Tryal's Curse 10.0

~1049 words

Chapter Ten

Whose woods these are, I think I know 

The train trundled along the track, past Wayshire and under hills, through tunnels and over bridges, crossing over a plateau and huffing and chuffing peacefully as the land undulated and the slopes relaxed.

Inside their carriage, Evian had tired of pacing and was sitting with his back against the wall, legs splayed out in front of him. Somewhere two hours into the journey, Lira had fallen asleep. She was curled in a corner near the door, her feet tucked underneath her, her scarf slipping over her eyes. She snored lightly. Evian looked at her with something akin to envy. His body was rebelling against him; he felt as if his bones were crumbling, as if his skeleton was made of sticks and someone was constantly trying to snap them in two. He rubbed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. But even as he tried to relax, a wave of anxiety washed over him, and he recounted the events of the last twenty-four hours with resounding clarity.

The Office. Running through the streets. Luin calling after him. The chase. The vampires. Dreaming and suddenly remembering a face he hadn’t seen in fifteen years. It was like his past was a crocodile, Evian thought, the crocodiles you could find in the swamps by Alteria, the coastal city. For a long time the crocodile had held its snout beneath the murky water, and now it had decided to jump up and snap at Evian for all it was worth. It was incredibly unfair, after all he had been through, for this to happen to him. There were more than 170 million people in Adreitus, and for all misfortunes to come tumbling down on him was something most Ixisters would term as ‘highly improbable’.

Stuff their improbability, Evian thought viciously, flicking a long-ish strand of his orange hair as it hung in front of his eyes. He felt restless, but he did not want to get up, so he lay that way for a while, blowing at his hair and watching it flutter above his eyes, bemused.

Somehow, his thoughts always found their way back to the Orb. He had wanted to go to see the Blacksmiths. For a long time, Evian had kept his feelings about the monarch under wraps—in fact, for a long time he had even supported King Trent. But the king was just a ceremonial figure now, and after the way Eleanor had been taken from him eight months ago, he was not really sure he wanted the king—and the Inspektors—to remain in power anymore.

The Blacksmiths were the answer. Evian was sure of it. He felt for the tiny strip of paper that hung around his neck, on a glistening blue chain, the paper he kept on his person at all times. Once he found Edith, he decided, he would get the Orb back. He knew one of the more outlandish Ixisters might be willing to help him, and as he leaned back, rubbing the red slip of paper between his fingers, he allowed himself to marvel at how his life had changed so fast. The Evian he was today was not half the Evian he had been yesterday.

He would have liked to think he was twice the man, but he knew he was probably not.

He jumped as the train made a strange noise, rather as if it was choking on its own fuel. He sat up, feeling suddenly like he couldn’t breathe. Drawing a deep breath in and shutting his eyes, he leaned against a cardboard box. Holding the strip of paper before his eyes, he looked at it again, memorising the blue pattern that curved along the long edge. Silver numbers were printed on the underside of the paper; Evian flipped it around. 001378. He thought it might be a date, but it was two-hundred years behind even the great Vampire-Human-Blacksmith war of 1556. After he had bought the Orb off the tinkers, they had handed him this slip, with the password on it. He had not considered it wise to tell Warren about it.

It was probably the smartest thing he had done in a while.

As Evian tucked the piece of paper back beneath his shirt, the train screeched to a halt. It was so sudden that Evian went crashing into the wall in front of him, the boxes all slipping and sliding in the windowless carriage, too. He held his arms out in front of him to keep his head from banging into the wall. On the opposite end of the carriage, Lira flailed and collided with a rather large box. She let out an ‘oomph’.

‘Wha’ ’appen?’ she asked groggily, peering over at him from the top of said box. One of the cartons behind her had toppled over, a large collection of jackdaw feather quills gracing the compartment floor.

‘I’m not … sure,’ Evian said, slightly dazed himself. His head was throbbing. ‘The train stopped.’

Lira shook her head and pulled her scarf back as she stood. She slid the compartment door open with some difficulty. She gasped.

Evian stuck his head out, too. His mouth fell open. People all along the train were leaning out of the windows, some shouting to others and asking what had gone wrong. Trees, large, black and looming, seemed to hang like curtains on this side of the train. It was dark, and Evian was not sure if this was because they were in the middle of a forest, or because it was evening. He peered into the gloom, wishing someone had thought of putting up lanterns along the track.

He saw something heading towards them, lumbering out from behind a tree—there was one, no … three of them, Evian realised. He rubbed his jaw, starting slightly as the figures got clearer. Leshies. In tree form, with bright green eyes peering out from behind their excessive foliage. Their faces were weathered, their arms thin and covered in ivy. They stared directly at Evian as they approached, their faces morphing into something distinctly … humanlike. Their skin paled. They smiled at him and their teeth were yellow, bits of moss substituting for gums.

Evian gulped. He looked down at Lira and heaved a deep breath.

‘I know where we are.’