8

Fight and Flight

The air was full of movement as Candle raced up the valley. The way was narrow and the wind rushed through her hair as she walked by the light of the highway of souls.

The path was a disused track that led away from the village and into a dead end valley that ended in a steep cliff and a series of unclimbable waterfalls. There was a small bothy half way up, but that was all. Candle was betting that Rasmus would assume she would make for a moongate, if not the one in Hanternos, then one close by.

Reaching the top of the rise she stopped to catch her breath, looking behind her at the quiet village below. Hanternos was a small island of light in the sea of darkness. Most of the light was the soft, subtle magic of the runes of protection. The moongate on the southern boundary was easy to pick out - a circular blaze of light surrounded by diminishing magical threads stretching out in every direction. Over to the west, she could see the lights of Sterlester over the plain on the distant horizon. Turning her back on the village of her birth she trudged over the rise and across the brief mountain plateau. When she looked back again Hanternos was out of sight, vanished beneath the bulk of the mountainside. Suddenly the night was darker, the stars more vibrant and the vegetation alive with the bustle of unseen creatures going about their nocturnal business.

Candle slowed as the initial exultation of escape wore off. Weariness was setting in but she dared not stop to rest. She needed to reach a safe place before the next twilight period, and she wasn't sure how long she had. She estimated it would take at least an hour to get to the Dawn Watch Bothy that was halfway up the valley. This particular bothy was a little-used refuge high on the slopes of the Enchantments. Candle had always wondered why it was built, as it seemed an unlikely spot. But then the actions of the Ancestors often seemed incomprehensible. The network of bothys were dotted throughout the mountainside and provided safe but simple places where the travellers could shelter from the elements and spirits both. They were maintained out of habit and seldom used.

Footsore and weary Candle arrived at the small stone bothy about an hour later. She approached the small stone building with some caution, on the unlikely chance it was occupied. It was empty, and dark as she laid down her pack on the dirt floor. She admired the warding circles and spells worked into the stone that would keep her safe. To her intense relief, they were all active. Tired beyond measure Candle shut and bolted the iron door and settled down to sleep with her bag for a pillow.

The next day Candle awoke in a panic and leapt up, tangling her limbs in her blanket. As she landed on the hard floor the events of the previous day came flooding back. It was a relief to push open the iron door and run out into the sunshine, breathing deeply. What would she give for a world where she could stay always under the wide open sky! But before her lay the width of the rolling valley, and her spirits lifted as she admired the grey mountains rising opposite and the vivid green slash of vegetation far below where the Bleujen River coursed on its' long journey to the sea. The sun was high overhead - she had been asleep for a long time.

She chewed on a biscuit thoughtfully, eyes on the valley before her. All was glorious isolation. The only building in sight was the craggy ruin of one of the Ancestors castles rising from the peak behind her. It was so weathered and tumbled down it was hard to imagine it had been built by human hands and certainly wasn't occupied anymore. There were no animals to be seen either. There was not a lot of wildlife in the Eastern Reaches, only those creatures that were wily or tough enough to escape the wights' bloodlust: Aurochs and rock-wolves that roamed in packs, waterfowl and birds that nested on high crags and little creatures that burrowed underground or in crevices. The wind was the only moving thing, rushing through the valley and pushing the clouds over the peaks in great fluffy mounds. She shivered a little in the breeze. She was free up here, but she couldn't stay forever. She was too close to Hanternos and had no way of providing food for herself. She wouldn't dare to make a fire and half of the winter still lay ahead. It was colder than she had realised it would be, up in the little hut. Eventually, she would have to find some people to live with. Or steal from. She supposed she might trek to another village or town, and try to get work. But what skills did she have to offer? Nothing. She was no good to anyone. And then there were her eyes...

Perhaps, she thought, shading her eyes and squinting up at the sun, perhaps she should go and find her mother's relatives...but Gelliwic was many leagues to the north, much too far to walk. She visualised a map of the Eastern Reaches in her head. She dared not use the moongate at Hanternos. The next closest would be Nanjizal on the other side of the Enchantments, and then Crow's Nest, about two days walk to the west. But she would need to be careful to avoid being caught out at twilight. Bothys were scattered throughout the Reaches but some were old and in ruins and others hard to find. The Ancestors Own must have a moongate, she thought, suddenly. Their fortress at Gwavas was only a half days walk to the east. Moreover, she doubted Rasmus would think to look for her there. She leaned back on the warm rock with some satisfaction. She had a plan. If she could avoid detection long enough to sneak through their gate...and she was passing confident in her sneaking abilities. Gelliwic was as good a destination as any. She would need a blindfold, she would pretend she was blind. None of her mother's relatives would recognise her anyway, she had never met them.

