Venom

by Bex Hogan

  ‘I don’t mind it up here,’ she says, as we traipse round the back of the hut, where a flat white plain stretches out like a moonlit ocean before the plateau meets the rocks once more. ‘It’s all we’ve ever known, and all we ever will know.’

  ‘You’ve never left the mountain?’

  Olwyn shakes her head. ‘I’ll only leave to find a mate.’

  ‘What?’ I fail to mask my surprise.

  ‘How do you think we survive? Once the first of the youngest generation reaches her twentieth year, she must prepare to head down the mountain with the snow mares to find a mate.’

  I’m confused. ‘I thought you said the snow mares didn’t leave the mountain.’

  ‘They don’t – apart from in the mating season. When the sea stallions roll in to shore, the mares go to meet them.’

  My brain tries to absorb this information. ‘Sea stallions?’

  ‘Water horses. Once they came every year to visit the mares, but since the royalty disappeared, they’ve come less frequently. They last came eleven years ago, and who knows when they’ll next return.’ Olwyn glances at me. ‘It’s possible now you’re here, they’ll be back sooner.’

  ‘And when they come, you’ll go to a nearby settlement and find someone to impregnate you?’

  Olwyn nods.

  ‘And you’re OK with that?’

  ‘It’s my duty,’ she says, but her split-second hesitation has told me everything I need to know about how she truly feels.

  ‘Maybe the sea stallions won’t return?’

  Olwyn’s sadness is palpable. ‘Maybe. But then, eventually, the snow mares will die out. And we’ll have failed in our service.’

  Always duty enslaves us. Whether it be my responsibilities, Torin’s, Bronn’s, or Olwyn’s, there’s always some external force binding each of us to paths we did not choose. Would it really be so terrible if we all just walked away? Turned our backs on what we ought to do, and embraced what we wanted?

  Isn’t that what you’ve done? The small voice in my head has a point. Whatever my reasons or justifications, I’ve come West to pursue the art of magic. It may be the only way I could see of saving the East, but it is also a magnificently selfish act. A worm of discomfort stirs in my belly, and I remember all the warnings I’ve gathered on my way so far. Giving in to my own desires and wishes will lead to madness and corruption. I must fight magic’s tempting call, which is coming ever more frequently.

  I’m about to ask Olwyn why Rayvn’s taken such an instant dislike to me, when she grabs my arm.

  ‘Look.’

  She points ahead of us and, though the mare is expertly camouflaged, I can see her unmistakable outline descending the sheer rock face towards us as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

  Olwyn’s reverence for the horse is immediately clear as she takes a step backwards. ‘We’re not supposed to get close to them,’ she says in a whisper.

  ‘I don’t think we’re getting a choice,’ I say, as the horse canters across the plateau. It is undoubtedly the same mare I rode, and she dances with excitement to see me, throwing her head round in greeting as she draws close. I can hear Olwyn gasp as the mare slows to a walk, but I’m not really paying attention because I’m looking for the mare’s injury and struggling to believe what I’m seeing. She comes to stand within arm’s reach of us and then with all the grace in the world, once again she bows.

  ‘Hello,’ I say to her, and, ignoring Olwyn’s sharp intake of breath, I stretch out to pat the mare, my hand running down her neck to where last night there was a burning mass of agony on her breast.

  I can’t believe it. There should be an injury, a nasty one. At best there should be a cauterised wound. But there’s no sign of any recent trauma. Only the faintest of scars.

  Somehow – and I don’t know how – I’ve healed her.

  ‘This was the horse?’ Olwyn can’t believe it either.

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘You can hardly see anything ever happened to her.’

  ‘No, I mean, she’s the leader of the herd, the dominant mare. You have no idea how amazing this is.’

  But though I’m sure that’s important, it’s not as immediately mesmerising to me as the immense healing properties of the plant.

  ‘Describe it to me,’ Olwyn says when I share my disbelief with her. I do my best to recall the structure and shape, but it’s when I mention the colour that Olwyn says, ‘Firewort. It must be.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ I say, the memory of seeing the name in my books coming back to me now. ‘You know it?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it,’ she says. ‘But I’ve never seen any. It’s incredibly rare.’

