Coldmarch

by Daniel A. Cohen

  ‘Relax, no one’s going to pick us out over all these people,’ Cam said beneath his floppy hat, yellow hair tucked up underneath.

  Shilah’s eyes widened with a conspiratorial look, gesturing to the scroll on the ground with a quick nod of her head. She mouthed: ‘Name.’

  Cam’s face scrunched with confusion, and then lit up with understanding. ‘Ah, you’re right. We shouldn’t draw attention. No looking at the names on the scrolls.’

  Shilah slapped her forehead with her palm.

  Split grumbled under his breath, his fingers scratching his thigh. Ever since burying the dead Khatfist bodies, Split had been itching his leg almost nonstop, his little finger wiggling into his ear during any reprieves.

  Shilah put a hand on my shoulder. ‘We need to move. They’re obviously watching for us.’

  ‘And go where?’ Split nearly growled, his eyes verging on madness. ‘Crossing the Singe is the only way to continue the Coldmarch. And if they are watching this bridge, then I guarantee they’re watching all the bridges, and they’re going to find you two, and—’

  ‘We find another way North,’ Shilah said.

  The bridge doors suddenly opened enough for a man dressed in white silk to sneak through, his high hat decorated with a silver Erridian crest.

  A bulbous merchant with a loose neck shouted at the brightly dressed arrival, his thick chins flapping as if to underscore his sentiment. ‘You can’t shut down the bridge, you fools! We have to get to the other side of the Singe! Are you going to pay transport boats for all of our carts?’

  A High Noblewoman with more skin-gloss than face chimed in. ‘If I miss the annual Chosenball in Marlea, I’ll have all your heads on next year’s appetizer platters!’

  ‘We supposed to swim?’ a crotchety Nobleman barked, waving his gemstone-encrusted cane and smacking the shins of his personal Jadans hunched at his side. ‘We supposed to ride across on slave backs? Because I’m not using my slaves for that! Give me Erridian slaves to drown.’

  The armoured guards just stood at the entrance to the Great Bridge, unfazed. Their pikes gleamed in the harsh Sunlight as the man in white squeezed to the front, his face pinched, eyes hidden behind ostentatious golden glasses. The eyewear was similar to Cam’s, but embellished with jewels. I could hear the Singe roaring from behind the walls, steaming and angry.

  I’d always wanted to see a Great Bridge, as each one was supposed to be an incredible feat of tinkering and determination. The High Noble families who controlled the bridges took credit for the marvels, toting their might and influence for besting the river, but it was obvious that the bridges would have been built by Jadan hands. Nobles wouldn’t risk their lives constructing such a thing, constantly under threat of being scorched or drowned or lost in the dangerous waters as the slabs of stone and metal were set in place. No, the bridges would have been built under threat of whippings and death, it would have been the Jadan people who’d bested the river. The Jadan people who’d suffered to find a way across. And considering the marvellous invention pressing against my side, one that could actually make Cold, it was going to be the Jadan people who were going to best the Drought.

  ‘My apologies to all who have chosen to use this, the most venerable Erridian Bridge!’ the man dressed in white said, loose sleeves flapping over his arms. His words came out just as pinched as his face, compact and nasal. ‘We are working as fast as we can to minimize the threat to the Khatdom, so please be patient!’

  ‘Who cares about some slave runaways!’ some Noble in the crowd shouted. ‘Not all of us suck all our Cold from the Pyramid’s teat! We have jobs to do!’

  The man in white bristled at this, making sure his tall hat wasn’t tilted in the slightest. ‘Now now. A decree is a decree. Please stay calm as duties are fulfilled. Seeing as the Khat has his best five on the job, I imagine the threats will be captured in no time.’ The man offered a patter of a laugh. ‘We will be providing Cold Oolong tea and figs for everyone delayed at the port, free of charge, while—’

  ‘Let us through!’ someone shouted. ‘We don’t want your damned slave food and piss tea!’

  All eyes were on the bridge’s defender, which meant it was time to make our move. If the Wanted Scrolls with our likenesses had made it here, the hounds, and the Vicaress, and whoever the ‘best five’ were, must be close by.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, rubbing a hand across Picka’s fuzzy back. She nuzzled against me, offering a low humming sound that reminded me of the crank-fans I used to make. ‘We’ll try the House Swarn Bridge.’

