‘The Revenant is gone.’
‘Dead?’
‘If something like that can die.’
‘Did anyone else survive?’
‘You, me, Maida and the shapeshifters.’
‘Myrrhini?’
Slave shrugged, the first movement he had made. ‘We haven’t found her body.’
‘So she could still be alive?’
‘She fell after the Revenant crushed every bone in her body.’
Keshik slumped. He had barely known the woman, but her loss hit him harder than he expected.
‘That wyvern? She was the same one who rescued me before?’
Slave gave a curt nod. ‘Her name is Haron.’
‘Haron? The wyvern has a name?’ Truth dawned on his weary mind. ‘She’s a shapeshifter?’
‘She is.’
Keshik closed his eyes. It was still all too much. He wanted to go home, to run from it all, but he knew he could not. Not yet, not with half the job still to do.
‘What now?’ he asked, fully expecting the answer.
‘Now we go after the other one — the one you released.’
‘And where is that?’
‘I don’t know.’
The door flap to the gyrn was pulled aside, allowing a blast of cold, dry wind to enter, carrying the stink of the battle. No, not the battle, the savage massacre where the monster had torn apart the arbans. Couldn’t they have camped a bit further away? Maybe upwind? All such thoughts vanished when he looked up and saw Maida.
She was crouched as she entered, but stood tall when inside, shaking the dust from her cloak. When she saw him sitting up, a smile lit her eyes and Keshik suddenly felt better. He knew her smile did not change anything — the arbans were still dead; Myrrhini was gone; they were somewhere in the Tusemon wilderness in a small gyrn with probably no supplies and only the prospect of a slow death at the hands of some of the harshest weather in the world while they slogged their way west in search of a monster that would give them nothing but, hopefully, a quick death — but the fact of her life, her smile, her continuing love for him was all he needed.
He smiled back and extended his arms. She gave a small cry and knelt beside him, returning his embrace. Her grip was strong, bringing a grunt of pain from Keshik, but he held her close, even when she tried to pull away. He closed his eyes and revelled in her smell, her touch, the feel of her cheek against his.
‘We need to get to the Kuriltai and gather those remaining there,’ Slave said.
‘They all left with the Ogedei,’ Keshik said, releasing Maida.
Slave shook his head. ‘There’re a few left.’
‘They won’t leave. They will have been ordered to guard it against any threats.’
‘There aren’t any more threats,’ Slave said. ‘Do you think anything would have stayed while that army was moving?’
‘Speaking of which,’ Maida said. ‘Why did you wait so long before doing —’ she waved her hands vaguely about ‘— whatever it is you did?’
‘I had to make sure there were no more of the Revenant’s eyes in the body of the army before acting.’
Maida frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It had some people still slightly aware, who were somehow linked to its mind. If they saw any threat, the Revenant knew and could act. When they were gone, I could lead the rest of his army away.’
‘And the rest of the Tulugma? Why do we need them?’ Keshik demanded.
‘We need them,’ Slave said. Abruptly, he rose to his feet and stepped to the door flap. Myrrhini had told him they would need every Tulugma left in the Kuriltai, but he could not bring himself to say the words. He lifted the flap and spoke without turning: ‘We have to move soon. Rest. Regain your strength.’ He left the gyrn to walk amid the swirling winds.
Giving orders was something he had long promised himself he would never do. He had received a lifetime of orders from Sondelle, orders that made his gut squirm, orders that had spelled death for many, as had his own orders to the arbans — orders delivered by Keshik, admittedly, but orders that grew from his tactics. And now he had given an order to Keshik himself, one that the swordsman would obey, for all he would bluster and complain. Keshik followed orders.
He put out of his mind the angry words he heard Keshik exclaim behind him and walked towards the mountains that loomed only a few days’ ride ahead. They stretched from the Sixth Waste in the north to split the First and Second Wastes in the south. The snow-covered peaks were unbroken the whole way, leaving a massive scar on the world, as if at some time in the distant past a monstrous beast had carved a gash across the land then left it to heal untreated. Slave traced the twin scars across his own face and considered the path that had led him to this point.
