21

Exorcism and Evasion

Candle awoke several hours later, and sat up in the dark tent, unsure what had woken her. The wind had dropped and the night outside was still and quiet. Her muscles ached, and she shifted carefully, trying not to disturb the others who were all fast asleep. Out of the tent flap, she could see the highway of souls wheeling slowly overhead like a glittering banner. The night air was so clear and tranquil that she could hear their singing quite distinctly.

Her gaze travelled down to where Jory was sitting on watch, his broad back blocking out the light of the stars. Something about his body language made her get up, sliding her dagger into her pocket as she went. She crawled through the tent flap and gasped. Wights surrounded them. They clustered in on all sides, pressed up against the stone circle's edges, unmoving and terrible in the starlight.

It was the most she had ever seen in one place at the same time. Jory turned and put his finger to his lips, patting the rock next to him. She hesitated, then inched over, one eye nervously on the undead.

"Don't wake anyone," he said quietly, his beard tickling her ear. "Let them rest while they can. We're safe, for now. The circle is sound, thank the Ancestors. I'm watching carefully."

"We must have disturbed them," said Candle softly, eyes on the dead pits of the nearest wight. It was uncomfortably close, and staring directly at her, as if it could already taste her flesh. "When we went below."

"Perhaps. They can smell the living a mile away," said Jory, softly, "but I'd rather they came to us than to the village below. We know what to do with them," he paused, looking around at the press of hideous, rotting faces, "but I'll admit I'd rather deal with them by daylight."

Candle picked her last bit of biscuit out of her pocket and offered it to Jory. He shook his head, so she sat and nibbled it, staring at the creatures.

"I really want to learn how to kill wights," she said.

"You're in the right place," said Jory, spinning his dagger between his fingers with a vicious smile. "Now, since I would dearly love some company this watch, and it is several hours till dawn - tell me the story of how you got those wounds." He gestured to her bound arm.

So she told him the tale, leaving out the inconvenient bits. She wasn't sure what Jory would make of Jotham or his castle under the mountain, or if he would even believe her. She made it sound like she fell into a cave and wandered till she found her way out. Even without Jotham it still made for a long tale. Jory applauded her courage and told her she was lucky to be alive, a sentiment to which she vehemently agreed.

They sat in companionable silence, their eyes on the wights who stood immobile, less than two yards away. Though she thought it was unlikely she would sleep Candle felt calmed by Jory's presence. This was not the first time, he told her, that he had stood vigil, surrounded by wights. He had been with the Ancestor's Own for over a decade and had seen many strange things, and seen and banished a great many undead. He told her some of the stories and together they guarded the circle through the remains of the night.

Eventually, the stars winked out one by one and dawn stained the eastern sky with pink fingers. The wights were joined by spirits who seemed inquisitive, their spindly limbs blowing in a wind Candle could not feel. Where the wights were solid and motionless, the spirits darted and flew, seeking a gap between the stones. They dive-bombed the invisible barrier and Candle wondered, not for the first time, if the protection of the stone circle reached up to the heavens. She made an effort not to flinch when a spirit lunged towards her but then jumped with a squeak when Jory asked her if she was alright. She was spared a response by Delen's noisy awakening, in the tent behind her. Delen's curses were so plentiful and so colourful that they could probably be heard in the village below.

"Good morning, Delen," said Jory as Candle laughed at Delen's expression. The wights remained unmoving; their ruined faces pressed ravenously against the invisible boundary of the circle. Only their eyes moved, following Delen's movement, the breeze lending life to the white of their hair and the remains of cloth on their wasted bodies.

"What a nice way to start the day," said Locryn, from the tent.

"The sooner we get iron in those doors the better," said Jory. He stood up, groaning as his knees clicked. "Come on children, get your iron out."

It took them an hour, working in concert to return all the wights to the Night Nation. It was an hour Candle would never forget. It was both thrilling and disturbing work. Candle had never felt more invigorated.

"First lesson of the day," said Jory to Candle, "we always work in pairs, so there's less chance of an accident, and there's always someone to watch your back." Sweat was pouring down his face as he and Locryn speared yet another creature through the chest with their iron-tipped staves. Candle could immediately see the practicality of the reach the weapon gave. Under Jory's watchful eye she gleefully speared three herself.

The trick was getting enough strength for the initial thrust to run them through properly. If the thrust glanced off or was too shallow, there was a possibility that the wight, goaded to anger and madness, would catch hold of the staff and jerk it out of the attacker's grasp. Watching the horrible things collapse into piles of ash was tremendously satisfying, and she grew in confidence with each one sent back to the Night.

How appalled would Lord and Lady Enys be, she thought, wiping an ashy hand across her forehead, if they could see their youngest daughter now? She grinned into the rising wind.

At last, all the wights dealt with, and they set to work moving the great mounds of ash before the wind could sweep them into the tents. No one wanted to sleep in wight ash.

"First things first," said Jory, when they were done. "I think we need to expand the protective circle so we can sleep a little more easily."

"Surely there are no more wights left," said Delen, wiping a smear of ash off her chin. "Not after that unholy massacre!"

Jory shrugged.

"Until those doorways are filled with iron," he said, "I fear they will keep coming."

The moongate lit up with a hum as they swept away the last of the ashes. A skinny man wearing the Ancestor's Own uniform appeared with a bulging pack on his back.

"Food," he said, unceremoniously dumping it on the ground. He turned to Jory. "The Mester wants a report and a list of supplies you need."

"Lots of iron," said Jory at once, "as soon as possible. A bell. Pasco has measurements."

The messenger left, and Pasco took the first watch as the rest of them breakfasted around the fire which flickered and threatened to blow out. Locryn and Delen rigged up a screen which kept the worst of the wind off, which was blowing hard from the south. When they were done they all huddled next to the warm, toasting their hands and waiting for the kettle to boil.

While they waited they burned the previous night's devotions, one page at a time.

"If the weather keeps on like this," said Jory, his nose to the wind, "we might be in for some snow."

"Snow?" said Delen, aghast.

"We're very high up," said Locryn. "It's possible."

The two of them fell to arguing about the likelihood of inclement weather and Candle sipped her tea contentedly. She was tired but happy. Her arm felt much better this morning, and Pasco had put on a new dressing and a fresh bandage. Her muscles likewise were tired but happy. She had helped make the world a better place, and perhaps, just perhaps, she could be useful.

"Meraud and I will take the next watch," Jory was saying. "I want the rest of you to get to work on making that first room habitable. I think we will need to shelter down there soon. Let's hope we get those iron doors installed quickly. Bring a blanket for the watch," he said to Candle, "it's chilly."

As they rose to go to their various jobs, Candle ran to the tents to collect a blanket. Across the plateau, the moongate lit up again with a metallic hum, and they all turned towards it.

"What now?" said Locryn, frowning, "we've already had the morning's dispatches."

The metallic hum stopped, and Rasmus strode through the gate, looking wild and angry.

"Blood and ashes," muttered Delen, and pushed Candle, hard, into the tent.