20

Teurek and Training

Candle and Locryn set off down the corridor, Locryn's witch light leading the way. They both had their iron daggers out, their eyes watchful.

"Why don't you make your own witch light," asked Locryn as they went. Candle gritted her teeth, not taking her eyes off the passage.

"Can't," she said. She really didn't want to talk about it. Locryn already thought she was an incapable idiot. He might be right.

"So you use your magic to see?" he asked, his voice was neutral, as they walked steadily forwards. Their footfalls were the only noise in that forgotten place. She pondered her response. Locryn was uncomfortably smart for a peasant. She could see the trap he was laying for her. If she said yes, she used her magic to see he would expect her to be able to see in the dark, which of course she could not. She decided to go with a half-truth.

"No," she said, "it's just...I can see a bit but... my eyes are hideous. I hate people looking at them, so I hide them."

She glanced at him anxiously, and he looked back at her, his face unreadable.

"I'm sorry," he said, to her surprise. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say more but shut it again. They continued down the passage in silence. It was long and gently sloping down to the left. Their footsteps crunched on the hard floor, the solitary witch light sending shadows skittering and bobbing along the uneven walls.

After some minutes they came to another staircase, a broad spiral, and they stopped to mark it on Candle's map.

"About sixty paces," she said, writing it down.

The broad spiral staircase was grand in design and must have once cost someone a lot of rings in workmanship. Candle traced her finger wonderingly over the ancient bannister as they descended. The rune work was unfamiliar. She wondered if it had been built by the same people who had so lovingly carved out Jotham's halls.

"Unlikely that this is a bothy then," said Locryn. "It's too big."

The bottom of the stairwell opened out onto a large chamber of natural rock formations. Glistening stalactites hung from the ceiling and six doorways opened off the main chamber.

"Wow," said Locryn, letting his light ride high so they could admire the spectacle. Candle agreed that it was beautiful but had her eye on the black doorways. That was a lot of doorways without iron filling them. Each and everyone would become a gateway to the Night Nation come Twilight. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

"How long have we been down here?"

"Half an hour? Maybe a little longer. It's nowhere near twilight if that's what you are worried about."

"Good," she said, still not taking her eyes off those doorways. The gaping emptiness bothered her and filled her with dread.

"I wonder what the Ancestors did in here," said Locryn examining the chamber.

They explored the doorways one by one, carefully marking their discoveries on Candle's parchment. Two opened onto empty rooms, echoing and uninteresting. The third led to an interconnected set of three chambers and a massive blocked up hearth.

"A kitchen maybe?" said Locryn. "If we can get the flue open that could be very helpful. I wonder where it comes out."

Candle made a quick sketch to show the others. The fourth door led to another interconnected set of rooms, this time full of shifting sand and a sad musty smell of rot.

The fifth doorway led to another spiral stairwell, leading further into the mountain.

"A quick look?" said Locryn to Candle, "then we should head back." She nodded uneasily and together they tiptoed down the spiral. It went a long way down, at least three storeys and opened out into a massive cavern. Towering pillars held the roof aloft and far to one side glimmered what looked like sunlight.

"A cave opening?" wondered Locryn, and his voice echoed back at them. A colony of bats took flight, and they ducked as they passed overhead. "This place is huge," he said, straightening. "The whole of Gwavas could fit in here with room to spare!"

"We should go back," said Candle.

The cavern was so big and had so many dark corners. So much hidden in the gloom, undisturbed for who knew how many centuries. Her shoulder blades twitched, and she kept turning around as if someone or something was watching her. But there was never anything: just darkness and harmless shadows.

Locryn reluctantly agreed.

"I feel like we could explore forever."

"That's what worries me," said Candle, "it must be nearly lunchtime."

"Your stomach empty again?" Locryn asked sourly, but he turned back to the rock stairwell.

Back up top Locryn heaved a piece of broken wood over the hole in the floor. It wouldn't stop much, thought Candle. A midsized wight would snap it like a twig.

"It'll have to do for now," he said, "until we can find some iron. But it doesn't look too bad."

"So far," muttered Candle, and to her surprise, he laughed at her bleak expression.

"True," he said, and she followed him back up into the sunlight.

Everyone except Pasco was eating soup and bread cross-legged in the sun.

"I was just about to send down a search party," said Jory, gesturing for them to help themselves from the gently simmering pot. "After lunch of course. I take it there is more to the redoubt than the single room below?"

