It was the Wild, festering behind gigantic walls. Enormous trees loomed over them, strange twisted things, their branches intertwining and spiralling around each other, as though they were blind and reaching out for their neighbours. Noon saw bark of grey, black and red, leaves of a diseased green, running with yellow spots. There were mushrooms too, bloated things like corpses left in the water too long, bursting from the trunks of the strange trees or erupting out of the black earth. It was already an overcast day, and dismal light within the compound was strained and jaundiced, almost as though it were an afterthought. A deep feeling of unease seemed to ooze from the deep shadows that pooled around every tree.
‘Great, our own personal patch of Wild to get killed in,’ said Tor. He unsheathed the Ninth Rain and held it loosely in one hand, his dark red eyes narrowed. ‘This place is too quiet.’
‘It’s because there’s no wind, that’s all. Don’t get jumpy before we’ve even started, my dear,’ said Vintage dismissively, but she already had her crossbow held securely in both hands.
‘Being jumpy in here might save our lives.’ Tor started forward, sword at the ready. ‘I’m assuming we just start walking, Vintage? The Behemoth remains will be hard to miss, I suspect.’
Within the shadows of the trees, Noon’s sense of unease grew until it felt like a weight on her neck. She found herself looking back, seeking out the brown clay of the wall, but it was swiftly eaten up by the giant trees. She could see nothing moving.
‘How big is this place?’
‘It takes up over half of Esiah’s land,’ said Vintage. The scholar was trying to look everywhere at once, her eyes very wide. ‘I can’t believe I’m finally here. And he barely needed persuading at all.’
‘Yes, because the fool has lost his mind,’ said Tor, just ahead of them. ‘Or have you politely chosen not to notice that, Vintage?’
Vintage ignored him, elbowing Noon instead. ‘Try to remember as much of this as you can, my darling. Any strange details, any odd thoughts that occur to you. I will be writing extensive notes afterwards.’
The Wild closed over them, and soon it was difficult to picture the outside world, or to believe that just an hour ago they had been standing in the hall of a great house, drinking slightly stale tea and packing their bags. In here, civilisation felt like a dream she had had once, now half forgotten. Noon was just starting to get used to the thick, alien stench of the place when a sonorous wailing sounded from nearby. Noon felt the hair on the back of her neck trying to stand up.
‘A parasite spirit,’ said Tor. ‘Let’s keep moving.’
It wasn’t long before they saw their first one of those. A shimmering of lights lit up the gloom, and Noon found herself crouching behind a great mushroom the colour of cow’s liver. The spirit passed around twenty feet away from them, a thing that looked like a shark with legs, blunt head fringed with yellow lamps, and it didn’t appear to see them. Noon moved out of her crouch, only for Vintage to grab her arm.
‘Stay there, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘Just a moment.’
Silence and gloom, and then an eerie brightening all around them. Blue light, then purple, then pink. Two more parasite spirits, passing by on either side of them. Noon shrank back against the fungus, her heart pounding. Another three hovered beyond that – she could make out glowing translucent flesh, fronds like oversized fingers, and dark, puckered holes. She had the absurd feeling that they were caught in a parade of parasite spirits – perhaps this was what they did for fun, alone in this forgotten place. Again, the sonorous wailing started up, much closer this time, and Noon remembered everything she had ever heard about the spirits; particularly the part about how, if they touched you, they could turn you inside out. She wished fervently that she could sink into the ground. Next to her, Vintage was speaking rapidly in a language she didn’t know.
‘I had no idea Catalen had so many swear words,’ murmured Tor, amused. ‘Although I’m less than happy about offering up my own energy, perhaps we could get our witch to burn them, Vintage? Isn’t that what she’s here for?’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ hissed Vintage. ‘They will just move on past us. No sense in announcing our arrival.’
‘Why are there bloody loads of them?’ said Noon. Again, the spirits did not appear to notice them, and eventually their strange lights vanished back into the gloom of the Wild.
Vintage was grinning. ‘Isn’t it extraordinary? We are probably witnessing the largest population of spirits anywhere on Sarn.’
Noon blinked. ‘Vintage, this is not a good thing. We could die. We really could.’
‘Nonsense.’ Vintage patted her sleeve. ‘We have you, and Tor’s sword arm. We’ll be fine. Come along.’
They headed deeper into the compound, pausing every now and then as a parasite spirit lumbered silently past. Sounds like wailing and, once, a child laughing, echoed through the trees. On one of these occasions Tor stopped dead ahead of them, his entire body going very still. When he didn’t move or speak, Noon went to him and tugged at his arm. His face was caught in the expression of someone desperately trying to remember something.
‘Does that remind you of anything?’ he said urgently, his red eyes meeting hers. Noon had never seen him look more unguarded.
‘Does what remind me of what?’
‘That sound, it’s like music I heard, once . . .’ He trailed off and shook his head. He turned away from her. ‘Come on.’
When finally they saw the Behemoth, Noon thought they had come across some strange building in the midst of this overgrown forest, dark windows glinting under the overcast sky. Next to her, Vintage swore in another language again, her eyes wide.
‘There it is. Look at the size of the bastard.’
As they stepped through the last fringe of trees, the remains of the Behemoth loomed into existence. At the Shroom Flats there had been tiny pieces of wreckage, and Noon had seen Vintage’s drawings of the things, but nothing had prepared her for the physical reality of it. The thing rose above even the giant trees, dark green, grey and black in colour. It was made of what looked like softly curving sheets of metal, except that it didn’t shine like metal – instead it looked greasy, like the skin of someone kept in bed with a fever for months. The surface was puckered here and there with round holes, some of which glinted darkly with what Noon assumed was glass. Hanging from one side was a strange, withered appendage, like an arm with too many joints, ending in a series of tapering claws.
‘This is just the front piece,’ said Vintage, her eyes shining. ‘Its head, for want of a better word. This must be the most intact specimen on Sarn.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And, finally, I look upon it.’
They circled around and came to the ragged edges of the Behemoth’s head – torn green plates tattered like skin, with fat pouches of some sort of grey material underneath. The interior of the thing was exposed to the air, and again Noon was reminded of looking at a building, only now it was one that had suffered a catastrophic disaster. She saw floors exposed, empty rooms with gently curving walls, the floors now covered with the debris of the forest. There were other shapes there hidden in the shadows. She couldn’t even begin to guess what they were, but looking at them made her stomach turn over.