  ‘Then we were lucky,’ I say to the horse, running my fingers through her silken mane.

  Olwyn’s looking at me strangely. Almost suspiciously. ‘How did you know what to do with it?’

  ‘I have an interest in remedies,’ I say, intentionally vague. But Olwyn’s no fool.

  ‘Potions?’

  ‘I’m still learning.’

  Her eyes are wide once more. ‘You can do magic.’

  ‘No,’ I say, quick to dispel her excitement. ‘I would like to, but I have lots to learn. That’s why I came here.’ And I explain to her who Esther is, and why I was seeking her teaching.

  ‘So you’re not going to stay?’ she asks when I’ve finished, her disappointment unmistakable.

  ‘I can’t.’ I’m disappointed too. ‘Believe me, I wish I could.’

  ‘The horses want you here.’

  ‘One horse,’ I point out. ‘One horse brought me to meet my family. And I’m very grateful. But my other family needs my help.’

  Olwyn’s about to protest further, but then her attention is caught by something over my shoulder and instead a smile spreads across her face. ‘Not just one horse.’

  I follow her gaze and hold my breath. Descending the treacherous rocks are hundreds of mares, young and old and in between, coming to join their leader. They canter across the plain together, a white wall, like the surf rolling in on the ocean, until they reach us, and as one lower to bow before me.

  Heat rises to my cheeks – such a display of respect from these magnificent beasts could not be more undeserved. I return the gesture, but when I look to Olwyn for guidance, I’m shocked to see her face damp with tears.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she says, half laughing. ‘I’ve just never seen anything like this before. They’ve all come to greet you. Their queen.’

  I swallow hard, floundering in these strange new waters. My eyes run over the herd, admiring how many there are, and how their pure hair blends into their surroundings. Several have darker muzzles than the rest and I’m wondering if that represents youth or maturity when I realise that there are foals among the herd. Not many, but definitely some.

  ‘I thought you said the sea stallions hadn’t been in eleven years?’ I sound rather too accusatory.

  ‘They haven’t.’

  ‘Then how are there foals? They can’t be more than a few months old.’

  ‘Actually they can.’ Olwyn seems to be recovering from the overwhelming situation. ‘Snow mares are magical. They don’t have the lifespan of ordinary horses.’

  ‘So how long can they live?’

  ‘For ever – if they’re not hunted or killed in battle. That’s why protecting them is so important; it’s why we live up here. Please, Marianne, stay. Find out why they brought you here.’

  I look from her to the ancient horses and know I’m going to give in to temptation – for now at least. There is too much beauty to walk away from with nowhere to go. A few days’ rest can’t hurt.

  ‘All right,’ I say. ‘I’ll stay.’

  Unsurprisingly Rayvn isn’t thrilled to learn that I’m staying.

  ‘We don’t have enough food for an extra mouth,’ she says when Olwyn explains what happened with the horses.

  ‘I’m only going to be here a few days,’ I promise. ‘And I�
��ve been on rations for weeks – so I’m used to not eating much. Anything you can spare me will be gratefully accepted.’

  ‘The frost-roots are nearly ready to harvest,’ Mama says. ‘They will see us through the next few months, with or without a guest.’

  And as Mama has said it, the argument is settled, though it’s not enough to stop Rayvn scowling at me.

  I spend the next couple of days largely with Mama, looking over some old maps she has of the island, and asking as many questions as I can. I’m trying to figure out where Esther could have gone – as well as trying to familiarise myself with the island I was born on.

  One evening, when Pip is out on patrol and no one is bickering, I decide to risk asking about the Hooded. But when I mention the name, I’m met with blank looks.

  So, I tell them about what happened when I first arrived on the Eighth Isle and watch as their expressions darken with concern.

  ‘Human sacrifice?’ Olwyn says, glancing at Ravyn, who looks equally unsettled.

  ‘They’ve always been a superstitious lot on that side of the island,’ Rayvn says.