  Cam nodded. ‘Or maybe we can wave down a boat or something.’

  ‘If you were a ship’s captain,’ Shilah said with a cluck of her tongue, ‘would you risk anchoring your boat over the rocks to pick up a few Jadans and a camel? I don’t think so.’

  ‘I would anchor for two stranded High Nobles,’ Cam countered. ‘And the greatest Jadan Inventor ever to walk the sands. And a stunning Jadan girl with dark skin like fine mahogany.’

  Even amidst the complimentary words, Shilah looked ready to take Cam’s floppy hat and pull it down over his ears until it ripped in half.

  ‘We’ll see what happens,’ I said, holding the Coldmaker close. ‘Most importantly we need to get out of here, now. We’ll stay along the banks and make a new plan.’

  I nodded deeper into the shadows of the building and began backing away. Cam and Shilah followed suit, but Split remained still, his hands clenched into fists, eyes lost amongst the boiling crowd.

  ‘Split,’ I said. ‘It’s okay. We’ve got water and food, and there’s no guarantee they’ve got guards or scrolls at the next bridge, too.’

  A tear dripped along the Pedlar’s cheek as he scratched his thigh so hard I heard the fabric rip. ‘Hookmen. That glib bastard is talking about the Hookmen.’

  I turned my eyes to Shilah, trying my best not to faint.

  She looked as though all the blood had just drained from her face, her hand absently going to her braid.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘They’re not real.’

  Hookmen were just legends made up to scare Jadan kids. From the way Levi used to put it in the barracks, Hookmen were half-snake, half-person, trained by Sun himself to taste the scent of a Jadan anywhere in the Khatdom. They’d slither under you without any warning and drag you under the sands. The Hookman had a special poison that made it so you didn’t need air. You’d be trapped under the weight of the dunes, and they would nibble away at you, piece by piece, forever.

  ‘Oh, they’re Sun-damned real,’ Split snarled, his fingers flexing wildly. He looked more dismayed than he had after he’d killed the Khatfists. ‘I promise you that they’re real. And they’re coming for Meshua.’

  Cam slunk further into the darkness, his body disappearing in shadow.

  ‘Cam,’ Shilah said, sneaking around him and cutting off his retreat. ‘What do you know?’

  ‘Come on,’ Cam said, not meeting her gaze and pointing to the crowd of frustrated merchants fleeing the closed bridge, headed for the next. ‘Now or never. We can blend in with the group, and no one will be the wiser.’

  Split rubbed a hand under his nose, staring at the crust of dried blood. ‘He’s right, let’s move.’

  ‘Camlish,’ Shilah said, for once not standing tall. ‘Are they real?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cam said. Once again he had shouldered more than his fair share of supplies; already his back was settling into a crook that was all too familiar. ‘My father has boasted of using them before. I’ve never seen one, but apparently they never fail.’

  Split grabbed Picka’s reins and led her out into the glaring Sunlight, the rest of us filtering behind as the bulk of the crowd swept by. Shilah kept pressed up against my side, and I knew it must have been my imagination, but I thought I could feel her tremble. We met up with a few other Pedlars and some silk merchants, their grumbles and threats towards the Erridians creating a light smattering of noise in which to hide. A few Noblewomen holding bright white paraso
ls held out their Closed Eye necklaces towards Shilah and me, but it seemed more out of habit than anything else. It was because we were Jadans, not because we were fugitives.

  ‘Cam,’ I whispered, glancing at a paper picture of myself. This Micah was scowling from a signpost, looking ready to rip out Noble throats with his teeth. ‘If they’re real are they monsters?’

  Cam swallowed hard, pulling the floppy hat further over his face.

  Chapter Twelve

  Picka knocked her toes against the wet stone, braying loud enough to mute the sizzling waves crashing against the shore. We’d been travelling along the banks of the Singe with exactly the hope that the turbulent waters might mask our scent and sounds, but the disproportionately loud camel was ruining our plan. If something unnatural were hunting us, the task was being made easier with each explosive whinny Picka blurted out.

  ‘Quit it, girl!’ Split shouted with a scowl, readjusting his grip on the handles of the goods cart, hoisting the wheels over the next gap in the rocks. ‘You’re not even dragging this blasted thing any more! I’m doing all the work!’

