by Bex Hogan
Still I don’t blink, staring deep into the soul of the animal before me, and I think he sees my fear, the widening of my pupils as danger closes in on us, because everything about him softens. We are not enemies; we’re united by a common foe. We are the hunted.
The hounds are close now, having easily locked in on my scent, and the pack rushes up to the tree, clawing at it and barking for all they’re worth. They’ll draw the guards here in no time. So long as there’s no more than a handful of soldiers, I still stand a chance, though the hounds will make it significantly harder. And though I have the height advantage, they’ll be on horseback. Not to mention they’ll be warm and well fed and not an exhausted bag of bones, which is what I feel like right now. The best I can do is go out fighting. And hope they don’t discover the bear.
A group of guards gallop up beneath us, praising the hounds and looking to see if they can spot me through the foliage. To my relief they don’t seem able to detect me, but there are at least a dozen of them and that’s going to be a challenge in my diminished state. I smile sadly at the timber bear. If I am to die, I’m glad I don’t have to face the moment alone, even if my only companion is a bear.
They’re calling out now, demanding I show myself, and one even fires a bolt from his crossbow up into the leaves, missing both me and the bear by some margin. The hounds bark louder and something stirs in the beast’s eyes, a wild anger that simultaneously terrifies and excites me. He makes his move before I even realise what he’s doing.
The bear lowers himself down the trunk, his massive claws sinking into the wood with ease to keep him steady, and he takes a swipe at the nearest hound, lifting it from the ground and flinging it into the neighbouring tree. Its limp body crashes back to the forest floor and the other hounds whimper and shrink back, as do the guards who cower when the bear lets out a deafening howl.
One of the guards gives a nervous laugh. ‘Damn dogs found themselves a bear. Come on, we need to keep looking for her, or the King will string us up instead.’
The hounds are reluctant to leave, but the snarling bear helps persuade them to follow their masters, who spin the horses round and head deeper into the forest.
The bear climbs back up to where I’m still lying and licks his paw.
‘Thank you.’ I’m in no doubt the bear just saved my life.
The animal lifts his head towards me and nuzzles me with his amber snout. He’s telling me to go. To keep running.
I rest my hand gently on his fur, trying to communicate my gratitude through my touch. ‘Stay safe,’ I whisper to him and he makes a grunt in reply. I’m as certain as I can be that we understand one another.
When I move, I move fast. I lower myself cautiously down the branches and drop to the ground. Pausing for a second to listen for any sound of company, I run, away from where I saw the guards go. I want to find water quickly; it’s the only way to break my scent, and so I sprint as fast as my weary legs will carry me, tripping and stumbling over rocks and roots, towards the stream that, if I’ve remembered rightly, runs parallel to the forest in the south. It’s not the direction I wanted to take as it leads me further away from the coast, but right now that’s going to have to wait. Long-term plans will have to give way to immediate survival.
When I finally crash into the icy water of the stream, the force of the current snatches at my legs so I struggle to stay upright. But now all I have to do is follow the water for a while and the hounds will cease to be a problem. As I’m already soaked by the rain, wading through the river doesn’t make much difference, although I’m very aware that I need to find shelter soon.
It’s when dawn is about to break that I catch sight of a dwelling – the first I’ve seen since I escaped. Emerging from the stream, my extremities so cold I can no longer feel them, I drag myself in its direction. I’ve not seen any sign of the guards since I fled the forest, and though I’ve heard the hounds baying in the distance, so far I’ve managed to elude them.
The household has not yet woken for the day’s labour, and so I slip unnoticed through the rooms, searching for dry clothing and food. I help myself to an outfit, a satchel and a chunk from the loaf of stale bread, leaving the rest for the family. I don’t want them starving on my account. Then I head for their barn, where I remove the filthy, drenched shift and wash myself as best I can in the horse’s trough. I’ve deliberately picked a dress to wear, hoping to pass unnoticed as a peasant girl, rather than the Viper, and then I take my knife to my hair. I can’t cut it all off, for fear of revealing the birthmark on my neck, but I can shorten the distinctive mess I’ve always had, and once it’s gone it’s easier to place the simple linen coif over my head.
It’s the best I can do to disguise myself, and the warm woollen stockings and boots are coaxing life back into my toes and feet.
Once I’ve eaten half of my chunk of bread, I set off again, desperate to keep moving, knowing the King’s fury will mean he’ll stop at nothing to have my head. I run for hours, staying off the roads, trailing through ditches and weaving in random directions to confuse anyone tracking me. My mind is sharp, focused only on survival, but behind that focus is a barrage of thoughts and questions clamouring to be heard. When I’m safe enough to allow them room, I’m going to have to process everything that’s happened, but there just isn’t time for that now.
It’s the horse that attracts my attention first. From my concealed position in the ditch, which runs alongside the highway that stretches from one end of the island to the other, I can see him pawing the ground uneasily. His head is held oddly high, his eyes wide, his mouth foaming, and as I get closer it becomes clear why he’s so terrified. The wagon he was pulling is on its side and going nowhere.
