2

Air and Mountain

With practised stealth, Candle made her way up to the high pastures. Officially, Candle was supposed to stay confined to her parents' estates. She had strict instructions to keep out of sight. Unofficially, she roamed the village and spent long hours in the surrounding mountains.

The wind that afternoon was fresh, blowing white clouds haphazardly through the sky as she crept up the stony trail. The noise of the mid-winter celebration in the village below was lost in the rush of air. She went slowly and stopped once or twice to rest, gazing down at the plains spread out below. From this height, the city of Sterlester was just visible on the horizon and the sea just behind it. There was a faint tang of salt on the wind's edge.

Company was hard to find if you were a nameless girl with eyes the colour of the dead. Most of the villagers were celebrating below, but a few outcasts were absent and might be willing to share some stolen cherry cake. Sure enough, seated on a rocky outcrop to the west of the bluff Candle found a solitary old lady sitting with her wrinkled and stockinged legs dangling into space. Her wizened old face gazed benignly towards the running clouds, her hair, wild and snowy, streaming behind her in the stiff breeze. Her eyes were gently misted over with age. Candle didn't know her name or where she lived but thought of her privately as the mad old weather lady.

"It's my birthday," said Candle. "I brought you some cake."

She set it down carefully next to the old dear who didn't look at her. Sometimes she would talk to Candle, but just as often she would ignore her. When she did speak, it was mostly about the weather.

"Storm's coming," the old lady said, suddenly.

Candle settled cautiously on the rock next to her.

"Is it?" she asked politely. Storms weren't unusual for this time of year, and the wind blew more often than it didn't. She watched lazily as white clouds rippled over the Enchantments to the west, their shadows scudding over the ground.

"Rivers of blood," said the old lady.

"Right," said Candle, after a pause and bit into her cake. After all, the old lady was mad enough not to run screaming when Candle came to visit her, which meant she probably wasn't all there upstairs, poor thing.

"Enjoy it while you can," the old lady said, turning her head to look at Candle, her grey dress whipping in the wind. "They're coming."

"Who's coming?" Candle asked, but the old lady didn't say anything else. Together they sat and stared out across the vast plains below. Hanternos looked like a toy village from this high up.

They sat companionably for a while, and then Candle said goodbye and set off to look for Steren. Steren was the closest thing Candle had to a friend. A small, peasant child of ten or eleven, Steren spent her days upon the wild mountain slopes above Hanternos watching her father's goats and keeping her own company. Their friendship was tentative and built on their mutual love of food.

It took Candle a while to find Steren, and she had almost given up when her sharp eyes spotted the goat's grazing on the slopes further along a narrow valley. Heading that way she soon spotted Steren sitting under the shade of a stunted silver tree, a brush in her mouth and a pencil tucked behind one ear.

"Steren!" she yelled as she huffed up the slope. "I brought cake! And paint!"

"Oh, happy birthday, Candle," said Steren, hopping to her feet and jiggling with excitement. "I made you something!"

"You did?" asked Candle, her heart swelling. Steren handed her a small wooden figurine, delicately carved out of ironwood. Candle turned it over in her hands. It was a dragon, perhaps five thumbs wide, poised to take flight. The wood was a deep reddish brown and glowed where it had been polished. "It's beautiful!" said Candle, cupping in gently. "But...don't you want to keep it? You could get quite a sum for that from the merchants, I'm sure...and the Ancestors would love it-"

"Don't be silly, I made it for you," said Steren. "And I can always make another, with those tools you stole for my last birthday." Candle started guilty, then laughed. "Besides," Steren held up one small index finger, and a flame blossomed there. She giggled, and it puffed away in the breeze. "The Ancestors are very pleased with me since you've been teaching me."

Candle laughed then gazed again at the little carving. Candle had started teaching Steren a year or so ago.

"Thank you so much," she said, "I will treasure it." She cast a critical eye over it and was surprised at quite how far her unofficial pupil had progressed in such a short time. It was not a sophisticated piece, by any means, here and there the gouges of clumsy tool markings could be seen. And the head was too big. But it was lovely; there was no denying it. Candle could almost imagine the dragon was about to come to life. "Thank you," she said again. She reached into her bag and pulled out her feast. Steren's eyes brightened at the sight of the cherry cake and the slightly squashed loaves. The two girls sat side by side with the wind teasing their hair and ate happily. They washed their meal down with cordial and fresh water from the waterfall at the top of the valley.

"We'd better get going," said Candle, reluctantly, watching the sun slip towards the mountains behind Sterlester. The wind had dropped, and the valleys were very still. The goats were resting and the only things moving were a distant herd of auroch grazing the plains far to the west.

"Come on," said Steren, "it's getting cold. And we don't want to be caught out in the twilight."

They left the unused parchment and paint under a flat rock for another day, then made their way down the slopes, trailing sleepy goats. They parted ways well before the first wall of the village. Steren plodded off down the trail to her father's rude hut just within the first boundary wall. Candle waited till she was out of sight, then crept towards her parent's manse. Her feet slowed as she grew closer, and her stomach felt leaden. She had enjoyed the day tremendously but felt sure that trouble waited for her at home. But it was too dangerous to stay out in the twilight, especially on the solstice. She had no choice and nowhere else to go.

