Valour

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

FIDELE

Fidele followed Ektor down the staircase, torchlight shining off the balding patch on the crown of his head. He was leading her into the tower at Ripa, down to the library in the depths of the tower’s foundations. It was quiet, almost stifling, the deeper they went, with only the crackle of torches and the slap of their feet on stone breaking the silence. Orcus’ footfalls were heavy behind her.

Eventually Ektor stopped before a door, fumbled with some keys and ushered Fidele inside.

It was dark. As Ektor bustled around with a candle, opening lanterns and lighting more candles, Fidele made out the outline of a bed, a table, some scattered chairs.

As the candlelight filled the room, Fidele almost gasped. The first half of the room looked like a ruin, bed sheets strewn on the floor, mouldy fruit and rotting trenchers of half-eaten food. Beyond the detritus was a marvel. The library, as Ektor called it, was one great curved stone wall with a thousand alcoves carved into it, ladders leaning against it at intervals. Box-like alcoves were dug into the wall, becoming clearer as Ektor lit more lanterns. There were regimented rows of them curling around the chamber, retreating into the shadows, all with the ends of scrolls protruding from the square holes.

It was impressive indeed. She had been looking forward to this moment, ever since Lamar and Ektor had spoken of this library during their council, but a pile of endless tasks had filled her days since then, most of them concerned with the rooting-out of the Vin Thalun fighting pits. And she had stayed in Ripa far longer than she had originally intended. The truth was that she liked it here. The sea air held a freshness that Jerolin lacked, and going home meant a return to the weight of memory. She could put it off only a little longer, though.

‘Come, sit here,’ Ektor said, pulling out a chair and sweeping the debris on his table into a pile.

‘Do you live in here?’ Fidele asked, trying to keep any hint of revulsion from her voice.

‘Of course,’ Ektor said. He looked at her as if the question had not been a sensible one. ‘Otherwise I’d spend half my life walking to and from this room.’

‘Of course. So you think there are some clues here, about the God-War, and specifically about Meical?’

‘I do,’ Ektor said, abruptly animated. He hurried to one of the ladders and climbed, one hand holding a lantern high. ‘You must remember, of course, that everything written here was done so by the Kurgan, so there will surely be a degree of bias, and therefore of inaccuracy, in all that they wrote, but nevertheless also a large portion of truth.’

‘The Kurgan were the giant clan that ruled here?’

‘Yes. One of the five clans that survived the Scourging,’ Ektor said distractedly. ‘When our ancestors, the Exiles, were washed up on these shores there were five giant clans still in power. The Kurgan here, ruling in the south, the Jotun in the north, the Benothi in the west, the Shekam in the east, and the Hunen in the central regions — where Helveth, Carnutan and Forn are situated now.’

Ektor returned with a bundle of scrolls under his arm, the first one he rolled out being a map. ‘You see,’ he said, pointing, ‘here is Ripa; the Kurgan ruled this area.’ He traced a line with a finger.

Fidele nodded, intrigued by the map, seeing Ripa, Jerolin, Forn Forest, other names she was familiar with, and many she was not.

‘The Kurgan wrote much about their history, and that is mostly what fills this room, and most of that is after the Scourging, detailing their clan wars, day-to-day life; much of it would be quite tedious to you.’

‘I can imagine. Have you read every scroll in here?’

‘Yes, at least once. There are so many, though, that some I have forgotten by now. It may take some time to locate what I need. There is one scroll in particular that I remember; I thought it more philosophical than historical at the time I read it, but now. .’

‘Well, let’s make a start with what you have now, shall we?’

