Stormtide

by Den Patrick

  ‘I’m going north,’ said Marozvolk, eying Tief with a stern look. ‘I thought I saw some rabbits that way yesterday.’

  ‘Fine,’ replied Tief without looking at the former Vigilant. ‘It’s drier to the south. That’s where I’ll look for the herbs.’

  Kimi watched them go and shook her head. Taiga’s wheezing became louder for a moment and the woman grimaced in her sleep. Kimi knelt down next to her and released a long, weary sigh.

  ‘Don’t leave us, Taiga. You might just break your brother’s heart. Frejna’s teeth, you might just break mine.’ She pushed her fingers into Taiga’s limp hand; the difference between them could not have been more stark. Kimi’s hands were large and strong, dark-skinned with calluses. Taiga’s hands were slight, with slender fingers for nimble endeavours.

  ‘Many’s the time you sat up with me through the night on Vladibogdan when I was sick. That whole time, all five years, and I never knew you to complain about a thing.’

  Kimi’s gaze wandered around the inside of the circle, noting more of the engravings at the base of each stone, all furred with dark green moss. They did not belong to any alphabet that she knew and they piqued her curiosity with their strangeness. Kimi fetched up her knife and carved the moss from each one, then cleaned out the grooves in the stone with the corner of her cloak. She muttered various threats and promises to Frøya as she did so, pleading and begging for Taiga’s life. Only once all the engravings had been cleaned did she realise how much time had passed. Her stomach growled and the sun had begun the slow descent towards the horizon once more. Kimi left the circle and stared into the distance, north and south. Tief and Marozvolk were nowhere in sight and the clinging mist had returned. Kimi shivered. Where were they? Where were her friends?

  It was almost dark when Marozvolk returned with three dead rabbits hanging from her fist.

  ‘How is Taiga?’

  ‘Still wheezing. Still asleep.’ Kimi stared at the lonely swamp, scanning from horizon to horizon. ‘Did you see Tief on your way back?’

  Marozvolk shook her head. ‘I knew in my bones he wouldn’t come with me this morning. He’d rather fight the ghole single-handed than spend time with me.’

  ‘Things change,’ said Kimi, ‘and people end up on different sides, but feelings … they take longer to change, I think.’

  ‘He loathes me,’ said Marozvolk. She took a knife to the first of the rabbits and some of the blood splashed on a standing stone. Kimi wondered if it were sacrilegious somehow. Tief would know such a thing, but Tief had yet to return.

  ‘He loathes me,’ repeated Marozvolk, her face tight with frustration.

  ‘He loathes an Empire that exterminated and enslaved his people.’ Kimi looked at Taiga’s pale and fragile form. ‘And you were a Vigilant, the most absolute symbol of the Empire. He’s going to need some time.’

  Kimi stepped out of the gap between the stones and looked around, unable to bear the idea that Tief lay dead or dying in the endless Izhorian swamps. The mist had returned like a sinister tide and the sun’s pale disc descended inexorably. The two women cooked in silence, casting anxious glances at Taiga as they ate.

  ‘Full moon,’ said Marozvolk when the meal was done. She drew her sword and sharpened it. The sound made Kimi clench her jaw but in time she sharpened her own blade as a distraction from waiting for Tief to return.

  ‘They’re back then,’ said Marozvolk. Kimi looked towards the Ashen Torment, where she’d hung it on one of the shorter standing stones near the opening. Once again it was glowing, a faint blue that grew steadily stronger the longer she watched it.

  ‘Frøya save me,’ breathed Kimi, touching the shattered remnant of the Ashen Torment with her fingertips. ‘Frøya save all of us.’ She fetched up her sword and the last torch they had. ‘Do you think …’ Kimi paused. It was too awful to think about but she needed to know. ‘Is it possible we’ll rise from death after they kill us? Will we become like them?’

  ‘Tief would know,’ said Marozvolk. She spun the blade in her hand and rolled her shoulders. ‘We’d best prepare ourselves.’

  Outcast princess and former Vigilant took their places at the entrance of the stone circle. The mist swirled as if alive, glowing with the radiance of the full moon. Marozvolk whispered under her breath and Kimi watched as the silvery glow of the arcane emanated. Her dark skin had shifted to a stony grey when the glow subsided.

  ‘This is like something from dreaming,’ said Kimi.

