47

Jotham the Tourist

Candle followed Jotham through the dark doorway into the interior of his mountain. He kept multiple witch lights bobbing behind him in a string, and she soon left her fear of the dark behind as she hurried after him. He led the way down a twisting stone passage that was almost a twin to the one at the Dawn Watch. They walked past several doorways leading off to left and right. She peeked into each as they passed, spying messy heaps of paintings, chests, books and oddly made piles of old furniture, momentarily illuminated as the witch lights floated past. Most of the rooms looked neglected, thick with dust and cobwebs. It was clear that Jotham spent most of his time in the large airy cave with the waterfall.

"In here," he said, walking through a silver-runed archway into a grand room that opened up into a high ceiling. There were no windows, but the floor was lined from floor to ceiling with books of every size and shape. A large table filled the centre, and various old velvet chairs were strewn around. Books lay piled everywhere, and it was evident from the collection of discarded mugs that this room had seen recent use. Candle looked around her in wonder, as the witch lights chased each other into the high corners, lighting the room. Not even her parent's collection could have rivaled the sheer amount of books, and they were considered well-read.

"I've been reading everything I can find," said Jotham. "There's a lot written about demons, especially in relation to Teurek rituals and means of worship but very, very little about how to destroy them. In fact, I've only found one book that offers anything like a plausible solution." He pulled out a dusty tome, a giant ancient thing, covered in old black leather. He slammed it down on the table and opened it at a bookmark. Candle bent over it eagerly, but it was in a script she could not read. She could not even identify the language.

"What does it say?" she asked.

"It's from a hundred years after the Dissever," he said, patting the book. "According to the author, demons were originally humans who died, went to the Night and then... something happened to them. Their souls were unable to move on, these ancient human souls - they were consumed by anger and madness. They fused with evil spirits from... losing what was left of their humanity in the process and became mad echoes of themselves, fighting to return to the land of their birth to avenge themselves on the living."

Candle let out a breath. "Is it true?"

"I don't know, but it's an interesting hypothesis."

"According to this - and assuming it is not a work of fiction - you can kill a demon by stabbing them with a blade made from cold iron and silver at the place of their original death."

Jotham reached into a back pocket and pulled out a fine blade with an intricate silver inlay. He held it carefully, so his fingers did not touch the iron part and dropped it on the table with a clatter. "There's the blade," he said with a boyish grin. "So we are halfway there already."

He looked around the room. Candle felt the faint stirring of hope. She repressed it vigorously.

"That's great," she said, "But-"

"But how do we find where your resident demon died?" Jotham looked around the room, peering into the corners. "Is he here?"

"No, not right now."

"Don't say his name," said Jotham, "and tell me the instant he returns. I'm not sure how rational he is, but better to be safe... This is where I have become stuck. We know his name, right? But that is all." He pulled another dusty tome off the shelf and thumped it down in a cloud of dust. "So how do we find where he died?" he said. "So we can test this theory?" He looked up at Candle, still grinning. "This book," he said, jabbing a finger at the page which had columns and columns of writing, "is a record of all births, deaths and marriages that took place in Havi from the year 150 BD to the year 1000 AD." Candle leaned over the table, craning to see, even though she would not be able to read it. Jotham's enthusiasm was infectious. "Here it is!" he poked the page so hard he made a hole in the fragile parchment. He swore, and smoothed it out carefully. "There is his name! Or someone with the same name, died in a place called Fordh Dhall, the Olduvai Gate." He frowned and his lips moved, as he spelt out the name again. "Olduvai Gate....so that means...hmmm. Interesting. Anyway, there is a record of a human bearing this name dying in Fordh Dhall, and being buried in the catacombs there. Before the Dissever."

"Over a thousand years ago," echoed Candle, sitting back on her heels, "but I've never heard of Fordh Dhall? And what are catacombs?"

"Before the Dissever," said Jotham, "humans used to bury their dead in the ground."

"What - they would just leave them there, to rot?"

"It was safe then," said Jotham. "Or actually maybe it wasn't. But humans thought it was safe. And the places the bodies were interred were called catacombs."