Could he have done any different? At what stage had he made bad decisions? Where had he taken himself, and where had fate led him? Was there any difference?
Did it matter?
He was here. Somehow, he and Myrrhini had sent the Revenant back where it belonged. Now, without her, he had to track down the other thing Sondelle had schemed to let loose on the world and send it back too.
If he thought it very quickly, it did not seem so impossible.
Slave allowed his gaze to track up the almost sheer face of the mountains, seeking the tiny flaw that marked the location of the path that would lead him into the Kuriltai. The vision he and Myrrhini had shared in the old, long-abandoned chamber beneath the destroyed town still haunted him. He had Seen Myrrhini’s fall, heard the shattering of her bones, Seen the utter devastation of the arbans and known the importance of the few remaining Tulugma, but nothing had prepared him for the depth of his anguish at Myrrhini’s death. He had killed so many, but even his killing of Waarde and the other woman, so long ago, whose name he had never known, felt nothing like the agony he had felt when the flames in Myrrhini’s eyes went out.
The rage that had overtaken him at that moment was so different to the wild abandon of the black rages before. While it stole his rational mind away, leaving him little more than a mad animal as normally it did, its different source left him colder somehow. It was hard to explain, hard to rationalise, but something had changed. A stirring of hope touched his mind. Could the Revenant’s ‘gift’ be controlled? Could he someday be free of it?
He looked down at his hand as it gripped the Warrior’s Claw, wondering again how he came to be holding it. In the dim afternoon light, its gleam was unmistakeable. Slave brandished it to the uncaring sky. One Revenant had fallen by his hand — let the other know fear.
20
Myrrhini stirred uncomfortably as she drifted towards wakefulness. Her mind was filled with images of fearsome beasts tearing at her flesh, of terrible battles with uncounted casualties, of indescribable agony. She cried aloud as a hand bigger than a horse smashed into her, sending waves of white-hot anguish crashing through her body. The shock woke her up. She was soaked with sweat, heart pounding; there was blood on her lips. She sat up, panting, to see only the empty cabin, still in darkness.
As she had every morning since being snatched away from death, she experienced a moment of disorientation before remembering where she was. And how she had come to be there.
Why had the Queen never told her about that aspect of Eztli-Ichtaca?
True, she had herself reached out into that world and travelled through it on a number of occasions, but each time it had been an instinctive thing, without knowing what she did or how she did it.
And why could she, Myrrhini — the Eye of Varuun — no longer See into the strange world of could be?
A soft knock sounded at her door.
‘Come in,’ she said.
An agent pushed open her cabin door and stood uncertainly. Myrrhini waved for him to enter.
‘The Queen would like to see you,’ he said in a flat monotone.
‘Why?’
‘She didn’t say.’
As Myrrhini left her cabin, a sudden memory swept across
her. Images lit up her mind.
… flying, rising effortlessly into the night sky … Slave insane with rage, slicing, hacking at that vast, incomprehensible monster …
… black blood fountaining over her … pain, so much pain … crushing, grinding, bones splintering …
… my bones …
… blood …
… my blood …
… streaming, flowing out of innumerable wounds …
… so much pain … white-hot agony that stripped her of humanity, leaving her howling like an animal …
… falling, falling so far.
Myrrhini went weak, leaning against the wall for support. The weakness swept over her as the memory had done. She staggered and slid down the wall to collapse on the floor.
‘What happened to me?’ she whispered. She looked at the agent. His dark eyes returned her stare: blank, unemotional eyes.
The agent shook his head. ‘The Queen wants to see you,’ he repeated.
Myrrhini tried to force herself up but there was no strength in her arms or legs. She slumped further as more horrifying images flashed into her mind: of men, women, horses being ripped apart by huge, gnarled hands, crushed beneath monstrous feet; of herself flying effortlessly beside Slave. She recalled herself beside him, battling that … thing. That unimaginably huge thing that flew on massive leathery wings. She whimpered in terror as the memory of her death came back to her.
