82

Old Friends, New Enemies

Candle had gone to the Night Nation in her original Ancestors Own uniform, but had lost her gambeson somewhere in the catacombs beneath the Necromancer's castle. At the Rock of the Evernight she had exchanged the remains of her torn and filthy outfit for a fresh blouse and skirt, and so all she had left of the uniform was her grey cloak. This she pulled around her, drawing the thick folds up over her head. The air on the mountaintop was fresh, even in the height of summer, and scudding breezes snatched at tendrils of her hair as she strode across the flat rocks towards the distant entrance. She pulled at a few strings of magic, as she went, chasing the energy and finding just enough to colour the white of her shirt fell-green. As long as no one looked at her too closely, disguised by the cloak it would give the impression of a gambeson. Or at least she hoped so, enough for her to pass as a member of the Ancestors Own anyway. Of course it would all fall apart if someone recognised her.

As she picked her way across the rocks and tufts of grass she pondered whether or not she had the skill to glamour her face to look like someone else's and decided probably not. She would need to practice before she attempted it. A portrait on still, unmoving paper was one thing, but to create another face, in motion and laid across the top of her own features was another matter altogether. It would be a fun thing to experiment with, preferably in front of a bronze, or some other reflective surface. With a jolt she realised that she needed to glamour her eyes brown. It had been so long since she had worried about the colour of her eyes she had forgotten how people reacted to them. It was the work of moments to tint the light and turn the iris a warm brown. The satisfaction it gave her was immense, although with some irony she realised that now she could glamour her eyes at will she felt less inclined to do so. She knew what she was, and it was nothing to be ashamed of – no demon possessed her, she wasn't the spawn of the undead, she wasn't cursed in anyway. The world could take her as she came, blue eyes or not. At least, they could as soon as she had found her friends. Ancestors willing she would find them camped below.

She slowed as she neared the location of the castle entrance, her eyes scanning the area for the hidden sentries she knew must be there. Muttering a short prayer to her Ancestors that she would not run face first into the Mester, she crept forward, trying to avoid thinking about the scenarios that would play out if she did. Her Ancestors didn't answer her and for the second time that day she panicked. No comforting presence appeared at her side, no ghostly arms wrapped her in their ethereal embrace. But of course, she thought with a sinking heart, she was no longer in the realm of the dead. The spirit world was a distant murmur, obscured between the thick and substantial weight of her own sun-drenched mortality. She called her Ancestors again, and all that penetrated the expanse was a deep echo, like that of rocks skipped on an icy pond.

She felt a deep pang of grief that she had spent so little time with them, while it was easy. But then, assuaging her panic, she heard the edge of a song on the breeze, and a whisper of encouragement in her ear. She couldn't make out the words but she was comforted. Her Ancestors were with her, she just couldn't see or hear them properly. Perhaps it would be different at twilight. Suddenly the Havian obsession with Devotions all made sense.

With that settled in her mind she resumed her approach. All was quiet and Candle was just beginning to wonder if she had imagined the faint trace of magic when she spotted some more obvious signs of human occupation. The familiar circle of the moongate was resting in its hollow, heavily camouflaged both with glamour and netting, and only visible from the ground. A cup and saucer lay discarded under a bush, and the ashes from a fire-pit were piled under another. Candle trod with light steps, her eyes searching. There, next to the cliff edge was a solitary lookout clad in the familiar garb of the Ancestors Own.

Candle let out a breath, and strode up the woman, who was huddled over a mug of tea out of cover of the sun. She looked down at Candle in surprise, but with no undue alarm, and took a sip of her tea

"Where did you come from?" she asked. "Sorry, I don't think I know you."

Candle breathed out, looking the woman straight in the eye as she spoke.

"I'm looking for Jory," she said, resisting the urge to return to her old habits, to glance at the ground, to keep her eyes down. There was no need, the lookout did not scream, or curse, or run away as she met Candle's eye. And why would she? Candle knew her magic worked, had worked it many times in the last few days. But standing in the Day Nation, under the beating heat of the sun, everything suddenly felt real. The world was the same but Candle had changed.

"Sorry, who?" said the lookout, shooing a bug away from her tea and utterly unaware of Candle's inner revelations.

"I've got a message for Jory – um – " What in the Night was Jory's family name? Candle couldn't remember. He was just Jory – solid, dependable, Jory. Jory who had taught her how to defend herself when she had no magic to speak of, Jory who had taught her how to kill a wight.

"Jory? Never heard of him," said the lookout, wrinkling her brow. "Which group is he with?"

A cold sweat prickled on the back of Candle's neck, despite the warmth of the day. Had she lingered in the Night Nation too long? How many years had passed.? Months or years? Decades? Candle composed her face.

"Um he would be with Pasco Alkanson?" she said, "or Locryn Blydh? Are they here?"

"Why in the Night did you come up here to ask? Better not let the Mester see you gadding about up here."

