Though he loved to fly alone, Vasin hated to hunt that way. Without spear sisters and spear brothers, a hunter soon becomes the prey. A memory surfaced of his encounter with the Scuttling Corpseman, of his flight through the trees, and how close it had come to destroying him.
Mindful of past mistakes, Vasin continued to circle, gliding lower but keeping a healthy amount of air between himself and the water. There was definitely something there. It too was being cautious, roving up and down alongside a short stretch of Godroad. This gets stranger and stranger. It comes in the day, it comes close to the Godroad, and it comes to a place where there are no people.
It briefly occurred to Vasin that perhaps that last fact was not true. After all, he was there. Perhaps it was looking for a chance to snare a Deathless. He dismissed the idea as nonsense, but levelled off just the same and adjusted his grip on his spear, sliding a thumb over the trigger in readiness.
As he watched, more details of the thing were revealed. It was long, a kind of Lizardkin, with pronounced ridges running from nose to tail. At first he thought it had branching limbs, like a living, writhing tree, but he soon realized it was carrying other creatures that bucked and kicked in its grasp.
The Lizardkin lifted its body from the water, revealing a wide snout, circular, covered in scales that glittered. Vasin could not help but drop a little closer, and realized that each scale was an eyelid, and that the glittering was actually the thing blinking, blinking, blinking, hundreds of times with its whole body. He knew that beneath the surface its body went on, the great belly brushing the silt at the very bottom of the swamp. For he’d recognized it now, the Story-singers had told him of this creature and it was dangerous, a true power of the deep Wild: Quiverhive. But what is it doing here?
Quiverhive stuffed the squirming thing it was carrying into its mouth, but instead of feeding, it tilted its head backwards, and spat.
For a horrible moment Vasin thought he was the target, and banked away, diving to gain speed before pulling up on the far side of the Godroad.
He was safe.
But he had never been in danger.
He recognized the spat creature as a Murker, one of the lesser perils of the Ruby lands. One legend had it that Murkers were created from the reflections of vain people. That those who looked too long into the Wild’s waters left a piece of themselves behind. Another legend had it that when an unwanted baby was drowned in the swamp, its body would turn into a Murker when it touched the bottom.
This one was typical of its kind. Like a short and rubbery child, with grey-white skin and webs of gauzy flesh lidding nostrils, ears, eyes, and flapping in the spaces between fingers and toes.
It wailed as its arc took it onto the Godroad, circling its arms as if trying to arrest its motion and reverse away. With a wet smack, it landed, and immediately, there was the smell of burning. For nothing of the Wild could endure the Godroad for long. All demons feared it with good reason, and this Murker was no exception.
It flailed and tried to roll itself clear, but Quiverhive had pitched it into the centre of the Godroad, and within seconds it was too blind with pain to think. Each movement only enhanced its suffering, and so it rolled back and forth, disintegrating before Vasin’s eyes.
He wondered if he were witnessing some kind of execution. Though he did not understand the intricacies or the factions, he knew that the powers of the Wild often fought amongst themselves.
Quiverhive stuffed a second Murker into its mouth and spat it after the first. To Vasin’s amazement he saw it follow the exact same arc and land on the other Murker’s still twitching corpse.
Before this one had a chance to die, Quiverhive spat a third Murker, to make a stack on the first two. Vasin watched and Quiverhive watched, the scales flipping open and staying that way, as if it strained to see the details.
The first Murker had been reduced to a few chunks of ash that were already being dispersed by the wind. The second was dying, its struggles enfeebled, its skin aflame. The third was also dying but slower, partially shielded by the bodies of its fellows.
With a full body convulsion, Quiverhive propelled itself forward and up, forcing half of its bulk out of the water. Until its snout came to rest on top of the third Murker.
The creature grunted and squirmed as it was crushed beneath Quiverhive’s weight, but Quiverhive kept still, as if holding its breath.
Vasin found he was holding his. He was witnessing the impossible. Since the end of the Unbroken Age, the Godroads had been a safe haven for humanity and had formed an impassable barrier, hemming the demons within.
No more.
It is on the Godroad! How is it not burning?
He was sure he’d been noticed, but Quiverhive seemed unconcerned by his presence. When the Murkers began to crumble, it slithered back into the swamp, the myriad scales rippling, flipping over, the eyes tucked away once more. Mouth closed, it turned and drifted off, sinking slowly back beneath the surface.
I must tell the Rubies, he thought, wheeling back to his original course. I must tell everyone.
The trees had thinned out then vanished entirely, leaving a vast swampy lake that stretched out in all directions. Or rather it left two, as the great mass was split down the middle by the Godroad, a shining red path that cut through the yellow-brown. Vasin raced along it, diving again and again to keep his speed up. Each time, the energies of the Godroad would gather under his wings, growing brighter before exploding outward, catapulting him onwards and upwards.
Ahead, the castle of the Ruby High Lord sat heavy on the horizon, the crystals glowing bloody in its base and lower walls, like a tooth fresh-plucked from a giant’s jaw and set in the sky.
He was unsettled by what he’d just witnessed, and glad for the warming caress of the suns on his back. Unlike his own castle, the Godroad did not work its way up towards the entrance. Instead, the Godroad came to a stop beneath it, and chains had been run from its edge to the castle, allowing cages to be winched up and down.
Vasin let himself drop lower, until he was skimming only a few feet above the Godroad, then, as the guard station rushed towards him, he tilted his body so that his wings were vertical, turning them into brakes. Still going at some speed, he touched his Sky-legs to the road in a single bounding step, letting them absorb more of his momentum. The long curved blades of his Sky-legs flexed and flicked him up again, but not as high as before. As he came down he took another step, shorter this time, then another, until he came to a bouncing stop before two of House Ruby’s guardians.
Where he was covered from head to toe in armour, they were dressed in simple tunics that came to the knees, no doubt imported from his own lands or those of House Opal.
He held out one hand, palm up and open, and rested his spear on the ground, the crystals embedded in the base chiming softly as they clinked against the Godroad. ‘I am Lord Vasin of the Sapphire Everlasting. I come as a friend to share your burdens, and I come as a hunter to share your enemies.’
The two guardians saluted him, but slower than they would have in previous years, and a wary look passed between them. Vasin waited for the proper response, saddened at the cool reception, but not surprised. This is what we get for turning our backs on our neighbours.
‘Be welcome, friend,’ they said at last, their tone bitter. ‘Be welcome, hunter.’
He watched as one of the cages was lowered down, swaying from side to side.
‘Is your High Lord in residence?’
Another look passed between them and Vasin’s heart sank along with their expressions. Then, the older of the two women replied. ‘High Lord Anirika was sent between lives two days ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘The Toothsack came with the higher water and attacked Raften. Even though she