Chy Read online

  He could not portal in through another portal. Even if there had been a way to create another portal on the Terrace or the road, he could not create a portal to a place he was not. He had to be there to build a portal, and then link it back to his other portals. It was like building a railway line – first you built the stations, then you connected them up.

  And the road that wasn't exactly a normal road, its entrance was also a portal. He could travel three days to the nearest entrance in Althern but he doubted it would allow him access to the road. And even if it did, she'd said that the road was closed. It wouldn't take him all the way to the Temple.

  So now where was he, he asked himself as he leaned back in his chair and sipped his tea? His nearest town and the place where he traded and spent time with friends was gone. Destroyed. His friends had been kidnapped. Turned into slaves in another world. Sana too perhaps. The Heartfire Temple where he learned his gift, was gone as well. Maybe destroyed. And the interrogator thought he was guilty of something – or at least he had. His life in the last few weeks had fallen apart. Except that it hadn't fallen. It had been pushed. By the damned people with gossamer wings.

  What would the damned winged vermin take from him next?! And what could he do to stop them?! What could anyone do?!

  He sipped at his tea and felt sorry for himself, until he heard an unexpected yowling coming from just a few feet away. And when he looked around it was to see that the damned cat had woken up and was expecting her midday meal.

  “Cat's don't get lunch!” he told her. “Go and chase some damned mice!”

  The cat didn't seem to like that suggestion he gathered from the filthy look she shot him. But she was too fat anyway. Too furry too. And she probably had fleas – she wouldn't let him get close enough to look and she certainly wouldn't let him bathe her. He'd be lucky to have any skin left by the time he was done. Which left him with an unexpected question. Who the hell had been feeding her? Another question to add to his list.

  Chapter Twelve

  The fire crackled away in the early evening air, cooking his tea and supposedly keeping him warm. But no matter what he did, Fylarne couldn't get warm. He hadn't been able to for days. Not since he'd received the sending. Instead all he knew was the bitter chill of misery, grief and guilt. And now, sometimes, numbness.

  But at least it could be driven away for a time by other strong emotions. Like fear. And every time he saw another giant green figure in the distance, staring his way, that fear returned to him.

  Ogres! How could there be ogres?! They were legends and myths! Even if some of the worshippers who had come to the Temple by the path reported seeing them from time to time. But this accursed forest was filled with ogres. And not just ogres, but dragons. Tiny little dragons that the ogres seemed to keep as pets. They even wore them around their necks like furs! By all the gods, who would wear a dragon around their neck?! But then again Fylarne supposed, they were ogres!

  And then there were mammoths. He spotted them in the distance sometimes. More often he heard them, turning trees into kindling somewhere in the distance. They scared him. They didn't have to attack him to cause him harm. Just accidentally trample him.

  At least the ogres didn't seem to be the savage monsters he would have expected them to be. Though they looked like them. They were eight feet tall and grossly fat. Many of them it seemed to him, had to walk with staffs like him simply because of their enormous weight, their legs weren't strong enough to hold them unaided. Not that they apparently cared. They had teeth that he was sure were for crunching bone. Wore clothing that looked like it was woven out of moss and slime and bits of rotting leather. And they were green.

  But they didn't seem to mean him any harm. They didn't come chasing him. There was no attempt made to hunt him down and eat him. They just didn't want to see him, let alone speak to him. Whenever he came across some of them by accident they just yelled at him, waved angrily and told him to go away. He wasn't welcome.

  Still that bothered him for some reason. Just how awful did you have to be he wondered, if an ogre told you to go away? If even a monster didn't want to see you?

  He wondered about that as he sat by his fire and waited for the darkness to fall properly. But it would take time. Here, not far from a town of ogres, there was more light – mostly because there were less trees.

  It turned out that the ogres lived in clearings. In small towns in them. And they farmed. He wouldn't have expected that. Of course he knew nothing of ogres save for the tales that were sometimes told to children. Tales of huge green monsters that ate people. And in none of those tales had anyone mentioned that there were towns filled with ogres. Even pleasant towns. Maybe the streets were grass and the buildings ramshackle constructions of wood with thatched roofs and bent walls. But they were buildings. Not caves or nests on the forest floor. And the people – he had to think of them as people – seemed happy. They laughed and the chatted to one another as they did elsewhere. They worked too. There were places where ogres wove their disgusting looking fabrics. Streams where they fished with nets. And farms.

  He would never have imagined ogres farming. Nor would he have guessed what they farmed. Because there were tea plants and grains and root vegetables. There were also sheep and goats. But they also had fields of giant mushrooms. Who grew mushrooms? And shouldn't they be growing in the dark places? Under logs?