  ‘Or from nightmare,’ said Marozvolk as the first of the gholes came lunging out of the mist. Its face was hidden beneath the cowl, arms flung open, blackened claws spread wide. Kimi lunged forward and then sideways, swinging as hard as she could. The blade met resistance and the ghole stumbled, then looked down at the stump of its arm.

  ‘They’re hard to kill,’ shouted Kimi. ‘But their arms come off just fine.’

  Her attacker fled into the mist, only for two more gholes to take its place. The first ducked under her wild swing but found its own strike blocked by the flaming torch Kimi carried in her left hand. She forced the flames into the face of her attacker. The robes and cowl began to smoke and the unholy creature gave a wordless shriek before sprinting away, batting at the smouldering fabric. Kimi, sensing the other ghole was behind her, sprang forward to avoid being wounded but lost her footing in the swamp. She stumbled to her knees with a cry. Marozvolk took her place, cutting down with an overhead swing that bit deep into the pursuing ghole’s head. She followed up with another strike, a brutal hack that severed the ghole’s arm at the elbow. Kimi surged to her feet and grabbed Marozvolk by the shoulder.

  ‘Back to the stones,’ she gasped. The fighting had drawn them away from Taiga’s sleeping form. They turned their backs on the moonlit mist, hurrying back to the dwindling camp fire. Five more gholes emerged from the mist with long loping strides, clawed feet splashing in the chilly waters.

  ‘You won’t take me!’ bellowed Marozvolk, hacking at the nearest ghole. The blade bit deep between neck and shoulder and the ghole responded by clamping a taloned hand down on Marozvolk’s sword arm. Another ghole grabbed her and pulled her down into the waters.

  Kimi found herself beset by two of the creatures before she could rush to Marozvolk’s aid. The first ghole slammed against the flaming torch, knocking it from Kimi’s grasp. The second ghole swiped at Kimi and she parried, and then her vision exploded into white light. The world pitched sideways and all sound became flat and muted. Her eyes fluttered open and she was lying in the water, staring up at her attacker with a terrible pain at the base of her skull. The ghole clutched a blunt rock in its hand but made no move to finish her. More of the creatures had dragged Marozvolk down into the water.

  ‘You won’t take me!’ shouted Marozvolk. Kimi tried to stand but her legs may as well have been a hundred miles away. Her eyes closed and the taste of water and iron filled her mouth.

  Tief, where are you? was the last thing that passed through Kimi’s mind.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Kjellrunn

  ‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ said Kjellrunn. Maxim said nothing, his gaze fixed on the dark temple interior. It was early morning and they were sitting on the temple steps as was customary. Sundra had yet to join them and Kjellrunn had ventured an apology to salve the silence. ‘Maxim?’

  The boy shrugged, refusing to meet her eyes, clearly desperate for Sundra to appear with her battered book and its morbid readings.

  ‘Maxim. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run from the beach.’ Kjellrunn’s shame almost stifled the words but she forced out her apology all the same. ‘I shouldn’t have left you.’

  ‘It’s just as well you did.’ The boy looked down at his dusty feet. ‘Whatever was out there, in the Shimmer Sea, it left as soon as you did.’ He took a moment to rub sleep from his eyes. ‘You should keep away from the shore in future.’

  ‘Maxim, I’m sorry. I panicked—’

  ‘You weren’t the only one. I thought Kola
s was going to shit himself.’ Kjellrunn began to laugh but Maxim stared up her with a stillness she found unnerving. ‘I’m eleven years old, Kjellrunn. I shouldn’t be the one looking after old men from Frejna knows what.’ His mouth twisted with anguish. ‘You should have been there.’ Kjellrunn flinched as the boy made a statement feel like an accusation.

  Sundra emerged in the doorway as Maxim stormed past her and into the temple.

  ‘She has a book for you,’ he shouted over his shoulder. Sundra raised her eyebrows and looked down her nose at Kjellrunn.

  ‘You fall asleep at the altar, you’ve clearly upset Maxim, and now it seems you have something for me.’ Sundra set herself down on a step and poured a bowl of tea. Kjellrunn stared at the old woman, not knowing what to say. ‘I was hoping we would find some peace inside these temple walls.’ Sundra sipped her tea and gazed across the street in contemplation. ‘But every week seems to bring a new problem, almost every morning. I don’t have the patience for it at my age.’