  ‘Why’s that?’ I ask.

  ‘Because that coastline faces the Shadow Island.’

  Now it’s my turn to look blank.

  ‘The Seventh Isle is known as the Shadow Island,’ Olwyn explains. ‘Partly because our mountains cast a gloom over it.’

  ‘But some say the shadows are more than that,’ Rayvn adds. ‘Spirits, demons, shadow creatures once summoned by Mages that never returned to their resting place. The old stories warn that they lurk in the waters between our islands, looking for a way to breach our boundaries and spread their evil. So people who live on the west of this island have long made offerings to these spirits, some requesting their protection, others beseeching them to stay on the Seventh.’

  ‘But it was always gifts of flowers, food, art,’ Olwyn says. ‘What would make them turn to such violence?’

  ‘Fear,’ Mama says, and though her voice is quiet she commands full attention. ‘Whoever the Hooded are, they must inspire a terrible fear.’

  ‘Then we must be vigilant,’ Rayvn says, clenching her fists.

  ‘So human sacrifices aren’t common here?’ I say.

  Olwyn looks at me with a confused smile. ‘No. What exactly do you Easterners think we do over here?’

  I can feel heat rise to my cheeks.

  ‘You think us savages?’ Rayvn is less amused.

  ‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘I mean, there may have been the odd mention of how lawless and dangerous it is here.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ Rayvn snaps.

  Shame sweeps over me. I know better than most that the blame for our fractured history lies with the East.

  ‘Do the Eastern Isles suffer without us?’ Mama asks, and there is no malice to her question, just simple curiosity.

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t suffering,’ I say. ‘Between the King, his old Viper and the bandits, violence is all too commonplace.’

  Mama shakes her head. ‘The East did that to itself. What I mean is, without the West, is the East incomplete, as we are?’

  I have no idea what’s she talking about.

  ‘Do you know anything?’ Rayvn says, her tone acidic enough to strip flesh from bone.

  ‘Shall we mock her or educate her?’ Mama says, her tone sharp enough to silence her granddaughter. Then she turns to me. ‘I sense the East has been sparing with the truth about the past we share.’

  I smile. ‘That’s a polite way of putting it. They remade the past to frame themselves as heroes and you as the villains.’

  ‘How sad that one awful moment in our history has wiped away all that came before it,’ Mama says. ‘The Eastern and Western Isles have always been two halves of a whole. The East was the practical, steady half, with their industry and trade ensuring we all functioned and survived, while the West was the creative half, blessing the islands with art, music, vibrancy. Together we brought balance, each half nourishing the other in a way they maybe didn’t appreciate they needed. After the war, we were the more obviously deprived, the lack of our main trade suppliers leaving us deficient in everything, and nothing makes people more desperate than empty stomachs. But the East lost too. Not just magic, but the beauty of our ways, our culture. Is the air not thinner without our songs? Is the world not greyer without our colour? Our differences made us stronger, but one King could not see that simple truth, and tore us apart. He, and anyone who thinks like him, are blinder than me.’

  And though she’s talking about the Twelve Isles, and teaching me vital fragments of a lost past, all I can think about is Bronn. The other half of me. We let our differences tear us apart too, when we should have celebrated them, embraced them, accepted them.

  Olwyn takes my hand in hers, mistaking the tears welling in my eyes for sadness over our divided lands. ‘But you are special,’ she says. ‘Yours is a story of both East and West. Maybe your return brings hope of reconciliation?’

  Rayvn snorts her contempt and Olwyn rolls her eyes.

  ‘You’d rather centuries more division?’ Olwyn asks.

  ‘No, I just can’t imagine her mending a broken seam, let alone restoring the Twelve Isles.’

  I raise my eyebrows but say nothing to defend myself. Rayvn doesn’t have to like me, though I do find her venomous reaction to me curious. She reminds me of a wild animal trapped behind bars, the life she’s been born into not one she would have chosen for herself. Duty binds her, but always she is fighting, punishing those who remind her of her cage. Perhaps she hates me because I can leave these mountains when she cannot.