"But - there aren't any places like that?" Said Candle. "I mean, any bodies that were left would have been taken by Skin Walkers long ago?"

"Maybe we don't need an actual body," said Jotham, looking thoughtful. "Hopefully the place where he died will be enough. There wouldn't be much body left after a thousand years anyway. We need to find older maps. Many places used to be known by different names. Their names might have changed as language shifted. Or perhaps it is an old village that was wiped out of existence during the Border War, or during some natural event?"

"The Lizard?" said Candle. "They have the oldest library I know of."

"Well then, let's take a trip," Jotham said. "And as quickly as possible. I can't leave my mountain for too long, and the sooner we deal with it, the better. Here, take this." He slid the silver and iron dagger over to her, and she stuck it through her belt with a nod of thanks. He strode back through the passages to the open side of his lair.

"Where will we find your Kenning?" he said, as an afterthought. "Where does it sit or meet or whatever it is that Kenning's do?"

"The Lizard in Mires Orth," said Candle, "next to the King's palace."

"You might as well be quacking," said Jotham, "how many leagues north?"

"Northeast," said Candle, "it's at least two hundred leagues, maybe more. We could go by moongate."

"Ew, no! We can be there in two days if we fly."

"Four days away from your treasures?"

Jotham hesitated.

"Perhaps you are right," he conceded. "Let's go in the morning. I should probably teach you some more runes as well. Just in case. And that reminds me."

He turned and rooted around in a chest in one corner, retrieving a small vial necklace from inside a packet and handed it solemnly to Candle. The tiny bottle was dark blue worked around with whorls of turquoise that reminded her of the luminescence of the ocean. It was held in place by a cork and a thin silver chain.

"Pretty," said Candle, "What is it?"

"Seawater," he said. "Just until you can work the change without it."

"Thank you," she said, a little overwhelmed, slipping it over her neck. The vial felt cool against her collarbone. Its slight weight was reassuring.

After a meal, Candle sat on the edge of the pool with her feet submerged while Jotham taught her some more runes.

"So you are not tempted to get creative and blow us all up," he said. "And keep in mind that you probably need a few decades of practice before you become efficient."

He taught her basic healing, fire, starfire, witchlights and a light refraction rune which Candle was particularly taken with. It worked in a similar way to creating a painting, only working with light and space rather than on a static, two-dimensional surfaces. Jotham retired to his battered old couch and left her playing with the rune, making the light shift and dance around the cavern.

Much later, exhausted by her efforts and the emotional toll of the last few days, Candle curled up on a battered armchair and did her best to sleep. Her dreams were haunted by Rasmus and Belias. Over and over, she saw her brother fall to the ground, over and over the spear of light hit his forehead with the most terrible sound. She awoke, sweating and afraid, sometime before the dawn. Belias was watching her in the darkness less than a handsbreadth away from her face and she screamed at the sight of his horrible face looming out of the dark. He laughed at her, his eyes moving in and out of shadow like they were made of a thousand restless maggots. Candle scrambled away, crashing into a pile of books Jotham had brought from out of one of the interior rooms.

"How wonderful the sound of the spear punching through his skin," said the demon, his gaping maw twisting into a hideous parody of a grin. Squish. Blackness leaked from the corners of his lips. "You should do it again, and soon. I am growing hungry."

"What's wrong?" cried Jotham, who had leapt to his feet at her scream. His hair was on end, and he looked around with balled fists.

"I'm sorry," said Candle, "it was just Belias. I got a shock."

Jotham glowered in the direction he imagined the demon stood while Belias watched him with interest, his maggoty eyes-rolling.

"I can't make it go away," said Jotham, "but know you are safe. It can't hurt you. It can only speak to you; it has no power beyond what you give it."

"You could kill him so easily in the night, commented Belias. A knife to his throat, and his heart for me, it would be so easy."

"I know," said Candle, "I'm sorry."

She dumped her head in the pool, and they both settled down to sleep again, waking after the dawn.

Jotham made her go through the runes she had learned the night before, and then, to calm her nerves, she went through the physical training exercises that Jory had taught her.

