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Authors: Sean Williams
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Shilly glimpsed appeared to be another life entirely, or was only a possible future rather than a certain one, didn’t devalue its importance. A glimpse was better than nothing.
She counted sixteen of the green figures sitting together at the edge of the campsite. She was sure there had been no more than fourteen when she had gone to sleep.
‘Are we almost there?’ she asked, aching to tug off all the layers of clothes confining her and feel warm air against her skin again. ‘Please tell me we are.’
‘We’ll be at the top no later than tomorrow.’
‘Thank the Goddess.’
Vehofnehu’s face split into a broad grin. ‘With luck, you’ll be able to in person.’
‘And not before time. My arse is killing me,’ she muttered as he let go of her fingers and moved to get the travellers on their feet.
‘Here,’ said Tom, pressing a flask into her hands.
She drank deeply of the ice-cold water within, then winced at the sudden pain in her temples it provoked. ‘I’m so sick of this,’ she said to no one in particular. ‘There must be a better way to travel.’
Their steed thudded mutely over to her and knelt forward on two legs. A broad-backed statue with a wildly maned bestial head and thick tail, it had an unerring ability to find toeholds in even the sheerest of cliffs. Its claws dug deep into slippery ice walls. Thus far, it hadn’t even tripped once.
But its back was hard, even through the blankets bound around its waist, and the straps that held her and Tom in place were tight by necessity. There had been numerous traverses during which she had kept her eyes tightly shut for fear of slipping free and plunging to her death. When she dozed in transit, she dreamed of wild leaps across crevasses and hanging upside down over bottomless pits.
The grief of her future self encouraged her to stop complaining and mount her ride. Anything would be better than enduring that fate. A small sacrifice now might make all the difference. What was a little discomfort when the future of the world was at stake?
She felt someone watching her, and turned to see the glast’s white-pupilled eyes fixed in her direction. A chill went through her, colder than the bitter air of the mountains. She forced herself to ignore it, as she had before, while climbing awkwardly onto her steed’s back. Arranging her lame leg so it wouldn’t cramp, she fastened herself in, then waited patiently for Tom to do the same. His long frame was bony against her back but welcome when the wind kicked up and tried to steal her heat away.
Vehofnehu rode a stone beast he called a ‘lion’, which looked like a giant cat in a fur coat. The Holy Immortals spread themselves among the many other man’kin that had joined the Angel’s band of pilgrims. The Angel itself climbed alone, following routes more suited to its blunt frame. It would meet them at the top, Vehofnehu assured her.
Only the glast out of all the non-man’kin had the strength and stamina to keep up without help. She didn’t know where its energy came from, but it seemed inexhaustible. It scurried up the mountain like a glossy, dark-shelled beetle, decorated with the white symbols that had once been Kemp’s tattoos. She was certain the tattoos moved when no one was looking, but that was the least of her problems with it.
Upon its awakening — or its birth — three days ago, the glast-Kemp had stood up steadily on two legs. Out of all the people standing around it nervously watching to see what it would do next, it had faced Shilly.
It was trying to become one of you , Vehofnehu had said, days earlier, in order to communicate .
Instead of speaking, it had opened its mouth and emitted a long, low hiss, as filled with threat as a leaky balloon.
The memory of it still made her shudder.
‘Here we go again,’ she muttered as the broad back moved under her, and the icy stillness of the mountains was broken by the sound of bouldery footsteps.
* * * *
After
She counted sixteen of the green figures sitting together at the edge of the campsite. She was sure there had been no more than fourteen when she had gone to sleep.
‘Are we almost there?’ she asked, aching to tug off all the layers of clothes confining her and feel warm air against her skin again. ‘Please tell me we are.’
‘We’ll be at the top no later than tomorrow.’
‘Thank the Goddess.’
Vehofnehu’s face split into a broad grin. ‘With luck, you’ll be able to in person.’
‘And not before time. My arse is killing me,’ she muttered as he let go of her fingers and moved to get the travellers on their feet.
‘Here,’ said Tom, pressing a flask into her hands.
She drank deeply of the ice-cold water within, then winced at the sudden pain in her temples it provoked. ‘I’m so sick of this,’ she said to no one in particular. ‘There must be a better way to travel.’
Their steed thudded mutely over to her and knelt forward on two legs. A broad-backed statue with a wildly maned bestial head and thick tail, it had an unerring ability to find toeholds in even the sheerest of cliffs. Its claws dug deep into slippery ice walls. Thus far, it hadn’t even tripped once.
But its back was hard, even through the blankets bound around its waist, and the straps that held her and Tom in place were tight by necessity. There had been numerous traverses during which she had kept her eyes tightly shut for fear of slipping free and plunging to her death. When she dozed in transit, she dreamed of wild leaps across crevasses and hanging upside down over bottomless pits.
The grief of her future self encouraged her to stop complaining and mount her ride. Anything would be better than enduring that fate. A small sacrifice now might make all the difference. What was a little discomfort when the future of the world was at stake?
She felt someone watching her, and turned to see the glast’s white-pupilled eyes fixed in her direction. A chill went through her, colder than the bitter air of the mountains. She forced herself to ignore it, as she had before, while climbing awkwardly onto her steed’s back. Arranging her lame leg so it wouldn’t cramp, she fastened herself in, then waited patiently for Tom to do the same. His long frame was bony against her back but welcome when the wind kicked up and tried to steal her heat away.
Vehofnehu rode a stone beast he called a ‘lion’, which looked like a giant cat in a fur coat. The Holy Immortals spread themselves among the many other man’kin that had joined the Angel’s band of pilgrims. The Angel itself climbed alone, following routes more suited to its blunt frame. It would meet them at the top, Vehofnehu assured her.
Only the glast out of all the non-man’kin had the strength and stamina to keep up without help. She didn’t know where its energy came from, but it seemed inexhaustible. It scurried up the mountain like a glossy, dark-shelled beetle, decorated with the white symbols that had once been Kemp’s tattoos. She was certain the tattoos moved when no one was looking, but that was the least of her problems with it.
Upon its awakening — or its birth — three days ago, the glast-Kemp had stood up steadily on two legs. Out of all the people standing around it nervously watching to see what it would do next, it had faced Shilly.
It was trying to become one of you , Vehofnehu had said, days earlier, in order to communicate .
Instead of speaking, it had opened its mouth and emitted a long, low hiss, as filled with threat as a leaky balloon.
The memory of it still made her shudder.
‘Here we go again,’ she muttered as the broad back moved under her, and the icy stillness of the mountains was broken by the sound of bouldery footsteps.
* * * *
After
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