Candle felt momentary relief at the mention of the Mester, but then remember that the demon cursed woman was at least a couple of hundred years old already if Jotham's stories were anything to go by. The lookout yawned and Candle resisted the urge to shake her.

"Pasco and the rest of them are at Polkerris."

"Polkerris?" asked Candle, barely able to hear the woman, through the intensity of her relief.

"They are clearing an old bothy," said the bored woman, peering down at the valley bellow. Then she glanced up at the sun, marking its track across the sky. "If you want to use the moongate it will be another three hours before it is active."

"Thanks," said Candle. She turned, neatly, her body weak with joy and then remembered at the last minute that she couldn't just throw herself off the cliff and fly away in front of the lookout. Despite her impatience to get going she retreated down the stairwell that led to the castle below, feeling the lookout's eyes on her back. Once she was out of sight she leaned back against the wall and considered. From down the passageway the sounds of voices echoed and she wondered how many people were living there. The amount of noise suggested a great many. She briefly considered waiting around and using the moongate, like the lookout had suggested. That would negate the need for a search, taking her right too her friends but then the last thing she wanted to do was spend three hours in the same castle as the Mester. Her luck had held so far, but she didn't want to tempt fate. She was not quite ready for a confrontation with the Mester and her demon, that would have to wait for another day, a day when she had more answers. When she knew where Jotham was. And why would she have to wait three hours? What a peculiar thing to say. Was the moongate not always available, and if not, why? But the answer to this mystery, likewise would have to wait. Hopefully Jory, Pasco, Delen and Locryn would be able to tell her what was going on. Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of seeing them all again. No, she couldn't wait.

Wrapping herself in shadow, she crept back up the stairs, past the solitary guard. Really, she thought, as she padded past the lookout, the woman probably wouldn't have noticed if she had clumped past in bronze boots. Her gaze was fully occupied by a sight of distant airships hovering over the Guardians.

Once she was a safe distance away she threw herself off the mountain, wrapping her body once more in threads of sky blue. She flew high, eyes and ears watchful for any sign of a Lochlanach airship or for any sign of Jotham. The air was clear apart from a few puffy white clouds, and she flew out across the mountaintops towards the isthmus. There was plenty to see, for Lochlanach settlements had bloomed all across the lower slopes of the Enchantments and airships drifted between the settlements in clusters of ones and twos. Most of the airships were small and light, flying low and zipping about their business like minnows in the shallows. Occasionally she caught sight of the more sinister warships. Bristling with iron, and flying at a greater height these behemoths were trailed by medium-sized, equally warlike vessels. Together they gave the appearance of great, barnacle-encrusted sky-sharks surrounded by schools of deadly pilot fish, all of them drifting lazily through the deep blue of the summer sky.

Giving the ships a wide berth she flew across the isthmus towards the distinctive shape of the Old Man of Sterlester who lay recumbent on his side, the mountain of his head resting against the sparkling waters of Adamant Bay. The original Lochlanach settlement had grown from the tents and rough wooden buildings she and Locryn had visited with the Mester so many months ago to a sprawl approaching town size. She gazed down at it as she swept past, unable to fully take in the ramifications of what she was seeing. How had they expanded so quickly? How long had she been gone? The buildings beneath her wings had not been put up in days or weeks but over months. When she arrived at the Polkerris bothy would she find her friends old and grey? She pumped her wings, flying faster. She had to know, she needed to find out what had happened.

She was soon soaring over the Twelve Lords of Hammett, and scouring the landscape for any sign of the bothy. The steep rocky heights of the mountains stood sentinel against the rough waters of the southern ocean and a fresh wind whipped the waves into white crested peaks, buffeting her outspread wings as she searched. Candle had only the vaguest recollection of the location of the bothy at Polkerris, the memory drawn from a map she had glanced at many moons ago before fleeing Hanternos. It had been marked with a dismissive pile of stones, signifying the ruin. Like so many of the seaside bothys it had been abandoned before she was born. It was easy enough to find the abandoned ruin of the village that had once been Polkerris, the building still clearly visible against the high mountain rocks, despite the fell's best effort to reclaim the land for itself. Of the bothy, however, she could find no trace. Just as she was beginning to think the lookout had given her the wrong location she spotted a faint trace of magic. The sun was so bright it made the tell-tale runes hard to spot against the glare, but once she saw it other details leapt out that had not been immediately apparent. Now she could make out the vaguely circular shape of an innocent looking collection of bushes and she was sure disguised the new protective circle. Once she identified that it was the work of moments to pick out the bothy's moongate. Well camouflaged, it was the smallest she had ever seen, only big enough to crawl through and surrounded by thicket of fire roses. A wise move, she thought, with so many barbarian airships scouting the sky.

Candle landed on the beach and transformed instantly, dropping her glamour. The solitary watch leapt to his feet, clutching his iron-tipped spear. He was a young man Candle didn't recognise ­­– lean and wiry with trademark Havian blonde hair, brown skin and eyes. She marched up to him, and they looked each other up and down.