If I died how am I alive?
Am I alive?
How did this happen?
She marshalled every hint of strength and pushed herself to her feet. The simple explanation she had been given the first time she awoke here on this ship was no longer enough. Myrrhini decided the Blindfolded Queen had some explaining to do.
‘Come with me,’ Myrrhini instructed.
The agent gave a slight, respectful bow and stepped aside. Myrrhini walked past him, turned right and stalked along the narrow passageway towards the cabin of the Blindfolded Queen. At the door, she waited as the agent moved ahead of her and pounded on the heavy wood. From inside came the sound of feet crossing the floor and then the door opened to reveal Quetzalxoitl herself.
Myrrhini regarded the flawless face, the rich, red lips, the mass of black hair that tumbled down over smooth shoulders, the black leather mask that covered her eyes.
‘Ah, Myrrhini.’ She stepped aside to usher Myrrhini into the luxurious cabin. ‘Do come in.’ Myrrhini walked past her, leaving the agent outside. Quetzalxoitl closed the door and turned to face Myrrhini, her back pressed firmly against the door. Her cabin was large, although low-ceilinged and dark. Lanterns hung from the beams, swinging with the unceasing motion of the ship, the light moving in unison with the ship. It accentuated the feeling of motion, making Myrrhini feel slightly queasy. The appointments were luxurious; rugs were scattered in artistic disarray on the wooden floor, surrounding a large bed, and exquisitely crafted furniture appeared to be bolted to the floor.
‘You sent for me?’ Myrrhini asked.
‘I did,’ the Queen said. ‘Sit down, we need to talk.’ She indicated a carved chair.
‘About what?’ Myrrhini knew her tone sounded brusque, but she was still shaken by the shocking memories of her experiences with the Revenant. She sat down.
‘Myrrhini, do you know what we are doing on this ship?’
‘Heading west.’
‘Do you know why?’
Myrrhini shook her head. ‘But you are going to tell me?’
‘I am.’ Quetzalxoitl took a deep breath as she pushed herself away from the door, taking a seat in a chair that faced Myrrhini. At her left hand was a low table where a glass rested, condensation beading on the outside. Beside the glass was a document. It was this that the Queen picked up and handed to Myrrhini.
‘What’s this?’
‘Just read it.’
Myrrhini unrolled the document. Her eyes widened as she read, her horror increasing with every word. When she was finished, she allowed the document to roll back up on itself as she stared at Quetzalxoitl.
‘How do you know this is true?’ she asked.
‘I have agents all over the world, as you know. They report back whenever they have anything worth telling me. What you have there is drawn from separate eyewitness accounts from all over the world. It’s true.’
‘But —’ Myrrhini waved her hand over the document ‘— all this death. Destruction. The Revenant did all this?’
Quetzalxoitl shook her hand. ‘You did not read it carefully enough. Kielevinenrohkimainen, the Revenant we summoned to the world, has gathered knowledge from the Readers, from my people, from the great centres of learning in Apros. It has learned a lot about something and it is using its knowledge for some aim. There can be no doubt it is purposeful at a level way beyond that monstrous thing the Scaren brought upon us.’
The mention of the other Revenant brought Myrrhini’s head up sharply. The memories flashed back through her mind, the pain, the blood.
‘Tell me about what you did,’ Myrrhini demanded.
Briefly, it seemed that Quetzalxoitl might be about to lie, but the moment faded.
‘You were dying,’ she said. ‘I Saw — no, felt — everything that happened. When Slave called up the power of the Claw — I don’t know how he did that, or even where that power came from — it called out to me. I was drawn into Eztli-Ichtaca at a level I had not believed possible. When I woke up, the whole cabin was drenched in blood and something else, something black. I Saw you about to die, so I reached out to you and drew you to me.’
‘But I was dying, I was crushed. My bones were shattered, I saw them ripping through my skin. What happened?’