  Later that night, as I lie on the floor waiting for sleep to come, I think over what Mama told me about the islands and how they used to exist together. I feel sure the key to bringing peace lies in their shared history – that the answers are there if I can just uncover them.

  My dreams roll in like a storm, surrounding me with suffocating darkness. I see a woman cocooned. She’s alone, she’s afraid, she’s hiding. I hear her ragged breath, I sense her fear. She’s speaking but her words are inaudible – though I strain to listen through the thick fog of my mind. Her face is hidden from me, but I watch her lips move, try to decipher their message, until finally they form one urgent word.

  Run.

  I wake with a start, hot and sweating, when by rights I should be cold in this night air. I leap to my feet, race through to the room where Rayvn and Olwyn sleep and shake them hard.

  ‘Get up, we have to hurry,’ I say, throwing their clothes at them.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Rayvn says, groggy with sleep.

  ‘It’s Pip,’ I say. ‘She’s in trouble.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Olwyn says, but they’re both rushing now.

  The truth is, I don’t know how I know. I just woke with the strongest sense that she was in danger out there, the warning from the cocooned woman echoing in my ears.

  Within minutes we’re running out into the night, each of us armed with spears, me with my dagger tucked in my boot as well. The only sound is the crunching of snow beneath our feet; our breath floats like mist in the crisp air.

  Then we hear the clamour: the horses’ cries of fear, the shout of a brave young girl and the roar of a fearsome beast.

  ‘An ice lion,’ Olwyn says and we all run faster towards the noise.

  The sight is one to behold. The herd of snow mares is trapped, the cliffs creating a natural corral round them. Facing them is an ice lion. Only a small girl stands between them, her spear raised.

  The ice lion is massive. Twice the height of the tallest mare, it towers over Pip, its steel pelt shimmering in the moonlight, its lacy mane like a silver spiderweb glistening with diamonds. The open mouth is a dark cavern, teeth like lethal stalagmites and stalactites, its roar like a summons to the depths of the ocean. It’s beautiful, it’s deadly, and it’s about to strike.

  I think we all realise we’ve made a mistake at the same t
ime. Because beside the ice lion, sprawled on the ground, is the body of its mate. Pip doesn’t need our help; she’s already single-handedly dispatched one beast, and was poised to finish the job.

  But our sudden appearance has interrupted everything and both girl and lion turn to look at us in surprise.

  Rayvn acts first. Her spear flies through the air and pierces the ice lion through the flank.

  It rears up in reaction, and lashes out with a mighty paw, its razor-sharp claws slicing through Pip’s leg. She retaliates by sweeping her spear through his, so that their shrieks of pain mingle into one.

  ‘Pip!’ Olwyn shouts, as her sister falls to the ground.

  ‘Rayvn, get the horses away,’ I shout, throwing my cousin my spear. She catches it easily and runs towards the herd, ushering them out of the enclosed space while we distract the ice lion.

  He charges at Olwyn and me, and I pull my dagger from my boot, ready to stand my ground. But to my surprise, Olwyn makes a charge of her own, running straight at the beast. For a moment I can’t help but stare, mesmerised at the attack she launches at the massive predator. Her spear is like an extension of her arm, and she swings it swiftly, deftly, driving the ice lion backwards as he struggles to understand what is happening to him.

  ‘Marianne, help her!’ Rayvn shouts angrily, waking me from my reverie. I’m not sure Olwyn actually needs any help, but I run towards her anyway.

  As I approach them, Olwyn forcefully thrusts her spear at the ice lion’s chest and I think for a moment that this is the strike that will fell him. But he manages to twist his body just enough to avoid a fatal blow, the spear instead landing in his shoulder. He swings his body hard, and Olwyn, still holding the end of the spear, gets flung into the air and tossed to the ground where she lands with a thump.

  Then the ice lion looks at me. Our eyes connect, hunter and prey, and I see the glimmer of determination there. He means to kill me. Swiftly and without mercy. He starts to run, spears still sticking in his flesh, but I stand my ground, focusing. I’m only going to get one shot at this.