by Drew Wagar
‘I heard Tarq mention his name, Guerrun Sandatch. He said he was a traitor.’
‘Anyone who disagrees with my father is so marked.’
‘What happened to all these girls?’
Ioric sighed heavily. ‘I’ll not lie to you Zoella. All have been hunted down and taken back to Viresia on my father’s orders, every single one. Then they become numbered amongst the twenty, sent to Varda never to return. All save you, you may be the last. It seems this dream has the touch of doom about it.’
‘But how were they found?’
‘Unfortunately it was easy enough to check with the various halls to see which children were supported by a guardian once it became clear that was the common thread. Guards were dispatched. Serenia lies so far to the sunright it was overlooked for a time. I heard guards were being sent to your town for an ‘inspection’ on my father’s orders. I surmised they were looking for another one of the guardian’s charges.’
‘Had I been at the hall …?’
Ioric nodded. ‘You’d have been caught like the others have all been …’
‘So why didn’t Guerrun return?’
‘I imagine he intended to,’ Ioric replied. ‘Something went wrong …’
But he never appeared …
Zoella tried to remember how she’d arrived at Tarq’s hall, but, as with all previous attempts, she could remember little. Flashes of panic, running, shouts and a herg-drawn carriage, racing through a storm. She’d always assumed it was another bad dream. Could it be that was how she’d arrived at the hall?
‘So where is he?’ she demanded.
Ioric shook his head. ‘Dead, most probably. His secrets lost. I’ve found no trace of him, only those he left behind and you’re almost certainly the last of them.’
Zoella shook her head, trembling. ‘Why? It’s just a dream!’
Ioric stopped for a moment.
‘Your guardian hid you and those like you for a good reason,’ Ioric said softly. ‘I believe it was to keep you hidden from this tithe. It is said that the people of Drayden had some strange power. Power to hear the thoughts of others, perhaps even control them …’
Zoella felt a chill come across her, her hands shook.
‘You know of what I speak, don’t you?’
Zoella swallowed and nodded.
‘Tell me.’
‘I … it is as you say. I can hear the thoughts of the beasts and even the trees, if I touch them. I can sense deception, it’s like … like a foul smell. That’s how I knew to trust you. I can feel when someone is hurt and sometimes I can make it better. I’ve always been able to do it, I thought everyone could, it was only when I got older that I realised …’
‘Can you hear the thoughts of people?’
‘I’ve never tried. It seemed rude …’
‘Try now.’
Zoella licked her lips and then moved next to him. She reached out her fingers towards him, touching his forehead. She felt Ioric flinch for a moment, felt the outline of his face and then it was as if her fingers had sunk gently into his mind …
Can you hear me, Zoella?
She giggled and then stopped, sensing more serious thoughts. After a moment she drew back.
‘Well?’
‘Yes, I can hear you, Prince Ioric.’
Ioric raised his eyebrows.
Zoella’s face softened into a concerned look. ‘You are hurt by the betrayal of your friend, you worry that there are others who have betrayed you and you fear for your brother, Torin. And this mystery … well, it consumes your thoughts!’
Ioric reached out and took her hand gently. ‘It is a strange gift to be sure. And it certainly must be the key. No wonder Drayden values such things so. But why would my father send away all with such a gift to Varda never to return …?’
Zoella shrugged.
‘I will not speak of it if you don’t wish it.’
Ioric nodded. ‘It would be wise not to mention it to anyone except me, from now on. I will do my best to protect you, but you must promise. Yes?’
Zoella nodded quickly.
‘We will travel to Viresia,’ Ioric said.
‘Viresia! But …’
‘I know it sounds like the height of madness, but I am the heir. I have been gone too long already. My father’s hold … the kingdom is not safe.’
‘If I’m discovered …’
‘We shall say you’re the daughter of a one of the rich Scallian landowners in the shadeward plains. Your father has petitioned me on your behalf, looking for advancement and a position in the court. I will install you in my household as a maid. You will serve our household.’