‘You passed physically through the world of could be, you could have survived. And so you did.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘No, it doesn’t. But you are alive.’
‘Am I?’
‘As far as I can tell.
‘I was going to tell you why we are on this ship,’ Quetzalxoitl went on. Myrrhini tried to tear her mind away from speculations to focus on the Queen’s words. ‘We are sailing to Apros, Asnuevium specifically.’
‘Why?’
‘Along with Leserlang, it has long been the largest centre of learning in the world. Kielevinenrohkimainen has already destroyed one, it makes sense that Asnuevium would be the next target. The Tulugma are going to defend it.’
‘But if what is in here —’ Myrrhini brandished the rolled document at the Queen ‘— is true, they will not be able to do anything.’
‘It is true, but the Tulugma will kill everyone taken over by Kielevinenrohkimainen. Its power is built on the combined power of every mind it enslaves, so every death weakens it.’
‘What does it want?’
‘It is not even vaguely human, so its needs, its wants, its motivations are a mystery. And I doubt we would understand, even if we did know.’
Myrrhini was about to ask how she knew as much as she claimed when she was interrupted by a loud cry from above.
‘Seagulls!’
Quetzalxoitl sprang to her feet. ‘Seagulls? This far from land?’ she muttered. ‘They never attack in open water.’
Myrrhini rose quickly. From what Maida had told her about the pirates, they would be foolish to attack one of the Blindfolded Queen’s vessels. Quetzalxoitl strode to the door of her cabin, wrenched it open and moved quickly outside. By the time Myrrhini was at the door, the Queen was already mounting the steep stairs that would take her to the deck. Myrrhini stopped, unsure.
A familiar scent wafted on the air. Myrrhini sniffed. ‘Daven?’ she asked. ‘Who would have daven on board?’ Even the scent was enough to make her feel slightly light-headed. She turned away from the upper deck and walked towards the source of the smell.
The scent led her back towards the stern and a narrow, locked door. Here, outside the door, the scent was strong, strong enough to make her dizzy. She took a deep breath and reached out to the door. T
he daven had obviously affected her sense of reality, because it seemed to her that she reached right through the wooden door, extending her hand into a strange, dimly lit place of shifting colours and disturbing images.
Myrrhini stepped forward, the dream state drawing her on, through the door into the unexpected world beyond. Dimly, she thought she might have heard a voice cry out behind her, but it was too distant, and might not have even been real. She was swallowed up by the sights and sounds of another world, a world that could not be. Images of impossible things assailed her — bizarre creatures, fantastical landscapes, otherworldly sights — coupled with sounds, even smells, that made her flinch.
Her every sense recoiled, overpowered by the flood of information that she could not understand. For a moment she quailed, but she had spent so much time under the various rituals of the Acolytes that her mind was disciplined. Myrrhini closed her eyes, took a deep breath and stood straight. She gathered her thoughts before opening her eyes again.
She saw the same images, smelled the same scents and heard the same sounds, but now she could deal with them as though in the grip of Seeing. Nothing yet made sense, but there was a growing order to the chaos. Shapes were drifting towards being recognisable, the sounds were separating out into distinct voices — and screams — while the smells were horribly familiar.
With the realisation that she was Seeing a battlefield came understanding: the shapes were the brutally hacked dead bodies of men, women and animals; the smells were those of the recently dead; the sounds were the groans of the soon to be dead. Myrrhini looked down, recognising a Tulugma fighter. Seeing a man she had met lying dead at her feet did not affect her as it should, so deep was she in the trance. It was barely a curiosity. She walked on, looking at each corpse, each dying person, with distracted disinterest.
Myrrhini made her way through the brutal landscape, noting that she was surrounded by the dead from every stage of her journey so far — she Saw her old Bane, Onaven, lying, butchered, on frozen ground, her eyes savagely ripped out; she Saw Hinrik frozen on the northern tundra; she Saw agents, Tulugma and Seagulls, all dead or dying in agony, and nothing upset her. Nothing touched her stillness.
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