The next day she shouldered her pack and cautiously retraced her steps down the mountain. Her heart beat faster as Hanternos came into view. She kept her head down and darted watchfully down the steep stone stairs that would skirt the village, taking a detour around Steren's pastures. She toyed with the idea of stopping to visit her friend but decided against it. Her friend was well-meaning but would be unlikely to keep the secret.

She strode instead down the path to Nanjizal, making sure to leave footprints and broken branches in her wake. At the crossing of a small stream, she jumped into it and headed back the way she had come, wading in the water. She was pleased with her cleverness. Anyone tracking her would expect her to cross by the iron bridge at the ford. Of course Rasmus might have demonic assistance, but hopefully, the water would confuse even a demon. She really had no idea of their capabilities.

The thought of Rasmus tracking her with a demon lent wings to her feet and she made haste keeping the Enchantments to her back and the rising bulk of the Shield to her left. According to her parents' maps of the area, she should be able to see Gwavas long before she arrived, as the training grounds were located on a prominent hill that jutted out from the Guardian Peaks. It should be easy, she thought as she walked, and she should arrive with time to spare before the next twilight.

It was a good plan, and ordinarily, it would have been sound. On this particular day the wind was sharp and rising, and the temperature was dropping as she walked like the thickening clouds. Staring up at the mountain ridges Candle soon realised that maps and real life were very different. The air was moving quickly and clouds coming in low, obscuring everything in a thick haze. She was no longer sure she was heading in the right direction. She slowed down, sliding down a slope. Barely an hour later the sun was a dim and hazy orb, barely visible through the gloom. At this rate, the twilight would come very early that evening. She stopped at the bank of a middling-sized stream. She didn't think there was a stream of this size here.

She was lost.

She turned back and laboured up the slope she had just come down. At the top she paused and picked the direction she thought was right, fighting down the panic that was rising in her chest. As she walked the light faded. The wind died down and the world became a quiet place. Her footsteps were the only sound disturbing the peace. Fog rolled in covering everything in white. The gloaming was very near. White mist turned to grey. Candle turned, slowly trying to find a point of reference. She could barely see a few feet in front of her. She fought down the rising panic.

Directly in front of her, a dark shape loomed, and she ran forward in relief. Someone who could help her, or she had found the camp or a village...

"Hello?" she called. The figure turned towards her, mist swirling and she saw its face.

It wasn't human.

She turned and ran, tripping and falling as fear made her clumsy. Her fingers searched blindly for the iron bar that was somewhere in her pack. Her hand closed over its comforting weight and she lifted it out and turned, standing her ground. She hefted the bar gently.

She has seen Rasmus send a wight back to the Night Nation during the winter solstice...she could do it too. Although her brother had done it from within the protection of an iron circle, a small voice in her head said. With a dagger. She shook her head, shaking away her doubt. To hesitate now would be a death sentence. She planted her feet firmly in the ground and waited, skin prickling.

The wight lurched toward her moaning. It came slowly, walking painfully and favouring one ruined fleshy leg. It trailed pulsating, ink-black shadows that obscured everything in its wake. Every now and then it stopped to throw back its half -rotten maw and howl at the sky. The sound made Candle's knees quake but she held on to her pipe and waited for her moment. It came - Candle bashed the wight's torso with all her might.

It was knocked backwards, wailing and snarling. Smoke curled from the parts of its body where the cold iron had made contact. But it kept coming, she had not hit it hard enough to break the ruined flesh. Candle brought her arm back for another swing and the wight grabbed her arm squeezing as if to rip it off. Agony and fear leant her strength and with a scream, she plunged the blunt end of the pipe through the creature's chest. It exploded with shocking suddenness into ash and dust, covering Candle in its remains. She stood panting, heart thumping in her ears as she clutching her wounded arm. The wight had left an ugly bruise in the shape of its bony fingers. But she had done it! She was still alive.

She picked up the iron pipe and dusted it off carefully. She picked up her pack and slung it on her back, and wiped herself off as well as she could. A twig cracked behind her and she looked up sharply.

Several dark figures were emerging out of the fog. Every one of them trailing darkness.

Candle turned and fled.