‘Better than pieces of a live Behemoth, my darling.’
‘I don’t understand you. You travel with an Eboran, and you explore the Wild, and you’re looking for things that might kill you. None of it makes sense.’ Fell-Noon looked up, and Vintage noted the dark circles around her eyes. ‘Explain the Eboran to me. You know what his people did? What they are?’
‘I do, my dear. Do you?’ Catching her look, Vintage sighed. ‘Tormalin is very young for an Eboran, which means, of course, that he’s nearly four hundred years old. He was too young to have had an active role in the Carrion Wars, but old enough to watch most of his people die from the crimson flux which followed. The dreadful stories that you have heard took place in a time when young Tormalin had yet to break his voice.’
‘Does he drink human blood?’ Vintage blinked. The girl was blunt enough. ‘I think that’s really his business.’
‘His business?’
Tormalin chose that moment to come stamping back into their camp, treading so heavily that Vintage was sure he must have heard their conversation.
‘We’re at the top of a small hill.’ He didn’t look at either of them, but came over to the remains of the fire and began picking at the carcass of the previous evening’s dinner. ‘I found the edge of it, and below us there’s a great deal of exposed earth.’
Vintage stood up. ‘A landslide?’
Tor shrugged. ‘Could be. Something has moved the ground around in a big way. A flood, perhaps.’
‘Let’s go and have a look, Tor,’ said Vintage. ‘That could be exactly what we’re after.’
‘I want to come,’ said Noon. She stood up, wrapping the black jacket tighter around her waist. ‘I want to see what it is you’re so interested in out here.’
Vintage exchanged a look with Tor, but the Eboran turned away, leaving the decision up to her. She smiled at the witch.
‘Of course, my dear.’
Leaving the remains of their makeshift camp, they followed Tor through the towering stalks of fungus. Vintage fell into step next to the girl, her eyes on the bulbous shapes that clustered to every side. ‘Have you seen a parasite spirit before, my dear?’
For a long moment the young woman didn’t answer. When she did, her voice was tight, as though she were recalling something she’d rather not. ‘Once. When I was very small, and I only saw it from very far away. I used to live on the plains, and my people were moving for the spring. All of the carts and the tents and the caravans . . .’ Her voice trailed off, and for a moment the strangest expression came over the young woman’s face. Her eyes grew wide and glassy, and her mouth turned down at the corners, as though she were a child left suddenly alone in the dark.
‘Are you quite well?’ Vintage touched Noon’s arm, and the fell-witch flinched as though something had scorched her.
‘Fine. I just . . . we were travelling across the grasslands at dusk, and I saw something on the horizon. Lots of lights, dancing. I thought it was pretty, but Mother Fast came by on her own mount and she told everyone not to look at it. That if we looked at it, we’d be cursed.’ She continued in a quieter voice. ‘Maybe she was right.’
‘A sighting on the plains.’ Vintage frowned. ‘The Behemoth remains discovered there were packed up and distributed eight or nine years ago. They were incredibly ancient, from the Third or Fourth Rain, we think.’
‘You really study these things?’ In the dim light the witch’s face looked dirty, with its traces of ash. ‘What for? I mean, really what for?’
‘For the joy of knowing, of course!’ She patted the girl’s arm. ‘It helps to understand things, don’t you think? It makes them less alarming.’
Noon looked unconvinced. ‘Things are less alarming when you put a lot of space between you and them. Hiding is easier.’
Vintage opened her mouth to reply, but ahead of them Tor had stopped. They had reached the place where the ground dropped away. Below, the dirt was black and exposed, riddled with pale roots grasping at the air like skeletal fingers. Looking at it, Vintage suspected an earth tremor rather than a flood; they weren’t completely unheard of in this part of the world. Here, the shadows lay thick on the ground, gathering in pools where the earth was broken, but she thought she could make out something shiny catching the light within the crevice. Her heart skipped and thudded in her chest, and she took a slow breath to try and get it under control.
‘Carefully now,’ she said to them both. ‘Let’s go slowly.’
They half walked, half stumbled down the slope that circled the broken earth, until they were down in the mud and dirt. Vintage was glad of her tough boots. From this level, it was clear that there was a great rent in the ground; a meandering crack split the earth, and three large fungi had fallen back, exposing their strange roots to the air like a drunken woman’s lacy skirts.
‘There’s something down here.’ Tor, just ahead, had reached the crack and was peering down into the dark. ‘It looks like metal.’
Vintage hurried over. Far above them, pieces of blue sky like a shattered plate let in shards of light, and it was difficult to make out anything clear, but even so. The sheen of moon-metal was hard to mistake for anything else – not when you’d spent so many years hunting it.
‘Move your lanky legs out of the way. That’s it.’ Vintage crouched by the edge. There was something down there; the last light of the day shone off a smooth, rounded surface, greenish gold in colour. Vintage bit her lip. The object was lodged in the ground some five feet below them, partially covered in loose dirt and twisted roots, but next to it the crack itself was much deeper – the darkness hid the hole’s true depth.
‘I think I might be able to reach it.’ Vintage sat down on the cold damp earth, wincing as a root poked her in the backside, and dangled her legs down into the hole. ‘Tormalin, my dear, would you mind holding on to me? Just in case the edge is more fragile than it looks.’
Tormalin sighed. ‘To excavate this safely, we need to get the ropes, even some ladders . . .’ When she glared at him, he raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m only repeating the various lectures you’ve given me over the years.’
‘Nonsense. Come on, quickly now. It will be easy enough to grab, if I can just get in range.’
The Eboran came and knelt behind her and took hold of her elbow. Noon stood to the side of them, her arms crossed over her chest.
‘There are other pieces,’ she said. ‘I can see more bits of shiny metal, all along this crack. Broken on impact with the ground, or just rotted away to fragments.’ Awkwardly, Vintage leaned forward, reaching out with one hand. Tormalin’s grip on her shirt increased. ‘This one must be . . . very ancient . . . indeed . . . to have only come to light now.’