‘Will this ruse of yours be believed?’ Zoella asked.
Ioric smiled. ‘All the politics, positioning and petitioning for my father’s court is tedious in the extreme. No one will pay any attention to you.’
‘You’d put me under the nose of the King?’ Zoella was aghast. ‘He who wants to send those like me to this Varda?’
‘The safest place,’ Ioric said, with a smile. ‘Do not fear. The king will take no notice. The chosen will be long gone before we arrive and it will be five rounds before the tithe is due again – enough time for us to solve this riddle. Whatever secrets remain to be found, they lie in Viresia, not here. I’ll need your help in finding them.’
‘And what would I do in the meantime?’
‘My daughter Liana runs the household. You would serve her, run errands, make beds, fetch food, accompany the household to various pressing engagements, parties, concerts and so on. Beyond that you’d help me find out what is really going on. Can you read?’
‘Yes, I learnt my words and figurings.’
Something good I received during my time at Tarq’s hall!
‘Good. You’ll fit in well. You’ll be living in the palace itself, of course.’
‘The palace,’ Zoella said in a whisper. ‘What is it like?’
Ioric smiled. ‘I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. Wait until you see it.’
‘And how long do I have to play this game of yours?’
Ioric sighed for a moment. ‘Only until we both find out what happened to all the other girls. Until we unravel this mystery.’
Silent at Zoella’s side up until now, Raga growled softly.
‘Raga must come too,’ Zoella said. ‘I would not have escaped without his help.’
Ioric nodded, looking carefully at Raga. ‘An honourable beast; I’m sure we can accommodate him too. You seem to have him well trained, perhaps you can teach us how that is done? We have few carns in Viresia.’
‘I could do that,’ Zoella replied.
Ioric grinned. ‘You have much spirit, young Zoella. I shall watch your progress with interest. Come, let us begin our journey. I’ve been gone long enough.’
It took only a spell before the hergs were saddled and they were ready to begin the trek towards Viresia, turning shaderight.
‘Are you ready, maid Zoella?’ Ioric called.
Zoella nodded. ‘How far is it?’
‘It will take us several passes, we are far from my home.’
Zoella sighed. ‘Then we had better get going.’
Ioric turned his herg half aside and looked at her. ‘Turn your face to Lacaille …’
Zoella smiled and responded in kind. ‘…and your shadows fall behind you.’
It was a traditional way of wishing folks well on a journey. Ioric nodded.
‘Let’s hope those old words hold true, eh?’
She waited whilst he took the lead and then followed on behind.. Raga padded along beside them, easily matching the slow place.
Ioric took a look over his shoulder at her. She wondered what he was thinking.
A man stood at the end of the road just beyond the lights of the town. Varda was a traipse sunward of Viresia, an otherwise unremarkable town set in the foot hills against mountains that thrust upwards to block the light of Lacaille.
I despise this task, this unholy tithe w
e are committed too.
It was dark here, the mountains high above forever blocked Lacaille’s direct illumination, only the snowy peaks blazed with light, casting a pale orange glow about the dark grey rocks. A faint breeze blew, chilling him, damp and cold. It was forbidding and gloomy.
Torin, Prince of Scallia, son of King Marek and half-brother to Ioric, paused and surveyed the scene, flanked by the guards that accompanied him.
Ahead the road narrowed until it came to an ancient stone bridge across a chasm in the floor of the valley. Torin had already looked down into its depths and seen nothing. The faint light from above, even coupled with that of the torches he and his men carried faded away long before those hidden reaches came into sight. If there was a bottom down there, it was many hundred hands down.
The bridge led onwards, the far end fading out of sight in a thin mist that rose out of the chasm. He could see no other side.
The border with Drayden.
Torin walked to the beginning of the bridge and looked across. Still nothing. He handed his torch to a nearby guard and stepped forward, raising his hands to his face and shouting as his father had taught him by rote.
‘Drayden! We, the people of Scallia bring our tithe as treaty and custom dictates. We stand ready to receive you. Accept our selfless gift of our own this day.’