  ‘I was trying to apologise to him for yesterday. I ran away from the beach—’

  ‘I know what you did,’ said Sundra in a quiet yet hard voice that silenced Kjellrunn. ‘Spare me the dissembling and get to the point, won’t you? Maxim said you have something for me.’

  Kjellrunn reached into the waistband of her britches and produced the white book. She held it out to the priestess.

  ‘Kolas gave this to Maxim. I was curious. I wanted to know …’ Sundra took the book and spent a moment leafing through the pages. Her eyes widened in surprise before she composed herself.

  ‘And you’re giving it to me now.’ The high priestess had paled and she was trembling with anger as she pursed her lips.

  ‘All I had growing up were folk tales, and half-remembered ones at that. This was the first time I’d seen anything written down—’

  ‘You can’t read this in this language,’ said Sundra. ‘So why keep it? Do you even realise what you have here?’

  ‘Something about a wrathful aspect …’ Kjellrunn felt she might wither and die under Sundra’s disapproving gaze.

  ‘I suppose you were going to let Maxim translate this for you.’ Every one of Sundra’s words was weighted with disappointment. Kjellrunn was crushed.

  ‘I just wanted to know.’

  ‘I think it would be best if you set aside your duties as initiate,’ said Sundra. She sipped her tea.

  ‘I made a mistake,’ whispered Kjellrunn.

  ‘I can’t trust you. And something like this’ – Sundra gestured to the white tome, the crows stark and black on the cover – ‘is not to be trifled with by mere children.’

  ‘I am not a mere child!’ snarled Kjellrunn. Sundra glared at her before standing up. The old woman slipped the book into her sleeve, frowning all the while. ‘I’m not! I’m not a child!’

  ‘And yet you keep acting like one.’ Kjellrunn flinched as the high priestess shouted. The silence that followed was almost painful. Sundra shook her head and clucked her tongue. ‘Get out of my sight.’

  Kjellrunn hid in her room while the novices ate their morning meal, too shocked by Sundra’s stern dismissal to eat or think. The few items she owned were gathered in a sheet and she tied the corners together with haste. The staircase outside her room was empty and she descended on silent feet, hurrying through the temple and out of the door. The noisy task of cleaning the bowls and washing the many utensils would prove ample distraction. She would not be missed.

  The searing Shanisrond sun had climbed into the sky. Soon she would be away from the stifling heat of Dos Khor, away from the Shimmer Sea. She paused at a junction, not knowing where to go next, glancing back at the temple with regret. Maxim emerged through the temple door and slunk down the steps as Kjellrunn hurried into a narrow street. She had no wish to say goodbye. Hadn’t she caused enough trouble? She was almost running in her haste to be free when a voice called out to her.

  ‘Going somewhere, priestess?’ One of the slavers slunk from the doorway of an abandoned building and pulled a dagger from its sheath. A crossbow hung from his shoulder on a thick leather strap and the stench of old sweat, leather and strong spirits hung the air.

  ‘We’re awfully pleased to see you, aren’t we, Daras?’ Another man emerged from a building on the opposite side of the street. He clutched a green glass bottle and yawned before fixing Kjellrunn with a sour look.

  ‘That we are, Harein. We could use some religion, I reckon.’

  ‘I’m just running an errand for the high priestess,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘It would be unwise to interrupt temple business.’ Her confidence stalled as she spun the lie and her steps faltered as three more men blocked the street ahead. All carried crossbows and an air of malevolence.

  ‘Maybe this high priestess of yours could perform a funeral for my friend.’ The slaver called Harein cleaned his nails with the dagger and sunlight glinted from the blade. ‘Do you remember? She turned him to stone with a look.’ The man smiled, revealing the pale scar that ran from the corner of his mouth and the missing tooth within. ‘And Djendra. He had his face burned off. It worked out well for me. I’m the leader now, but I think it’s time we got even.’

  More slavers slunk from the buildings nearby until there were at least ten of them, moving slowly, unhurried and smirking. Most of the men carried crossbows and Kjellrunn recalled the clearing by the woodcutter’s chalet in Cinderfell. She remembered the Okhrana coming for Mistress Kamalov and the moment Verner died. But mostly she remembered how dangerously out of control she had felt as the arcane coursed out of her.