  Picka answered with a resounding razzle of her tongue.

  ‘She’s got such a big coat,’ Cam said, wiping his forehead free of sweat and the hot spray gathered from the Singe. ‘Let’s stop for a bit. Shilah’s got that knife, maybe we can give Picka a haircut?’

  Split spun around – almost losing control of the cart – aiming an accusatory point at Cam’s face. ‘You touch my camel I cut off all your hair.’

  ‘Just a suggestion.’ Cam held up his hands and ran one through his locks. ‘Besides, I don’t think I’d mind that too much. I’ve been told I have a very shapely head. And the fashion for young High Nobles now is keeping the head shaved because it draws focus right to the eyes, and when they’re sparkling blue like mine—’

  Split waved him quiet and turned back to the slippery rocks. An annoyed grunt followed, and I wasn’t sure if the sound had come from the Pedlar or Picka.

  Shilah gave Cam a gentle nod. ‘It was a good suggestion.’

  Cam blushed, hiding his face under the parasol.

  ‘Split,’ I said, tired and parched. ‘Maybe we should finally stop for a while. I think we could all use a break and some Cold.’ I knocked my knuckles against the Coldmaker.

  Split pointed up, bringing attention to the fading Sunlight. But then he jerked his hand back to the handle of the cart after it nearly slipped again. ‘I don’t think that’s wise, Meshua.’

  ‘Don’t call me—’

  ‘Spout.’ Split actually sounded sincere. ‘I just mean, even if the next bridge is closed, we should try to at least find shelter somewhere before nightfall. Maybe even try proper lodging if we have to.’

  ‘You really think the safest place to hide is near lots of people?’ Shilah asked. She was once again next to Picka, giving the camel long scratches under her chin.

  ‘There is no ruddy safest place to hide.’ Split picked up the pace, wrenching a back wheel out of a crack in the rock, a small black tongue rising from the rocks with a hiss. ‘Not with what’s coming after us. I just don’t know what else to do.’

  ‘How can they know where we are?’ I asked. ‘We’re so far from Paphos.’

  Split sighed, keeping his pace. ‘We’re going to need another of your miracles, Spout. So please see if you can get the Crier to give us a sign.’

  ‘I don’t actually talk to the Crier,’ I said, not wanting to mention the visions I’d had while under the wool hat. ‘I’m not Meshua.’

  Split threw down the handles of the cart, turning back at me. Steaming spray from the river continued to fleck his cheeks, almost as if it was attracted to the Pedlar’s budding fury. ‘You don’t want to be Meshua, then you don’t get to make damned Ice!’

  Cam stepped next to me, holding up his palms. ‘Easy—’

  Split’s pinky wiggled into his ear, his face distorting with rage. ‘You don’t think I want that? You don’t think I want you not to be Meshua?’ His eyes bored down once again on the Coldmaker. ‘After everything I loved was taken away I was perfectly fine with the prophecies in the book being lies! If the world was screwed to begin with, then at least it all made sense. The Crier wasn’t real, so he couldn’t help us. End of story. But now, if the secret all along has been Jadan tears—’ Split gathered a glob of spit and sent it flying into the Singe, waving two knuckles at the Sun.

  I had no idea what to do. I only lowered my head.

  Split made a heart-wrenching arrrrghh sound before gathering the handles of the cart again and wrenching the wheels across the cracks in the rocks. ‘Just. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to watch the same thing— Let’s go.’

  Picka came up to me and licked the palm of my injured wrist, but I pulled away.

  I couldn’t bring myself to meet Shilah’s eyes as we made our way down the shoreline. Cam came up to me and clapped me on the back, whispering: ‘Ignore him, he’s just coming down from that stuff.’ And I nodded, but what the Pedlar had said had a ring of truth to it. If the Crier was real, why wait so long to let someone discover the secret of making Cold? Did that mean every Jadan before the invention of the machine was truly destined to be enslaved?

  What was the purpose of such misery?

  ‘Sorry,’ Split said at last, keeping his eyes on the slippery rocks. ‘I didn’t mean to go off like that.’

  ‘I don’t want an apology,’ I said quietly. ‘I want to know what happened to you. I want to know why the Coldmarch shut down. About Langria.’