‘Yes, yes.’ He flicked through his armful of scrolls, then paused at one. ‘This isn’t the one I was speaking of, but I’m sure. .’ He opened it, eyes flicking across the archaic script, then paused. ‘Here it is. A reference to Halvor. He is the giant that you mentioned, and that Nathair spoke of when he came here; the writer of your prophecy. Listen. We have rebuilt Balara, but Taur and Haldis are lost to us. The Hunen hold them now, and Drassil, though they will never find it, not if Halvor spoke true. It is talking about the contestation of borders between the Kurgan and the Hunen, I think. Halvor is mentioned a few times throughout their histories, or the Voice, as they refer to him in other passages. Apparently he was counsellor to the first giant King, Skald. Somehow this Halvor survived the Scourging and ended up in Drassil, the giant city that is said to lie in the heart of Forn Forest.’

‘Counsellor to the first giant king, and yet alive after the Scourging. That is a long life to live,’ Fidele said. ‘This is the difficulty I have,’ she continued, ‘discerning where truth ends and faery tale begins. I believe in much that has been spoken of — Elyon and Asroth, the God-War — I have seen too much not to believe. But some of these things — they just cannot be true, surely?’

‘The giants often talk of long life,’ Ektor said, a rare enthusiasm sparking in his demeanour. ‘If the histories and tales are true then all that lived on this earth were immortal once — giants and mankind alike — until Elyon ripped our immortality from us as judgement for the first murder — the giant King Skald, slain by his brother, Dagda. But even then, after that, there are many references to giants especially that have lived extraordinarily long lives. Nemain is written of somewhere here.’ He thumbed through scrolls, a silence stretching.

‘If you remember it well enough, you don’t have to find every reference,’ Fidele said, growing impatient.

‘All right then,’ Ektor said, putting the scrolls down. ‘In the later scrolls, written — from what I can deduce — just before our kin the Exiles arrived on these shores, Nemain is written of, spoken of as Queen of the Benothi, the giant clan that held sway in the west until we Exiles took it from them, though their remnants still rule in the far north-east.’

‘What of it?’

‘Nemain was Queen to Skald, the first King. Measures of time are a little unreliable, but by anyone’s counting that was over two thousand years ago.’

‘It must be a different Nemain to the one ruling today, then, surely. An honorific?’

‘The giants don’t do that. They would never take another’s name; they think they’d be cursed.’

‘But that is just impossible.’

‘You would think so,’ Ektor said.

‘Well, then surely it is just mistakes in the scrolls,’ Fidele said.

‘Textual inconsistencies are remarkably rare in the giants’ histories; they were quite particular.’

He paused, studying Fidele, as if considering whether she was capable of understanding.

Or worthy of hearing, she thought.

He nodded to himself and resumed talking.

‘But if we are digging through the mysteries of our past, and giving weight to the argument that myths we previously considered to be faery tale, or elaboration at least, could possibly — in fact likely — be true, then we must consider the Seven Treasures.’

‘Yes. Aquilus mentioned them to me,’ Fidele said, trying to remember the specifics of their conversation. ‘Some of them were weapons, yes?’

‘That is correct,’ Ektor said, beaming like a tutor at a favourite pupil.

‘Aquilus spoke of trying to find them, to use in the God-War. He had set Meical to the task.’

‘Ah, well, whether that is good or bad we have yet to discover. But the Treasures, yes. In a way, I think they were all eventually used as weapons, even if that was not the purpose they were fashioned for. They were carved from the starstone, you see; a star that fell to earth, the tales say, through Asroth’s design. Each of the Treasures held different properties, or power. One of them, the cup or chalice, if you drank from it you were given unnaturally long life.’

He looked at her expectantly.

‘So that would explain some giants living far longer than others, such as this Nemain,’ Fidele said.

‘Exactly.’

‘What else did the Treasures do? What are they capable of?’

‘Well, there were the axe, spear and dagger, all fashioned after the War of Treasures began — they were obviously weapons, no real powers but they’d never blunt, never break. Also there was a cauldron — to eat from it would cure ill health. The cup would lengthen your life and increase your natural state — make you stronger, faster and so on. There was also a necklace. I cannot remember what that could do, or the torc. I shall have to return to my studies.’ He looked longingly over his shoulders at the rows of scrolls in their compartments.

‘But not right now, Ektor,’ Fidele said.