"Who are you?" Candle demanded

"What do you mean, who am I? Who in the Night are you?"

She ignored him, pivoting on her feet, as she looked around the beach. Had she come to the wrong place? She couldn't see the bothy anywhere. Then her eyes landed on a nondescript bit of rock that jutted out, perilously close to the sea. It gleamed with lines of subtle magic. Whoever had done the rune work had done of good job of making the lines seem organic, following the natural contours of the rock so the gleam was less obvious. This then would be the entrance. She strode toward it, the young sentry running after her in increasing agitation.

"I said, who in the Night are you? What in the Night are you? Loc! Delen, there's a barbarian out here talking like one of us – Delen!"

"What's going on?"

The rock shimmered and Delen emerged, walking out onto the sand, shaking her short cropped hair out of her eyes. Delen, Candle was relieved to see, looked almost exactly the same as Candle had last seen her. She was a little older perhaps, a little sadder, with a few more lines around her eyes but the same Delen. Her mouth was set in a grim line, and her uniform was dusty, as if she had been working hard. Her eyes widened at the sight of Candle, and her face split into a wide grin. She bounced across the strip of sand separating them in one stride, and wrapped her arms around Candle. Once, Candle would have shrunk from the embrace, but she was so happy to see Delen whole and sound she found she didn't mind, and she clung to the older woman smiling.

"Candle!" said Delen, at last, pulling away. "Where in the Night have you been? We thought you were dead."

Pasco, and Locryn came tumbling out of the bothy, attracted by the commotion. Their eyes widened at the sight of her and Pasco gestured wildly before enveloping her in a bear hug. Locryn grunted something under his breath, and then prodded her arm nervously, as if she might not be real. Candle found her eyes moist, as she looked out at her friend, returning Pasco's solid embrace. He smelt of the wild fell and had silver at his temples that hadn't been there before. Locryn had gained muscle and was a little taller, as if he had settled in his adult form. His face was as grave as ever, and his eyes weary but now when she looked at him she saw a man, rather than the boy who had sparred with her at Dawn Watch. It was disconcerting.

"How long?" she asked, flustered by all the attention. "How long has it been? And where's Jory? Is he inside?"

"Can someone please tell me what in the Night is going on?" asked the new boy, peevishly. "Who is she?"

"This is Meraud," said Delen. "I mean Candle. This is Candle."

"Candle?" The new boy gaped at her, clutching his spear. She nodded at him and he nearly dropped it.

"Candle, this is Carantok, he's new."

"I've been here three years," Carantok muttered.

"I don't understand," said Locryn, frowning down at Candle, "you look exactly the same."

"You look...almost the same," said Candle. "But how long has it been?"

"It's been five years since you went missing," said Delen. "Five years. What in the Night happened? Where have you been? We thought you were dead."

"It's a long story," said Candle, looking around. The sand was warm beneath her feet and she resisted the urge to sit down. It was hard to believe, hard to take in, but Jotham had warned her. She had just left them all barely two weeks ago, and here they were, looking older. "Five years?" she blurted.

Pasco nodded, and Locryn stared his fingers, which seemed to have drifted to his dagger of their own accord.

"The battle of Gwavas was five years ago," Delen repeated, "you ran away five years ago."

"Five years?"

Carantok, meanwhile had lost the colour in his cheeks, and was staring at Candle open mouthed.

"Hang on," he said. "This is Candle Enys? The dragon girl? The girl who turned Revenant and saved everyone?" Everyone looked uncomfortable. "The girl who is a monster? The one we are supposed to shoot on sight. That girl."

Candle took a step back, the colour draining from her face.

"Is that what they told you?"

"We know it's not your fault," said Delen, quickly. "We know about the demon, remember."

"She was in our team," signed Pasco to Carantok.

"I know that but–" He levelled the spear at Candle. "You are all talking to her as if she won't just suddenly transform into a monster and bite your heads off."

"She wouldn't hurt us," said Delen, swatting the spear away.

"Five years is a long time," said Locryn. "The old Candle wouldn't have hurt us. How do we know that this one is the same? We'll have to take you know that, Candle? Mester's orders. It's for your own good. And everyone else's."

"First, let me tell you all what happened," said Candle. "Let me explain." She looked around frowning. "But wait, where's Jory? I want to tell him too. And I want to know what is going on with the barbarians. How are there so many of them? What has happened? I mean, after Gwavas I thought they retreated. I thought we won."

Delen and Pasco exchanged looks. Locryn scuffed the sand with his shoe.

"Jory's dead, child," signed Pasco. "He died two summers after you disappeared. A skin walker got him on the western border."

"And we won the battle," said Delen, "but we didn't win the war. Six months after you left the barbarians attacked again, and this time you weren't there to save us."