  Split shook his head, the corners of his eyes wet. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Rules of the Coldmarch, Split,’ Cam said, cutting in. ‘If the Shepherd has important information, they have to share it with the flock.’

  Split scoffed, yanking the cart back on its way. ‘Like you know anything about the Coldmarch, Tavor. Now let’s move.’

  We travelled in silence for some time, Cam fuming at my back, and I thought I could hear stabs of sound in the distance, dark and low. I decided they were just my imagination, my mind playing tricks with fear. Picka continued to skip along, her knobbly legs taking her all over the rocks. She was putting herself in danger of slipping into the waters, but Shilah held her reins tightly, making sure the beast was safe.

  ‘Why are we called a flock?’ I asked Split after a while, thinking I could start with something simple and work my way up.

  ‘It’s what a group of sheep were called, before the Great Drought,’ he said in even tones. ‘And a Shepherd led them around.’

  ‘Did you say a group of sheep?’ Cam asked.

  ‘Back then there were dozens of sheep to each Shepherd,’ Split said. ‘Hundreds. Countless. Now there’s probably only a few dozen sheep left in the whole Khatdom. And most of them are in the Khat’s menageries at the Southern Cry Temple. As I understand it, the amount of Cold required to keep those animals alive is staggering.’ Split waited for another loud bray from Picka to settle. ‘But the Khat has got to keep a fresh supply of wool to dye black and kill you Jadans with. The irony is just too sweet to pass up.’

  I thought back to my time beneath the wool hat, the absolute torture of the fabric as it squeezed every drop of water and Cold out of me. Anger surged in my stomach thinking about all my brothers and sisters who were probably getting the hat today back in Paphos, and my jaw clenched. ‘The Khat’s going to wish the wool had killed me.’

  ‘I’m liking the fire, Spout,’ Shilah said, touching the knife at her thigh. ‘Going to need it if you’re serious about that revolution.’

  My cheeks grew warm, and I tapped the Coldmaker hanging from my shoulder, giving her a warm smile. ‘I’ll just stick to inventing. I’ve got you for all the fighting and revolution stuff.’

  ‘Also for inventing,’ Shilah said, the edges of her face more prominent for a moment.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Inventing,’ she repeated, straightening her back, this time attitude seeping into her voice. ‘I mean, you weren’t
alone when—’

  ‘FLAME-LICKING DUNG-GUZZLING MAGGOTS!’ Split’s knuckles went white on the handles. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’

  The Pedlar’s outburst made Picka’s outrageous grunts seems like quiet whispers in the dark, and I nearly tumbled back in surprise. Cam lost his balance, falling to a knee on the stone, but Shilah stayed straight and tall.

  I hopped across the stones, rounding the cart so I could see what Split was reacting over. ‘What’s the— Oh.’ My stomach plummeted. ‘Sun damn.’

  Split kicked a heavy stone through the brush of boilweed and into the Singe’s tributary, which happened to be directly in our way. The rock splashed up some of the white-capped waters, which we’d never be able to jump across. This blockading arm of the River was a few paces wide, but it cut off our path completely, perpendicular to the main body of the Singe. There would be no way to cross the sizzling waters, and my neck craned West, following the stream across the deadlands to see if there were any sort of boulders in the waters that could be used as stepping stones. Or if the tributary dipped underground. As far as I could see, there was nothing.

  We were stuck.

  Echoes of barking and horns reached our ears, coming from behind us, from the direction of the Erridian Bridge.

  So the sounds had been real.

  We were dead.

  Sights of the Great Erridian Bridge were no longer possible after all the distance we’d travelled, which meant the distant noises of savage beasts were too close to be coming from the port marketplace.

  The Vicaress and her hounds must have tracked us into the sands.

  She must have been led.

  Hookmen.

  Split paused and then burst out laughing. The fire in the sky was draining, but I knew darkness wouldn’t hide us. We were truly and utterly doomed. I had no more inventions prepared, no materials with which to tinker, and the only obstacles that stood in our enemy’s way were Shilah’s knife and some slick rocks that might make the hounds slip.

  Split’s chuckles were dark, bubbling up from somewhere far deeper than his doughy belly. ‘Here to complete the set, I guess.’