Though I know I should turn away and keep running, I cannot ignore the poor animal trapped in his harness. Checking there’s no one around, I climb up the embankment, and once I take in the sight properly, I almost wish I hadn’t.
It was no ordinary wagon, but a cross-island stagecoach carrying travellers. It’s been attacked, plundered for any valuables carried, and recently by the look of things. There are bodies strewn on the ground: innocent men, women and children who’d been going about their business before they met a sudden and violent end. A brief wave of fear sweeps me as I realise the perpetrators could still be close by, but it’s soon quashed by a tsunami of anger. By challenging me the King has practically invited the bandits to continue their rampaging, because who other than me has dared stand against them? Under his command the King’s Fleet have been rendered impotent, and the King’s Guard useless. Once Torin took the throne, he planned to change that, but, as it is, all opposition to the bandits has been removed, and it’s clear that in only a matter of weeks things have deteriorated quickly. I almost will them to return to this scene of carnage. I want to remind them I still live and they shouldn’t forget it.
The frightened horse demands my attention with stomping hooves and stops me from drowning in my fury. I speak calmly as I approach him, soothing him with words he cannot understand, but which I hope reassure. Beside him, another horse has collapsed, blood still fresh on his flank where he’s been shot.
His whole body tenses when I rest my hand on his withers. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ I say, as I run my fingers down to the harness and start to unstrap it. ‘You’ll be free soon.’
The horse snorts, but doesn’t put up any resistance when I pull on buckles until he’s eventually released from his prison. For a moment he seems frozen, unwilling to trust what I’ve done, but then he bolts, galloping down the road and putting as much distance between himself and this butchery as possible.
Which is what I intend to do.
Until I feel it. The unmistakable prickle of magic, hot like a rash across my skin. I glance behind me, running my gaze over the dead, moving towards the sensation. And then I see her.
The woman is lying slightly further away from the wagon than the others. Maybe she was trying to run before she was beaten, her bo
dy broken.
But she’s not dead yet.
All around her I sense the threads of energy. They weave and shimmer, the hum of her life departing for ever, and I run to see if I can help her.
She’s deeply unconscious, death imminent, and instinctively I reach my hands up towards the life force leaving her. But then I hesitate. A small boy I loved fiercely once warned me not to try to bring back the life of a she-wolf this way. Maybe Tomas was right. Maybe there’s a line with magic that shouldn’t be crossed. I certainly learned plenty of other hard lessons on the Fourth Isle. But that was an animal. This is a person, and she’s not entirely dead, just on the fringes. I’ve never felt this so strongly in a human before. Never. It’s as if talking to the mountain has awoken the magic inside me, and I’m not sure I want to ignore its tempting call. Though perhaps that’s the very reason I should.
A tiny mew interrupts my dilemma. I move closer, searching for its source. Wrapped beside the woman, small and helpless, is a baby.
What choice do I have? Leave them both to die? Take the child and raise it as my own, as Adler once did? Though the last thing I need is to be slowed down by other people, it’s never been in my nature to abandon those in need, no matter how hard Adler tried to beat the impulse from me.
And so I reach once more for the energy around the woman’s body, now understanding why it’s so strong. She doesn’t want to die; she’s clinging to life for the sake of her baby. She’s fighting the way my mother once did to stay with me. My mother failed – no one helped her. I won’t let the same happen here.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but it’s like net that must be untangled and I’ve spent many hours doing that, methodically teasing strands to return to the right place. I fall into a trance, barely aware of my surroundings, focused solely on repairing what should be irreparable, and letting what can only be described as magical instinct guide me. My blood runs hot, the magic flowing through my veins pulsing with my heartbeat, slow at first but then in a rush, the heat almost burning me from the inside out.
But before I can finish, I’m torn from the spell I’ve fallen under. Because someone’s screaming.
It’s the woman.
My first thought is that I’ve killed her, but her lungs are too strong for that to be true. Immediately I fear I’ve done something worse, altered her in some horrific way by incorrectly weaving a magic I have no understanding of. It takes me a moment to realise she has simply regained consciousness and the horrors of her previous waking moments are flooding back.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, wanting to steady her, to comfort her. ‘You’re safe now.’
I’m trying not to think about the fact that I’ve brought her back from the brink of death using nothing more than magic. The power fluttering through my bones is intense and I do my best to ignore it, to give all my attention to the terrified woman in front of me, but it’s hard. After months of avoiding magic, the past few hours have done their damnedest to remind me of its existence.
‘My baby,’ she says, clawing at my arms. ‘My baby?’
‘Is right here.’ I’m speaking in calming tones, as if handling a wild animal, because, honestly, she’s scaring me.
At the sight of her child the woman sobs in relief, clutching the baby to her. Then a wave of confusion passes across her face followed by fear as she looks up at me.
‘What happened?’
‘Your coach was attacked,’ I say, reaching out to reassure her, but she flinches away. ‘I found you here. You were unconscious.’
The woman frowns and she is definitely afraid.
‘Were you trying to escape?’ I hope to coax some information from her.
‘I don’t … I don’t remember.’ She looks panic-stricken.
‘That’s all right. You’re probably just in shock.’
But her eyes are wide as she stares into mine. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I just found you.’ She’s beginning to concern me. ‘What’s your name?’