He heard his voice echo around the valley, but no other sounds came back.
Behind him, flanked by guards, twenty young women dressed in simple white smocks were whimpering with fear. The guards leant uneasily from one foot to another, watchful.
‘So,’ Torin said to the guard next to him, retrieving his torch. ‘How long do we wait for these witches to arrive?’
The guard shrugged.
Torin looked across the bridge once more, but there was nothing to be seen in the gently rising mist.
‘Perhaps this is just some trick …’
A cry sounded around them, a long drawn out cry from an animal. It came from above, followed by the sound of something moving in the air above them. The mist billowed and flowed briefly. The men looked around them in alarm, but there was nothing to be seen.
Another cry came, closer and sharper. The girls behind him screeched in fear and the men backed up, drawing their swords with a sharp scrape of metal. Torin raised his hand, ordering them to stand firm.
For a moment, nothing happened. Torin squinted into the mist, looking at the bridge, trying to see through the greyness.
There! A figure!
It was almost invisible, ethereal in the fog, a shadow amongst shadows. Yet it strode forward slowly, taking form.
‘A witch! A Drayden witch!’ one guard whispered through dry lips.
Torin felt his own heart beating hard in his chest and drew his own sword.
‘Stand fast …’
The figure was walking along the bridge, slowly and deliberately moving towards them. It was solitary and alone.
Just one? They send just one? Why they’ll regret their arrogance!
With a strange abruptness the figure stepped out of the mist, materialising in solid form in a single stride. The figure was cloaked in dark fabric from head to foot, its head bowed slightly, its face invisible.
‘Who are you?’ Torin demanded.
The figure slowly raised its head. Thin pale hands slowly rose and pulled back the hood, revealing a beautiful, but white and pale face with eyes so dark in contrast they appeared black.
‘I am she who receives your tithe, Prince of Scallia.’
The woman’s voice was faint, almost on the edge of hearing, yet somehow it echoed around their minds, reverberating in their heads and chilling their thoughts.
Torin swallowed, feeling sweat cool on his skin and fought to stop himself shivering.
‘We bring the daughters of our high-born, as custom dictates. But I would have your name and assurances on their well-being before I release our tithe.’
He struggled to hold the gaze of the woman, only peripherally taking in the tiara perched on her head, the darkness of her hair save for a thick silver streak. It framed her narrow face on one side only, on the other her skin was shaved down to her pale flesh.
‘You may bring no condition to the tithe.’ The voice came again, smooth and whisper quiet, but deafening.
Torin summoned what courage he had and raised his voice.
‘You are one, we are many. This I would have to take back to my people. Long we have suffered your tithe and we ask nothing in return. Tell me your name!’
The woman laughed, a thin cackle.
‘You are but a man, Prince of Scallia. Know your place and keep it.’
‘I would teach you a lesson, witch!’
Torin drew his sword, his guards doing the same beside him. He moved to strike the woman, but he got no more than half a step forward before a piercing headache erupted across his forehead. It jabbed, cutting and thrusting into his scalp like a burning blade. He stumbled, only vaguely registering that the other guards had stumbled around him, yelling out their own pain and anguish.
He fell to his knees, but the pain would not relent. His sword dropped, forgotten, as his hands pushed in vain at his forehead, trying to ease the fire that seemed to have erupted in his head. It was excruciating, blocking out his thoughts.
He fell on to his side.
Come, leave these … men … behind. Join us.
He heard the sound of footsteps echoing around him. He saw the twenty chosen girls file past, oblivious to his and the other men’s pain and suffering, the expressions on their faces vacant and empty.
No!
The pain intensified, as the girls walked past, their footsteps echoing in his head. He was helpless to stop them. Waves of nausea flooded over him, the ground spun. He clutched out, desperate to hold himself steady.
The footfalls faded into the distance, disappearing into nothingness.
Your tithe is accepted, Torin son of Marek, Prince of Scallia …
The pain vanished as if snuffed out. There was a distinct sense of feminine amusement associated with the final words, the suggestion of a mischievous laugh fading into the distance, mocking him.