"What's the point of all that," said Jotham, watching her over the top of his book. "Your other body is so much better for fighting."

"It just seems prudent," said Candle, "to do everything I can." She glared at him, irritated by his manner. "Are you so sure of yourself? You don't ask your Ancestors for guidance; you act like you don't need any help, ever. Yet I know iron can bind you as fast as the next person."

"Oh, my great-niece is growing some teeth," he said, baring his own canines at her, but she could see he didn't like the mention of iron. "I have always relied on myself, and it has always been enough."

"No Ancestors?"

"Let them sleep," he said. "I told you how I feel about appealing to my forefathers and mothers."

"No Gods?"

"I am not Teurek," he said. "And if I did call on the Old Gods, I would not expect them to answer. I would be disturbed if they did. Now as much as I am enjoying this momentary burst of feistiness, we have a demon to attend to? We should get going."

"Do you have a more... a more normal cloak?"

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

Candle looked sideways at him consideringly. She had no idea where he got his clothing, but it was in a style that she had never seen before. She decided it was the least of her worries. After all, she was a demon-possessed murderer who was about to try and walk into the King's library with a revenant by her side.

"Maybe they'll assume you are a foreign emissary, or something," she said.

"I could be," said Jotham, smoothing his collar and looking a little affronted. At least he wasn't armed, thought Candle. Of course, he didn't need weapons when he had his teeth and magic, but the palace guards wouldn't know that. She made sure her own dagger was hidden out of sight. Would it matter that she was still dressed in the clothing of the Ancestors' Own? She decided she didn't care. If something went wrong they could fly away, or Jotham could knock a hole in the wall.

They flew through the bright morning to the Dawn Watch, coasting down to the mountaintop castle, which stood empty and quiet. The watch rock was deserted and looking at the abandoned campsite made Candle feel very homesick for her teammates.

She looked out across the valley, across the shattered and fire-scorched ruins of her childhood home towards the Keep of the Ancestor's Own. Standing there with the land laid out in front of her she realised that if the Lochlanachs destroyed Gwavas, they would have control of the whole of the Eastern Reaches. Since they had arrived just after the Winter Solstice they had destroyed Sterlester, Nanjizal, Crow's Nest and Hanternos. All the remaining settlements of Roseland, of the isthmus had been evacuated, their inhabitants fleeing into the interior. Gwavas was the region's last and only point of defense. The realisation made her feel a little sick, but then she reminded herself that Gwavas was not some ill-prepared, peaceful settlement. The Mester was cunning and versed in the art of war, the inhabitants trained in systematic violence. They had magic, but would it be enough? Would it be enough against demons and airships armed with explosives and weapons that could kill from a great distance? She sent up a prayer to her Ancestors that they would protect her friends.

Standing in front of the moongate, with the fresh spring wind blowing through their hair, she showed Jotham how to cut his palm. They let their blood mingle with the rich ochre of the Mires Orth soil.

"Hang on," said Candle, and drew a strip of cloth out of her pocket. She reluctantly tied it over her eyes and sighed. At least it was only temporary. "Let's go."

Together they stepped through the moongate into the bustling marketplace at Mires Orth two hundred leagues to the northeast.

"How you can claim human magic is not based on sacrifice," said Jotham, waving his cut palm in front of her face as they passed over the threshold of the gate. "This is clearly blood magic and totally barbaric."

"Shhh," said Candle, warningly. She didn't want to attract the wrong sort of attention, but she need not have worried. The beautifully dressed Gate Guardian waved them through with barely a glance.

Mires Orth was spread out before them, the streets and markets of the King's city filled with hundreds of people dressed in a hundred different fashions from all corners of the seven kingdoms. The sun was hot and the air was thin, as the capital was located high in the mountains of the north, above the tropical latitudes. Candle concentrated on filling her lungs as she directed Jotham towards the Lizard, her eyes darting over the colourful throngs of people and stalls.

"Your King might find an army of barbarians in his city, if he's not careful," said Jotham, healing his hand as they walked. "That overdressed fashion plate of a Gate Guardian won't be stopping any invasions."

