whatever you lot are thinking, just a plain old undeader. Quite boring really.’

‘You understood the question I asked, but do you understand your answer?’

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what you’re blathering about. Enough with the riddles. I used play Knot-Your-Brains back in Lame. Always lost.’ Tezcat had loved that game, but she had taken it a bit too literally, forcing Threadfin to dispose of the bodies. All accidental, of course.

‘Podral mentioned an illness,’ she said with a nod for the man sitting on a nose. ‘He said you’d suffered, and in his words, “looked like the unholy Grim himself come to life for a time”.’

‘It was you lot behind that job of Crawl’s wasn’t it? You tried to scare me into running.’ That job had trap written all over it, and he could never figure out why until now. They had meant him to see it. Crawl must’ve been in on it, or they’d had a hold over him. ‘Why all this trouble for me?’

‘It bothers you.’

What is she, a mind reader? ‘Fine, you want the truth? I’m afraid, okay?’

‘Of what?’

‘Well, that something inside of me is, uh, wrong, sort of.’ How was he supposed to explain? He was freak of nature, an aberration that had all been but exterminated. He examined the shattered mosaic that was a floor once, and wondered what people had built this place. The images were hard to decipher but a few were of strange winged creatures with long spiked tails. They appeared alive in the flicker of flames. Funny, they reminded him of that Watcher.

‘Better, if not correct.’ Her mouth curled into the hint of a smile as he glanced at her. Her eyes always smiled. Yes, that was what attracted him, her eyes, which promised kindness and an openness he found rare.

‘Look, I don’t understand what this is about. I’m not sure I want to. Who are you?’

‘I told you we are Aidari.’

‘I’m going to need a bit more than that. What good are you lot to me? Can you get me to Icarthya? Lending me a darag would be a good start.’ That or he’d have to steal one. At least he was good at that.

‘We are your servants,’ she said as though that explained it better. He thought about asking her for a few pillows and a foot rub. Couldn’t beat a good foot rub. He forced himself to bite down on his mischievous side. He was nervous and always felt cheeky when nervous. Aiyana had been a bad influence.

The Aidari paused before elaborating, as River handed her a bowl of stew. Podral waved his away while Threadfin accepted strips of dried kale.

‘Over a thousand years ago,’ said Scatter, after taking a mouthful, ‘the Aidari served the magi whose leader was a high mage named Rasnal Nalrost. He was a living mage, you understand, a spectral mage. They used something called spectralic magic, very potent and dangerous.’

A breather mage? Threadfin began chewing the kale strips as he listened. A second type of magic wasn’t something he’d heard of. No one had.

‘Icarthian rule did not exist at the time,’ she continued, ‘and northern Adalalcas was made up of city states. Each had its own spectral mage, and many of these cities warred with one another, though the mages also had their own city called Valdvalis, a name that has been long forgotten.

‘Minor empires were born and then died, all within decades, none with the power to sustain themselves. Constant raids by the Nephilim, and wars with the kingdoms of southern Adalalcas, prevented the city states from working together. It was during this time that Nalrost discovered the Spectrum.

‘In his search for knowledge and greater power, he probed and experimented, until he discovered a truth: there are hundreds of millions of other worlds, a few like this one and many not. Soon after, he discovered the Spectrum of Existence didn’t just contain worlds, but other forms of reality no normal human mind could comprehend. Few ever considered Rasnal Nalrost normal, of course.

‘He also, however, stumbled upon a threat to existence itself. He almost died because of it. Worlds were disappearing from the Spectrum, consumed by a nameless Darkness. What that evil is, we do not know, though we have long searched his ancient tomes for clues.

‘The spectral mage had devised a simple mathematical equation, which said that for millions of worlds there was one blueprint, of which all the others were mirrors. If this darkness destroyed such a world, it would automatically destroy all its mirrors too. However, in his notes we discovered a hint that perhaps it wasn’t that simple. The blueprint world needed a Key to gain instant access to the mirror worlds. Without it, the Darkness would still destroy the Spectrum, but it would take aeons. With the Key, perhaps decades or less.

‘Now, Nalrost determined that our world is the original blueprint for the entire Spectrum of Existence. It is the heart of the Spectrum. All realities converge here. He knew he could not do much, being mortal, his mage powers aside. We believe he encountered this enemy, and learned the hard way that spectralic magic, living magic, was no match.  

‘By this time, he had made contact with otherworldly entities, who we now believe were angels. Nalrost believed he could save this world. By doing this, he would save existence itself.’

‘That’s a nice story,’ Threadfin commented, finishing off the last of the kale, licking his skeletal fingers. Through a shattered stone window, he spotted Wither just beyond the firelight passing by. It seemed to Threadfin’s eyes as though the scout vanished and reappeared at times. He blinked, reprimanding himself for being a fool. ‘But, none of it explains what you want with me, or how this helps me.’

‘Then listen up, lad,’ said Podral from where he sat on the statue’s face, eating his stew. The thick peeling branches of a birch had over time burst through the wall behind him, curling up and outwards with a fistful of yellow leaves. The stone head he sat on was dark green and brown with decades of moss. ‘This next bit’s gonna interest you.’

‘You seem better,’ said Threadfin frowning at his former minder, who seemed to be in a lot less pain and much brighter.

The man shrugged.

‘For over two decades,’ continued Scatter, ‘Nalrost devoted himself to this new goal, and created the first of the plagues. It was a desperate act he knew would cost the lives of millions, but one he hoped would save hundreds of thousands of worlds from extinction, perhaps millions.’

Threadfin felt his jaw drop open. ‘He created the plagues? A breather?’

‘You’re missing the point, lad,’ said Podral with a grin. ‘It was Nalrost who created the Plagueborn. He created you.’