‘No, no. I shall do that later.’

‘Was there anything else that these Treasures could do?’

‘Well actually their main design, or Asroth’s main intention, was said to be that they made the veil between the Otherworld and our world. . thin. Asroth desired to break through this veil and become flesh. Obviously it was not as simple as that — I would imagine that it would need willing parties on both sides of the veil, spells, sacrifice, other unpleasant things. That of course is when Elyon stepped in and decided enough was enough.’

‘Yes, I know that tale well enough,’ Fidele said with a wave of her hand.

She drew in a long, thoughtful breath. So much to learn, so much to understand. But somehow, deep in her bones, she knew this was important. She felt excited by this, and a little scared as well.

‘You are a treasure yourself, Ektor; there is much value in what is inside your head.’

Ektor blinked at her. ‘Thank you,’ he said, blushing.

‘Now, shall we talk about Meical, and what you think relates to him.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Ektor said. He went back to his bundle of scrolls, now strewn across the table. He picked one up, examined an inscription and then put it down, moving on to the next one. Fidele noticed the tip of his tongue protruding from his mouth.

‘Here it is,’ he said at last. ‘When I first read it I paid it little mind, as it seemed a philosophical work, and my interests lean towards the histories. Also it is quite maudlin — the giants were — I imagine still are — a melancholy bunch, but who can blame them, I suppose, after the tragedies they have survived: death, humiliation, defeat, near-extinction, loss of lands, more death. .’

‘Ektor, you’re rambling now. As much as I would love to stay here for the next moon, I am queen and have other tasks that I must see to. Please, back to Meical.’

‘Yes. Sorry. There were some phrases in this scroll that sparked a memory, particularly when my father questioned Nathair about this Meical. So.’ He spread the scroll on the table, finger tracing a line as he read. ‘Here it begins: We make war, we bleed, we gain, we build, but for what purpose? If Halvor spoke true then it is meaningless. It is all meaningless.’ He looked up at her. ‘You see what I mean: melancholy.’

She nodded trying to stay patient.

‘Halvor says the end-days are coming — but what will they end? An era, a life, all life? When the white wyrms spread from their nest, and the Treasures stir from their rest, he says, but the wyrms are sleeping, dust covered, perhaps dead, and the Treasures are scattered, spread.’

‘Those words in the middle of that — wyrms’ nests and the Treasures at rest — they are familiar to me. Meical spoke them, read them, at Aquilus’ council.’

‘Did he? Good, then we can be almost certain that this is referring directly to Halvor’s writing, then. There is more here, though, I am sure — scattered amongst the melancholia.’

‘And what of the Firstborn? Where are they now? In the end-days they shall tread this earth, Halvor says, the Faithful and the Fallen, strange-eyed men clothed in flesh and bone, one Ben-Elim, the other dread Kadoshim. One Lightbearer’s servant, Black Heart, Spider that spins the web, high king’s counsel, one guide of the Hundred, Outcast, messenger of dread.’ He looked at her thoughtfully.’ And what to make of that,’ he mused.

‘It just sounds confusing to me, like one of the riddles my father used to ponder over. The Lightbearer part sounds good, though,’ Fidele said, her brow furrowing.

‘A riddle: yes, that is exactly what it is. A two-thousand-year-old riddle. Messenger of dread. Black Heart. Outcast. Spider that spins the web. Are any of these terms that you are familiar with?’

‘Only Black Heart — that is mentioned elsewhere in the prophecy,’ Fidele said.

‘High king’s counsel,’ Ektor mused. ‘Aquilus was high king, and Meical his counsellor. .’

He was. Uneasiness gripped Fidele, another thought splintering in her mind. And Nathair is high king now, with a counsellor of his own. She felt abruptly anxious, a seed of fear expanding rapidly until she felt short of breath. ‘I must go,’ she mumbled as she rose unsteadily, feeling the weight of stone all about her, suffocating her. ‘Solve these riddles for me,’ she gasped, grasping a hand to her chest, and rushed for the door.