Candle had to agree. It was a shock to walk the festival-like streets of the capital. Green pennons snapped in the breeze in celebration of the upcoming Spring Equinox, and garlands of flowers hung from all the doors. The geometric paintings on the sides of the houses were all freshly applied and decorated with themes of happiness and prosperity, rather than the complex defensive workings seen in the Reaches. In fact, it was hard to remember that in the distant south villages lay in ruins and people were fleeing their homes. Here all was light and colour and the most amazing smells wafting from various street vendors. Ishbel had attended many balls at the palace and had always returned home full of stories of the beauty and wonder of it all. Candle ground her teeth and pushed the memory of her sister to the back of her mind.

"Not bad, as cities go," said Jotham, looking around, with every indication of enjoyment. "Completely indefensible, of course, but easy on the eyes. Oooh-"

His eye was caught by a fine display of jewellery in a little shop window. Candle stood there, hopping on one leg as he burst through the door and spent several long minutes inspecting the sparkling pieces on display. He made small noises of interest and disgust by turn, examining each jewel carefully while the shopkeeper looked on with nervous attention. After several minutes he turned away, raising his eyebrows at Candle's expression.

"We are not here to shop," she muttered.

"It's not every day I visit a human city," he said, but resumed his place at Candle's side. They strode through the crowded streets and looking around at the people, Candle realised how much she had changed in the last few months. She remembered when the sight of a weapon had shocked her to the core. No one here was armed, everyone looked happy...and vulnerable. Which is how they should look, she reminded herself. Her sheathed dagger rubbed against her waist as she walked and she shifted guiltily.

"There," she said, and led Jotham up the stairs towards a grand stone building at the top of the street, that loomed over the capital from its seat on the hill. Like everything else in Mires Orth it was built for beauty rather than defense. The iron doors were intricately wrought and thrown wide open while a continuous stream of people passed in and out without check. Candle and Jotham joined the throng and found their way to the records room without any trouble.

"So this is the place where your King meets his advisers?" said Jotham, looking around wolfishly. "Where your precious Kenning meets? The one that meets all the decisions for the entire country?"

"Yes. Well upstairs, I think. I've never actually been here before."

"Maybe we should just take over."

"What?"

"I could set myself up as King. It really wouldn't be hard. I'd have to kill, a couple of people? Probably not even that many. Let's face it I would probably do a better job."

"That sounds like something Belias would say."

"You could do it without him," said Belias. "You could be Queen of Everything."

"I wouldn't want to be king of the humans," said Jotham. "I prefer to enjoy them from afar."

"Well, that's a relief."

"Can I help you?" A clerk popped out from behind a stack of shelves and looked at them inquiringly.

"Yes, please," said Candle. "We're looking for old maps, really old ones from the years just after the Dissever."

The head librarian looked Jotham up and down, but was too civilised to make a comment, merely waving them to a row of shelves at the back of the room. The atmosphere inside was quiet and hushed, and fortunately, there were not many people around. Candle's heart started to thump as she stared at the wall of dusty books.

"Where do we start?"

Jotham shrugged and pulled one down, handing it to her. He took one himself and slid to the floor to open it.

Several hours later Candle's pulse had slowed to a sluggish crawl. She slouched in a corner trying to focus as she flipped from page to page of dusty maps. Building plans, city plans, farm boundaries - it was all here. Some of them were for villages and towns that she knew, some she had never heard off, places wiped out of existence for reasons she would never know. Belias was crouched next to her whispering darkness into her ear. She jumped as Jotham leapt up, banging her elbow against the shelf.

"Here!" he yelled. "Got it!" He shoved an ancient book under Candle's nose and pointed to the fading ink. She focused her eyes and stared down at the old drawings. There it was written Fordh Dhall - the Olduvai Gate. Her eyes slid to the familiar depiction of the mountain range on either side of the catacombs that were depicted as lying deep under a castle with a large, solitary stone tower. A keep, rising between two mountain ranges. The ink was barely visible but there was the unmistakable outline of the Enchantments and the Spear.

"Looks familiar, doesn't it?" said Jotham. "I guess we need to make one more trip to Gwavas, to see what secrets Eisheth is keeping under that castle."