  But who was he to wonder about such things. He was a copper elf. One of the Darisen. He had grown up on a completely different world – Thiessen. He knew nothing of this world. And if the people here were ogres who kept pet dragons and grew mushrooms what was it to him? As long as they were peaceful. And they seemed to be that. Not friendly perhaps, but not in a hurry to tear him to pieces, throw him in a pot and chew on his bones either. He should probably just be grateful for that. Grateful too that as long as he stayed away from them, on the edges of the clearing they didn't bother him.

  It was warmer out in the open air. Not so damp. And after so many days, a week or more of trudging through the trees, he needed to dry out. Even to grab some food, and he'd pulled up a couple of carrots and a tuber of some sort from the edge of a field, which he was busy roasting on the fire. Mushrooms and berries weren't enough to keep him going forever. And he had to keep moving.

  But where was he going to?

  Fylarne wondered about that as he sat by the fire, kept a wary eye on the green giants, and waited for his dinner to cook. He wanted to go back to the Temple. Especially after he had heard the sending from Elodie. But it was obvious to him now that he couldn't get there. Not from here. After a week or more of trudging through the forest, it was clear that he'd been heading in the wrong direction. That wasn't a surprise. But he wasn't even sure that he'd been travelling in a straight line. With no sun to show him east and west and no clear view of the stars either, he could have been travelling in circles. There was no way of knowing. So changing course might not help.

  In any case, it was far too late to head to the Temple. Now that it was locked down. Now that everything that had been intended to happen had happened. He tried not to think about that. He desperately tried not to think about it. But he couldn't keep the terrible pain away from him forever. And it was terrible. What had happened had been terrible. As bad as he'd feared. And a lot of his friends were dead. Because of him.

  As he sat there and stared into the flames, that truth was with him. Once more.

  Elodie hadn't said how many had been killed. But he'd heard the pain in her words. Seen it in her face. And he knew it was terrible. She might even be the last guardian left.

  The pain of that tore at him. It ate at his soul every morning he woke up. And it made it hard for him to think as all he wanted to do was to go to her. To comfort her and protect her. She was family and she was hurting. She was in danger too. He needed to be there for her.

  But he couldn't be. He couldn't save her. And in any case, how could he tell her what he'd done? He could barely even admit it to him
self. And if he did tell her, she would hate him. Rightfully.

  In any case soon the Temple would probably be in the hands of the winged vermin. And she would be dead. She might already be dead. Every day that he trudged through this damned forest that horror walked beside him. It stole away the warmth of the fire and left him cold.

  And the only thing that brought him any warmth was the thought of what would happen to the accursed sprites.

  Soon they would be without their magic. Helpless and frightened. Dying at the hands of their victims. Screaming. He saw visions of them running in terror whenever he stopped moving. But he also saw the faces of his friends. Which was why he kept walking for as long as he could every day.

  He couldn't be sure of that of course. He couldn't be sure of anything. Not when he was trapped in this damned forest, unable to get back to see what had happened for himself.

  But what use would it be to return to the Temple? Even if he could get back? He couldn't save his fellow guardians. Their battle had been fought. Many of them had been killed. Perhaps all of them. Elodie could have been the last. And she too could now be dead. He could do nothing to stop any of that. And he could not bring the dead back to life. He couldn't even seem to find the damned Temple!

  Which left him with only one destination he could head for. The path that ran between worlds. The one that ran to the Temple. It ran through the endless forest. Through all of Prima. Just as it ran through other worlds too. But he had no idea where the nearest place might be where it ran through this world. It might be just over the rise behind him. Or it might be a thousand leagues away. In any direction.

  Still if he could find it. If he could get out of this accursed forest and onto the road, he could travel back to the gate at the far end and from there jump back to Thiessen. But then what would he do? Where would he go?

  He couldn't go back to Hellas. To his home town. Because there was no town there any more. No people. His family was gone as were all the people of the town. They had been abducted by the sprites. Abducted and turned into unwilling servants. Enslaved. They were now somewhere in N'Diel, serving their new masters. Or maybe, just maybe he hoped, killing them. They could be free now. He had to hope for that. He had to hope, to pray that what he had done had been of some good. That it wasn't all evil.

  Still if he couldn't go to the Temple and he couldn't go to Hellas, what did that leave? He didn't know.

  Fylarne grabbed one of the carrots from the hot stone, tested to make sure it had softened enough and then bit into it as he considered his options. But there were no other options. There was the sweet taste of carrot in his mouth, but there weren't any useful options. And soon there weren't any more carrots either.

  Which left him with the gourd. It looked a little like a pumpkin he thought. But the flesh inside was lighter, even after it had been cooked on the flat stone. But it smelled alright, and in time he was scooping out chunks of flesh with his fingers and showing them in his mouth. Giving his thanks to the gods and goddesses too for his meal. His belly had been too empty for too long.

  He thanked them too for his healing. He wasn't completely fit. His hip still ached when he moved too quickly, or stretched his leg out too wide, and he definitely couldn't run. But he could walk. He could breathe without suffering the pain in his ribs. And most of his cuts and bruises had healed over. And his condition improved with each new day that passed. He could walk a little further each day – even if he didn't know which direction he was travelling in.

