Ecko Rising

He staggered and she screamed defiance at him. “Go down you bastard thing, go down!”

He lurched, staggered, tried to right himself – but he was too badly damaged.

He crashed to the ground like a rock, legs in spasm, eyes wild.

Cursing aloud, with no idea what she was saying, Jayr dragged the spear point free with a foot on his chest, then rammed it straight through the red hole where his mouth had been.

Her adrenaline crested in a scream.

And with a splutter, the beast died.

* * *

Smooth and grim, Ress fitted and threw a second spear.

The existence of the creatures had shocked his analytical mind, sent tremors through his confidence. As Triqueta and Jayr took the fight to close quarters, he was robbed of safe targets and he watched the monsters in disbelief, almost as if he expected them to dissolve in the summer’s haze.

He fitted a third spear, awaiting an opportunity. Behind him, Feren groaned, stained with suffering.

What were they? Where had they come from?

These creatures were young. Had they been horses, they would have been the return- or two-returns-old, young males driven from the main herd by the stallion, yet still orbiting close to their dams. Add intellect, and that would make them...

Scouts.

It fitted, but it didn’t answer the question. How were they possible?

Where the rhez had they come from?

His attention was caught by Jayr’s gelding, cantering back towards him with an odd, shaky gait. Ress untangled himself from the spear thrower, jumped from the wagon and went to catch his mane, saw the savage gashes in his rear. As he grabbed for his precious supply of taer, he tried to strategise a solution.

And failed. He had no cursed idea...

The boy had to go to Roviarath. The audience with Larred Jade, demanded by the Bard, was now – by every God and his disbelief! – essential. The CityWarden must send force to answer this.

But that still didn’t answer his basic incomprehension. Half a man and half a horse... it was loco.

How could such things even exist?

The Bard had raged about alchemy – about skills forgotten, lost in times disregarded. What kind of learning was necessary to graft a man onto a horse’s body? To keep it there? More than that – if these beasts were the two-return-olds, were they reproducing? Or being reproduced?

Was that what had happened to Feren’s unfortunate teacher?

Alchemy or no, he knew how flesh worked. And this was madness.

In spite of the sun, he was chilled.

The taer covered the gelding’s hide, soothing the terrible gashes in his rump and easing pain and bleeding. He blew through his lips and stood head down, buried to the ears in grass. Muscles in his shoulders twitched.

Agitated, Ress stroked the horse’s sweated neck. Speculation was pointless – the monsters were real, they were real. He needed facts, and context, and he needed to extrapolate what the rhez this meant.

Was Roderick right? All this time, had he really known some vast and sinister truth? It was crazed. And yet...

...no more crazed than what he’d just seen.

The horse whuffled in pain, nosing the grass.

Across the plainland, the girls were returning. Triqueta was back astride her little mare, Jayr walked by her head and he could see them laughing, gesturing as they retold their separate fights. Watching them, the ageing apothecary smiled, a hint of paternal affection they would never see – somehow, their loco victory didn’t surprise him.

But the questions were still coming.

His eyes tracked the descent of the aperios, the carrion birds, finally feasting on the creatures they’d followed for so long. Like a row of archers’ targets, Ress set up what he knew, re-evaluated everything Feren had told him. The monster – the stallion – was real. It was a fanatic – crazed. Its agenda could be anything. He had to know where it had come from, how it was possible, what else may be coming in its wake...

The implications were terrifying. Ress’s whole comprehension of reality had taken a sharp smack round the side of the head. What had Roderick said? Just because you can’t see it –

Behind him, the boy said suddenly, “Thea!”

Startled, Ress turned – into a chill rush of shock when he saw Feren was sitting up. White faced in the sunlight, cold fever shining on his skin and his red hair a dark mat of sweat, he stared fixedly at the setting sun, the rising shadow of the Kartiah. His dry lips moved again, though the word was almost wistful, “Thea...”

“It’s all right.” Ress was back in the cart, rummaging hastily through packs and bags for something to ease his tension. “Rest easy, Feren, we’ll find her.”

He heard Triqueta laughing.

But the boy stared straight ahead, the dying sun reflecting red in his eyes. He was shivering, slim body wracked with desperation, his wasted hands clutched at his covers. “Don’t leave me... with the monsters...”

Monsters.

The shadow of the Kartiah swelled as the sun touched the tops of the mountains. Like blood, red sunset light was flooding across the plain.

The girls came close, softening their elation to silence as they saw the cart.

“What happened to him?” Jayr threw the question at Ress as she went to check on her horse.

“I don’t know.” Ress smoothed oil across the boy’s upper lip. Feren inhaled, inhaled more deeply. His eyes began to blink – at first confused, and then more heavily.

“Can’t you see it...?” the boy said. Slumping now, Feren turned to look at the apothecary, struggled to focus. “The mountains... the shadow... I told her...”

Triqueta said, “Poor kid.”

“Brave kid,” Ress said grimly. He smoothed Feren’s sweating hair, gentle. “Rest now. You’re on the edge of hope. We reach Roviarath before the dawn.”

“We’d better,” Triq said. “Whatever they are, soon they’ll know that we know...”

The apothecary paused to look down at the boy, across at both women, then out towards the east, the Monument and the far distant sea. The Bard’s madness was touching him, twisting around the questions in his head, an odd, creeping sensation: Something isn’t right.

He said, “I don’t like this.”

Triqueta glanced at Ress. “You? Not got a rational explanation?”

He snorted. “First thing – make sure Feren’s safe and cared for. Then, if Larred Jade hasn’t got answers, I’m going downriver.” He shook his head. “Light-alchemy, impossible monsters. Maybe the library has something.”

“You’re going to Amos?” Triq stared.

“He’s hurt.” Jayr was stroking her gelding’s long nose with one gentle, callused hand – and almost pouting. “I want to find these things.”

“He needs time and rest,” Ress said. “And I’ll need a guard for the trip. Triq’ll take Jade’s patrols to find this thing.” He patted Jayr’s shoulder.

“The Great Library’s a ruin,” Triqueta said. “Only thing you’ll find in there is mulch.”

“Not if you know where to look.” He gave a brief grin. “Now, that esphen we were supposed to have for dinner – where’d it go? Don’t know about you two – but I’m starved.”

12: COURAGE

                    THE WANDERER, AMOS

Deep in the tavern’s cellars, high in the packed-tight shelving, Ecko had been acquiring