The shadows were lengthening as Candle slipped through the gardens and across the low dry stone walls of her neighbours, pausing here and there to avoid detection. This close to the gloaming most folk were safely in their homes with their iron doors fastened shut, preparing for their evening Vigils, so it wasn't difficult. Her steps slowed as she approached the manse. The wind had dropped, and it's absence left a breathless peace. She lingered in a pleasant garden but then, glancing at the deepening shadows decided she dared wait no longer. She crossed the lane that marked the boundary between the village and her parent's estate.

Some instinct made her pause by the dry stone wall. She stood listening, head cocked to one side. Her skin prickled. She looked up, but the sky was empty, and no one was in sight. She jumped as a large bell rang out, the warning for all the villages that twilight approached. She needed to get indoors. Candle vaulted the low wall and landed softly on all fours. The manicured lawn tickled her hands as she straightened. A shadow detached itself from the shrubbery, making her gasp.

"Well, well, well," drawled her brother, planting himself in her way.

"The bell, Rasmus," she said, edging sideways along the wall. The sky was already darkening to a deep purple. The first evening star twinkled overhead. The second bell rang out. It was twilight. Rasmus ignored it.

"The bell, Rasmus," he imitated her in a grotesque falsetto, crossing his arms. "Where have you been?"

From somewhere distant came a low mournful howl issuing from a set of unearthly lungs. The hair rose on the back of Candle's neck. But her brother did things in his own time and always had. He grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip.

"I said, where exactly have you been?" he demanded. His face gleamed with magic, so bright Candle was practically blinded. "Don't ignore me, I don't care if you are crazy."

"The bell-" she said, squinting up at him.

"WHERE have you been?" he roared.

Another howl, closer this time. What was it? She thought with a sinking stomach of the hole in the village's magical protections.

"Rasmus!" She had never been caught out at twilight before, but she had heard frightful stories of those who had. Usually, small children who were not properly attended, or the ill or confused of mind. Occasionally someone would drink too much mead and wander off. Only last year the carpenter's apprentice had over indulged at Harvest and passed out, out of doors. His body was never found, only a torn scrap of clothing and some bloodstains to give a clue to his demise. Sometime later, on a misty night his corpse was spotted walking the slopes above the village, his eyes a luminous blue. The thing that had stolen his body had killed a child and several of Steren's goats before it was finally destroyed. Lord Enys had called the Ancestors Own, that band of outcasts and criminals who policed the Reaches to kill it. And kill it they did, while the villagers all huddled within their protected homes. Candle would never forget the screams and howls it had made as it stalked the night. Cries that sounded almost exactly like the ones coming from the other side of the village wall right now...

Rasmus shook her, bringing her focus back to him and making her bones creak. He hated it when she didn't look straight at him, but she couldn't help it, she was terrified.

"I said, look at me when I'm speaking to you," he said, his voice quiet now, and dangerous. Her eyes slid back to his face, which was an ugly shade of puce, and then, unable to help herself, darted to the shadows on either side of them. But Rasmus was shaking her so hard she was afraid she might break. She tried to draw breath to reply but instead huffed it out as a large shadow materialised directly behind Rasmus. Larger than a normal sized man and broad of shoulder its features were masculine but indistinct, shifting in the darkness, as though made of living shadow. Its eyes were an indistinct blue in the darkness of its face which was not quite human. Its voice when it spoke was a sibilant hiss as it leaned down to Rasmus's ear.

"Something comes."

"What?" Rasmus dropped Candle, looking around angrily. He seemed agitated, annoyed even, rather than afraid.

"Something comes," the shadow repeated. The unearthly howl sounded again. Closer this time. Icy fingers ran up and down Candle's spine.

"Something is coming," she said urgently, pulling on Rasmus's sleeve. Suddenly her brother felt like the less of two evils. Rasmus looked at her curiously for a moment. The thing, whatever it was wailed. This time Rasmus appeared to hear it, his eyes widening and the colour disappearing from his face.

"The bothy next to the smith," he said, turning in that direction.

"No!" said Candle, urgently, "We can't risk opening the iron door. The moongate?"

"Too slow."

"The smithy?"

He didn't answer but instead ran towards it, leaving Candle to sprint after him. Over the garden wall, down the lane, and past several cottages. All of the buildings were locked up tight, their inhabitants safely inside behind the iron doors and shutters that filled the 'between' places in the stonework.

Rasmus arrived first, panting and pale. The smithy was deserted, of course, but the metals the smith was working on lay neatly piled on the table and against the forge. They set to work making a primitive circle of protection out of iron. They made sure every piece touched in at least one spot. There wasn't enough iron to make a very big circle. The two siblings crouched within and waited, sweating nervously.

Then, at the end of the lane, they saw it.