She opens her mouth, but then closes it again, her brow knitting tight together. ‘I don’t know.’
A horrible sick feeling stirs in my gut. ‘How about your baby? What’s their name?’
The woman glances down at the child now sleeping in her arms. ‘I … I have no idea.’ Her eyes are wild as she clutches my arm. ‘What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember anything?’
I have an awful feeling I know exactly why she can’t, but I’m not about to tell her. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, avoiding the question. ‘I’m sure your memories will come back.’
Internally I’m beginning to panic. This is a disaster. I’m supposed to be stealthily escaping the island, but now I’ve given in to temptation, arrogantly attempted something powerful that I didn’t understand and caused a whole world of mess. I can hardly leave her here now when I’m the cause of her broken mind.
‘I don’t suppose you know where you were going?’ I ask, though I’m fairly certain I can guess the answer.
Her sobs are the only one I get.
‘Right.’ I haven’t got time to waste, not with guards hunting me. ‘Let’s have a look through your things. Maybe there’ll be something that can help us.’
The woman nods and seems relieved to have a suggestion at last. But her bag is all but empty, the bandits having taken anything there might have been of value and everything else besides. We search through her pockets and find nothing to help us, but then we feel the rustling of paper beneath her skirts and realise something has been stitched into the fabric. With my dagger it’s easy enough to reopen the pocket to reveal a letter. It’s tattered and well read, the ink smudged in places from what might possibly have been teardrops. It’s a love letter. Most of what the note contains isn’t useful and is none of my business besides, but the writer speaks of a ship: The Black Nightshade. I haven’t heard of it before, but it could be something to go on. I skim to the end, hoping for a clue in the sign-off, but it’s simply signed with the initial R.
‘Do you know what it stands for?’ I ask, though I suspect the letter means as much to the woman as it does to me. My suspicion is confirmed when she shakes her head.
‘OK,’ I say, after a moment’s thought. ‘There’s a harbour several miles south-west of here. I think we should go there, see if anyone’s heard of this ship and maybe then we’ll find someone who knows you.’
The woman’s eyes widen further, which I didn’t think was possible. ‘You’ll come with me?’
‘Of course. I can’t exactly leave you on your own now, can I?’
To my surprise she throws her arms round me. ‘Thank you, you’re my saviour.’
I say nothing and hope my cheeks aren’t burning too much. I’m no saviour.
Gathering up her things, I offer to carry the baby, but she refuses to be parted from the child for even a moment. Instead I take her arm and support her weight, for her body is battered and bruised and walking is clearly difficult.
Until now she’s had her back to the scene of the attack, and she cries out when she sees the corpses of those not as fortunate as herself. I guide her away from them, avoiding the blood that’s both pooled and spattered across the ground.
We don’t talk much on our journey, and I’m glad of the silence. The guilt I’m experiencing is unbearable. Because of what I achieved descending the mountain, I grew overly confident. Thought I knew more than I did. And when I tried to weave magic I can’t control, I only succeeded in damaging this poor woman. My guess is that the strength of her love for the child meant that the minute I’d restored enough of her life for her to survive, she broke free of me and returned to her body – before I could finish the spell. Not that there’s any guarantee I could have even finished it properly. I should have listened to Tomas – he always was wiser than I.
Now my arrogance has left her mind empty and I have no idea whether she’ll ever recover those memories.
I try hard to silence the voice whispering that even without any know
ledge I was still able to bring someone back from the edge of death, that such power was within my grasp. I try to ignore that my body feels oddly hollow now the magic has subsided, that I want more than anything to feel that heat again.
We reach the harbour by early evening, and I’m instantly wary of any guards. The good thing about travelling with another woman, though, is that I don’t look so much like a fugitive, and the handful of guards who are stationed at the town’s entrance barely give us more than a cursory glance.
Still, the last thing I want to do is draw too much attention to us, and so I take the woman directly to the harbour itself. The quickest way to find information is to ask someone, but there’s the chance of being recognised. I target an older woman selling fish. She’s more likely to take pity on my injured friend than anyone else I can see, and less likely to know my face.
‘Excuse me,’ I say with as much warmth as possible. ‘Can you help us?’
Her eyes instantly narrow with suspicion. ‘That very much depends.’
I keep my smile bright. ‘Have you heard of a ship called The Black Nightshade?’
There’s nothing friendly in the shift of her features. ‘Who wants to know?’
I change tactic and drop both my smile and my voice. ‘My friend was attacked on her way here. She has no memory of who she is. The only item on her person was this.’ I hold out the worn piece of paper and the old woman considers what I’ve said.
‘What’s your part in all this?’
‘I found her on the road. I’m just trying to help.’
The old woman fixes a hard gaze on me. ‘Why?’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘I could hardly leave her to fend for herself, could I?’
‘You don’t want money?’
I shake my head.
‘Good, cos you won’t get any. That’s Raoul’s ship. He’d more likely skin you than pay you.’
‘Raoul?’ The mysterious ‘R’.
‘You’ll find him in the tavern. And you best be as honest as you say you are, missy, or he’ll have your head.’