  “You!”

  A gruff voice came from the dusk beyond the fire and made Fylarne look up hurriedly. Fear gripped him. It was an ogre, striding towards him, tree branch staff in hand, and the sight was enough to send an icicle of fear racing through his heart. For a moment he thought about getting up and running away, until he remembered that he couldn't run. All he could do was stay where he was and hope that the green man meant him no ill will. Or failing that, that his magic was strong enough to protect him, because it was all he had.

  “Yes?” he replied when the ogre was close enough to hear him.

  “Why do you bother us?” The ogre asked him with a voice that sounded like rocks rubbing together in a sack. He certainly didn't sound happy.

  “I try and stay away,” Fylarne replied as evenly as he could. But the ogre was enormous, surely close to nine feet tall and five hundred pounds. And those teeth. He could see the light from the fire glinting off them.

  “Try harder!”

  “I would,” he answered him. “But I am lost in this land. I just want to go home. But I cannot find my way back.”

  “Does that concern us?” the ogre replied angrily. “We do not want your kind here. This is our home!”

  He was right of course, Fylarne realised. But that didn't change anything. Except that maybe it gave him a chance to get back that he hadn't had before.

  “There is a road,” he began nervously. “A twisted path that winds its way between many worlds as it travels between a gate at one end and the volcano at the other. If I could find that road again, I could go home.”

  “You stepped off the road?!” the ogre growled at him. “What sort of witless oaf are you?!”

  “You know of the road?” Fylarne asked hopefully.

  “Of course. It touches along the Taen River twenty or more leagues narward of here.”

  “Narward?” Despite the fact that he understood the ogre perfectly as he was speaking the ancient tongue, Fylarne didn't know that word.

  “Oaf! Do you know nothing? All forests point narward.”

  “I don't understand?” Fylarne shrugged helplessly. How could a forest point in any direction? And even if it did, how could he tell?

  “The trees grow tall but not straight. Their tips point narward. Their branches stretch out narward on one side, and spread out wide on the other side. The vinward side. The wind blows mostly to the narward.”

  “Thank you!” Fylarne almost managed a smile as he understood what the green giant was telling him. “I will leave first thing in the morning.”

  “See that you do!” the ogre growled at him. “Your kind is not welcome here. You frighten the children!”

  “I will stay away from the children.”

  “From all of us! We are a civilised people! And you probably carry some plague!”

  With that the ogre abruptly spun around and stomped off, leaving Fylarne sitting there, wondering at what he had just been told. The ogres were civilised, but his people weren't? And his presence frightened the children? It was almost as though the giant green man considered him the monster! And maybe, it unexpectedly occurred to him, he was.

  But that didn't matter. He had a direction to travel, assuming he could work out which way the trees pointed. He had a destination – a river, and how hard could it be to work out when he'd reached a river? And he had a distance. Twenty something leagues. Two, probably three days travel in his current condition. And then of course he had to follow the river either up or down stream. But whichever it was, it was only a choice of two directions to follow. And if he got it wrong, he could simply retrace his steps.

  A full belly and a direction to travel. He could escape this damned endless forest. This had truly been a good day and he gave thanks to the Lady of Grace for her blessing. But of course it still didn't leave him with a destination. He could think about that as he travelled.

  But did he deserve the miracle she had granted him? This unexpected hope? Nothing would absolve him of his guilt. Nothing would bring the dead back to life. And if Elodie still lived, nothing he could do would help her.

  Still, he would accept this miracle he had been given.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The damned sprites were attacking again! Elodie was angry about that. So angry that it was difficult for her to concentrate on her book. It just sat in her lap now, after she'd reread the same page a dozen times and she still couldn't remember a word that was written. She simply couldn't pay attention to anything but the
anger that lay in her heart, choking it.

  She'd thought that she'd got rid of all the bastard sprites ten days or so ago. And then she'd locked the grand portal and closed the road leading to the Temple to make sure that no more could come. But unfortunately the sprites had not fallen to their doom in the endless forest as she'd wished. Instead at least a hundred of them had made it back to the terrace in due course. And ever since they had been trying to break in. Luckily, she'd also closed the entrance to the Temple, and they could not get in.

  That had given her the time she'd needed to say goodbye to her friends and to give them the proper burials they deserved. She'd spoken the proper prayers and delivered them one by one to the Heartfire. Nearly thirty funerals.

  The sprites she hadn't disposed of so respectfully. She'd simply dragged them up to the roof terrace and hurled them off the side of the great volcano. They could rot. And as for their summoned creations, she'd ignored them. Without their masters, the elementals had no orders. Nothing to do. So they just stood where they were and did nothing. In time they would fade away she assumed. Become nothing.