"That would be a bit of an understatement," said Locryn, as Candle helped herself to a large bowl of soup. It smelled of butternut and cinnamon. Her stomach rumbled. "We didn't get to the end of it, and we went down four levels." Locryn helped himself sat down cross-legged. "So many doorways, and no iron in sight."

"The Mester will be pleased," said Jory. "Maybe we can turn this into a fully fledged keep."

Everyone enjoyed their food quietly and then the dishes were speedily washed in the spring rising from a crack in the rock on the valley side of the plateau. Someone had carved a deep basin to collect the water. The runoff spilled over the sides and then down the sheer rock face of the mountain, disappearing into the deep green of the gorge below.

After clearing up, Jory took everyone through basic stretching and strengthening exercises that left Candle's body aching all over. While the others paired up to spar, he gave Candle a short wooden staff that looked suspiciously like a broom handle and taught her some exercises.

"Focus on building your strength for now," said the older man, "you already look healthier than the first time I saw you. Must be all that food you keep inhaling."

Candle didn't have breath or energy to reply, and sweat was soon streaming down her face. He watched her in silence for a few minutes.

"Good," he said. "Ten thousand more and you'll be on your way!"

Her injured arm began to trouble her, but she carried on with Jory for another half an hour.

"What's wrong with your arm?" he asked after she stopped to rub it.

"Wight grabbed it," she said, "while I was trying to kill it."

"And did you finish the job?" asked Jory with one raised eyebrow. She nodded.

"Like the Night she did," said Locryn, from over the plateau, where he and Delen were sparing.

"Let's take a look," said Jory, holding out his hand. Hesitantly, Candle rolled back her sleeve. Jory sucked air in through his teeth. "Loc, I think you owe Meraud an apology," he said, mildly. "Delen, can you ask Pasco over and cover his watch?"

They all crowded round to look at Candle's arm, much to her chagrin. It was puffy and swollen; the fingertips of the wight still clearly visible where its ragged nails had broken the skin. The bruise was still an ugly purple, but Candle thought it looked a little better and said so.

"Young woman," said Jory, examining her arm with gentle fingertips, "if you think it looks better I hate to imagine how it looked before! Now, listen to me, if you have a hurt like this you speak up. Got that?"

She nodded, not wanting to upset him. Pasco arrived and crouched down beside them.

"Pasco's a decent healer," said Jory. "He's had a little training. He says he thinks he can get rid of most of the swelling and speed up the healing-"

"No," said Candle, snatching her arm away and springing back, as Pasco's fingertips began to shine with subtle veins of magic. "I mean - no, thank you - but please don't waste your gift on me."

Pasco looked at her anxiously gesturing in the air.

"He says it's no trouble, little one. He says this is what the gift is for; there is no finer use."

She stared down at them, poised for flight.

"He says it will not hurt; please do not be afraid."

"I not afraid of it hurting," she said, insulted. "I just don't like...I don't like it when people use their gift on me."

They all stared at her. Pasco's eyes were full of sorrowful understanding. Candle felt her own eyes fill with angry tears and squeezed them together under the blindfold. "It's fine," she said, turning away. "It doesn't hurt that much."

"Pasco says would you object to a compress of herbs? No magic?"

She turned back and nodded, a lump in her throat.

So Pasco cleaned her arm with gentle fingers and then slathered it in a mix aloe and comfrey, and covered it carefully with a clean linen bandage.

"Thank you, Pasco," she whispered. "I'm sorry I made such a fuss." The compress felt cool on her inflamed skin.

Pasco looked over to see if the others were still working out, which they were. He bent and wrote on a scrap of parchment: I too, know what it is like to have things done to me against my will. Do not apologise. Not all wounds are visible.

She nodded and wondered what else he had suffered before he had come to Gwavas. He bent again over the parchment again. The Mester collects broken things and makes them whole again, he wrote. You are in the right place.

Candle's mood darkened at the mention of the Mester, but she could see Pasco meant well, so she smiled at him and then set about helping him make some tea over the dying embers of the fire.

Once the training was over, they all took their steaming mugs of tea over to the lookout rock to drink with Delen who complained of boredom. They lazed on the rock, enjoying the view and chatting a little about their plans for the morrow's work. Pasco started to teach Candle some simple signs, with Delen and Jory's help. She learned, "hello", "goodbye" and "I'm hungry" before Jory declared it was nearly twilight and they should head for the protection of the stone circle.