How did she know my name? I never gave it …
Torin rolled over in fury and got unsteadily to his feet, helping up the dazed guards around him. As one they grabbed swords and rushed to the bridge.
The mist billowed and rose around them, but of the Drayden witch and the twenty girls they had brought with them, there was no sign.
Torin strained his eyes into the mist for long moments, before retrieving his sword and sliding it back into its scabbard. His guards followed his example and did likewise beside him. Torin straightened.
‘A time will come, witches of Drayden,’ he muttered. ‘When my father passes, we will end this tithe … and we will have a reckoning.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Daine, Capital of Drayden
Round 2306, Fifth Pass
Kiri was on her way to the food halls when she heard footsteps behind her.
‘Ugh. Slum’s going this way, watch where you step. No telling where she’s been.’
Not again …
Kiri recognised Rihanna’s voice. She held her head high and kept walking, increasing her speed, hoping to leave the other girl behind. She’d been taunting her ever since the first practice.
‘Where’s she going in such a hurry?’ another voice called. Kiri could tell Rihanna was accompanied by her group of sycophantic candids. She recognised Sahria’s voice.
‘Got an appointment with somebody’s bed,’ said a third, she wasn’t sure if it was Jessie or Joyce. ‘Got to earn her keep. At least she knows her place.’
‘Spends a lot of time on her knees too,’ Rihanna called. ‘Only reason they let her live, so I heard. Keeps the men satisfied …’
‘Guess that’s part of a healer’s job isn’t it?’
The candids around Rihanna giggled. Kiri continued to ignore them, walking onwards.
&n
bsp; ‘What’s the going rate nowadays, slum? Two pieces of stale bread? Don’t want to price yourself out of the market.’
The group of young women caught up with Kiri. Rihanna pulled her aside. Kiri defended herself with an attempt at a wrist lock, but her grip wasn’t strong enough. Rihanna deftly turned it aside and reversed it. Kiri was slammed up against the wall with a yelp.
‘Don’t you dare touch me, slum,’ Rihanna said. ‘You don’t have the right. We’re your betters, time you learnt that.’
‘Make her say it, Rihanna,’ Joyce giggled.
Rihanna laughed. ‘Yeah. Come on slum, say it … I’m a dirty little whore.’
‘You’re a dirty little whore,’ Kiri shot back immediately.
Rihanna twisted Kiri’s arm cruelly, just short of dislocating it. Kiri’s face twisted in pain but she refused to give Rihanna the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt.
‘Say it!’ Rihanna demanded, twisting again. Kiri yelped, but managed to turn herself to unlock the grip. Free, she drew her fist back to strike.
Do not meet violence with violence, that’s not the healer way …
Kiri feinted instead. Rihanna tried to hold her but Kiri ducked and escaped, running up the corridor she had just come down, the others chasing from behind, struggling to keep up. She was still fast on her feet.
Kiri skidded past a set of doors, grabbed the handles to steady herself and slipped through. She’d run into a practice hall. She heard the footsteps of the other candids clatter past and fade into the distance. She waited for a while and eventually sighed with relief. She’d evaded them again.
As usual, the practice hall was empty at this time of day.
All very well for Charis to say not to be violent, but Rihanna tries to fight me every other chime!
Kiri had learnt a lot from Charis over the last few passes, but it was, truth be told, dull for the most part. Writing and reading had been fun to learn and accompanied by a great sense of achievement when mastered, but when that skill was turned to boring ledgers and documents Kiri had quickly feigned inability again.
She decided some exercise would clear her mind and managed thirty push-ups before her arms began to ache. Her wrists throbbed, but she resolutely pushed through to forty. She welcomed the pain in her arms and shoulders; it dulled the frustration in her mind. She hated how Rihanna made her feel. None of the other candids would associate with her without incurring Rihanna’s wrath. In many ways she was just as isolated now as she had been as an only.