  ‘No, please,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  Harein chuckled and he spoke to his gang in a low rumble. Kjellrunn couldn’t understand the language he spoke and stared around as the slavers answered with cruel laughter. Kjellrunn turned this way and that, but there was nowhere to go. The slavers closed in, one or two within arm’s reach, circling her like sick dogs in the dusty street. Kjellrunn didn’t see the strike coming. A heavyset man backhanded her and she crumpled to the floor without a sound. The bed sheet came untied and her possessions spilled out in the dust. Blood stained the back of her hand as she wiped her numb mouth. She tried to speak but nothing came out; she could only gasp with shock.

  ‘So. You’re a runaway?’ said Harein, smiling his gap-tooth grin. He squatted down and plucked the single crow feather from her belongings. ‘Too bad no one’s going to miss you, priestess.’

  The bed sheet billowed as an unnatural wind swirled around them, raising sand and grit. Kjellrunn closed her eyes and the slavers did the same, cursing in Shanish, stumbling as the wind gusted about them. Kjellrunn ran to the side of the street, almost blind with grit, her pulse pounding loud in her ears. She hunkered down in a doorway and squinted through the angry dust to make out four figures, arms raised towards the sky. The wind intensified and the slavers shielded their eyes with their hands. Suddenly the wind dropped, revealing Mistress Kamalov. She stood in the centre of the street with an expression like thunder. Three novices stood close behind, including Maxim, much to Kjellrunn’s surprise.

  ‘Why is it you men are too stupid to learn this lesson,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘Did we not make ourselves clear?’

  The slaver’s leader reached for the crossbow and curled his scarred lip. ‘We learned just fine,’ he replied. Kjellrunn sprang to her feet and ran. Harein sighted down the weapon at Mistress Kamalov.

  ‘No!’ screamed Kjellrunn. She sprang towards him, terrified he might hurt her former teacher. Harein turned on instinct and Kjellrunn felt a jolt but her momentum carried her forward, knocking him over. The wind went out of her and all she could feel was a bright pain.

  ‘Scrawny bitch!’ Harein pulled himself to his knees and drew his knife. Kjellrunn scrambled backwards with a terrible pain in her side. He reached forward, grabbing her by the throat and pulling back his knife hand for the killing thrust. A blur of black shot past the slaver, and another, leaving bright red slashes across th
e man’s eyes. Harein dropped the knife and doubled over at the waist, holding his hands to his face. He shouted in confusion and was answered by more birds, darting from the sky to rake the slaver’s scalp, shredding his ears and hands. Kjellrunn dragged herself away from Harein as he wailed and stumbled about, panicking blindly. A huge flock of birds attacked the slavers in concert and the men called out in agony. The air was filled with wings, a vast turmoil of avian bodies. Mistress Kamalov strode through the chaos and plucked the man’s knife from the ground, then stabbed him in the throat even as a crow was gouging his eyes.

  ‘This is your last lesson.’

  Kjellrunn tried to stand but her legs buckled as pain flared through her body. Her black robes had been torn and she touched the ripped fabric above her hip with a trembling hand. He fingers came away wet and red.

  ‘I’m bleeding,’ she whispered. ‘Frøya save me, I’m bleeding.’

  Those slavers that could stand ran for their lives and Kjellrunn’s gaze fell on the corpse of their leader.

  ‘This is like Cinderfell all over again.’

  ‘You survived the Okhrana,’ said Mistress Kamalov as she pulled her upright. ‘You will survive these thugs.’

  The vast flock of birds dissipated over the city, flying back to a hundred nests and perches, leaving the street empty save for the novices.

  ‘I’m bleeding,’ repeated Kjellrunn, feeling delirious and faint.

  ‘Yes. You are shot,’ said Mistress Kamalov in her no-nonsense manner. Through her pain and shock, Kjellrunn realised she had missed the old woman. ‘Now start walking or you will bleed to death in the street.’ They started back to the temple. ‘One small argument with Sundra and you are running away.’

  ‘She told me to get out her sight,’ mumbled Kjellrunn. Her words sounded far away, as if they came from someone else.

  ‘She did not say anything about getting yourself killed,’ said Mistress Kamalov. ‘Or leaving.’ The other novices ran forward to support Kjellrunn. ‘Why didn’t you use your powers to protect yourself as I taught you?’