"Seriously, Meraud," said Delen, as they went, "treasure this time when you can't talk to Pasco properly. Once you can do it, he never shuts up."

Candle laughed, in surprise and the tall, silent man bared his teeth at Delen, hissing. Candle caught a glimpse of his blackened stump of a tongue and choked on her own laugh.

"What happened?" she asked, aghast.

"You know he's Teurek, right?" said Locryn. She nodded. The wild Teurek tribes to the west were fabled for their savagery and their warmongering. They worshipped demons as gods and had rituals so unsavoury that her tutors had refused to discuss them. The Teurek were not considered a topic for polite company, and certainly not suitable discussion for a young aetheling lady who was third in line for her father's seat.

"He was taken as a slave as a young man," said Jory, shortly. "They cut out his tongue and gave it to their gods in the flame."

"They gave his tongue-" she said in horror.

"The Teurek don't burn art," said Jory. "Their "gods" prefer a different kind of sacrifice."

"Happy thoughts please," said Delen. "Kittens, pies, freshly washed socks..."

"So you're not a criminal?" Candle asked the tall, pale man. He looked at her with his haunted eyes.

"Pasco says he has done and seen dreadful things, things that he would rather not speak of here in this good place. Things that he needs to atone for." Delen patted Pasco's hand, consolingly. "Things he will spend the rest of his life trying to atone for. But no, he's not a criminal in the sense that you mean. At least, I don't think he is." She looked at Pasco and grinned. "Not like the rest of us."

"Thank you for telling me," she said to Pasco. "I'm so sorry all that happened to you." It sounded trite, as she said it, but she didn't know what else to say.

"He says he's here now," said Delen, translating. "Doing things that matter. Like we all are."

"Oh, give me a break," said Locryn. He stood up and stomped off towards the other end of the plateau.

"Twilight in fifteen minutes," yelled Jory after him, shading his eyes and measuring the distance to the horizon with his fingers. Clouds were settling on the horizon and cloaking the peaks of Sterlester, across the isthmus. The wind was getting up, whipping their hair into their eyes.

"Locryn doesn't like to talk about feelings," said Delen, pulling a face, and stretching.

"Leave him be, Delen," said Jory. "We all cope in different ways."

"Yes, aunty."

They sat watching the sun sink lower.

"Twilight comes," said Jory, reluctantly, "We'd better get in the circle."

Candle gathered the mugs and trudged back across the plateau to the stone circle where Locryn was sitting crossed legged. He glared up at them as they arrived.

"Don't look at us like that," said Delen, "I want to live till morning."

"Devotions," said Jory, quickly, before Locryn could respond and they all moved to get out their projects.

With everyone sitting inside the stone circle space was relatively tight. The wind was chilly so Candle was glad to sit back to back with Delen warming her back. They all huddled over their respective projects. It was too windy for a fire, so they worked by the light of several bobbing witch-lights. Candle took a parchment from the stack and sat thinking for a while as the light changed from gold to blue. Spirits began to gather on the edges of the circle, leaning towards them, hungry to get in. She did her best to ignore them. They couldn't get in, and she knew the others couldn't see them, but it was hard to dismiss them, so she sketched them instead.

Twilight was long past and cold, hard stars were glittering overhead in the black of the sky by the time they had all finished. An insistent wind was sweeping across the mountain top making them all shiver.

"We'll burn the devotions tomorrow," said Jory, "assuming we can start a fire! Now go to sleep everyone. We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow. The sooner we make the rooms below habitable the sooner we can get out of the cold. Loc, take the first watch and wake me at midnight."

"Ancestor's keep the rain away," murmured Delen, casting a suspicious look at the low cloud, speeding past overhead.

The tents made poor shelter, the ropes humming in the wind, but the canvas offered some protection all the same. They all wrapped themselves up tightly in their blankets and huddled together. Candle could see Locryn's straight, stiff back outlined against the horizon as the moon rose on his watch.

"Is there any food left?" she whispered after ten minutes, and Jory laughed and found her a couple of hard biscuits.

"I'm going to have to ask the Mester to increase our rations," he said. Candle blushed in the dark. She wondered what they would think if she told them she had spent the last couple of years stealing food from her parent's fancy larder in the manse in the valley far below.

Candle soon fell asleep, warmed by the heat of her companions and the thick woollen blankets.