by Ian Irvine
Rannilt closed her hands around her throbbing ankle, mentally sought out the break in the bone and called on her healing gift to encourage the two pieces to re-join. This time she felt the strength in herself at once; she felt it rising into her hands. The golden radiance burst forth from her fingers and the pain faded as the break in her ankle bone began to fuse.
From behind her there came a great sigh. She whirled. Tobry was at the entrance. He’d been there all this time and there was a light in his eyes she had not seen in ages.
Rannilt swallowed, looked up at him and said, “If you really, truly want to be healed, come here.”
And he came.
CHAPTER 89
When Tali roused several days later it seemed as though half of Garramide was gathered around her bed. Rix and Glynnie, Benn, Nuddell, Thom in his wheeled chair, the women from the healery and Glynnie’s kitchen militia, and many others. Even Gummy Ned, who had lived for ninety-seven years and was accounted the wisest fellow in the fortress, especially by himself, was there.
“Garramide survived then?” said Tali.
“Most of it,” said Glynnie. “We’ve had a few roof collapses from wind and the weight of ash, and the south cistern is full of sludge. And it’s going to take weeks to clear the ash out of the yards and gardens… but it could have been worse.”
“What about Hightspall?”
“The northern half of the Red Vomit is gone,” said Rix, who held his binoculars in his lap as if he’d come straight from the lookout. “Blown to bits. And the level of Lake Fumerous has dropped by a hundred yards.”
“It could have been worse, I suppose,” said Glynnie. “The whole of the Red Vomit might have blown up, instead of only half of it.”
Tali shuddered. “And Caulderon?”
“I couldn’t see it through the dust,” said Rix. “Though the force of the eruption went north, not east. The city would have been spared the worst.”
“But Stonespell, and the earthquakes, would have toppled the old stone buildings.”
“I dare say. Though most people live in wooden houses. Caulderon survived a huge eruption back in 1133. It may have survived this one.”
“And where the land collapsed?” said Tali.
“It’s a steaming pit ten miles by five, fringed by a hundred waterfalls. No one could have survived, and the surrounding land is buried under ash fifty feet deep. Even in Togl, only the tops of the towers are visible. There must be thousands dead. Tens of thousands.”
“Eruptions are the curse of Hightspall,” Gummy Ned said thickly. He clapped his empty gums together, a pulpy, irritating sound that he repeated every few minutes.
“What about Cython?” Tali cried. “What about the Pale? It’s not far at all from the Red Vomit.”
“I can’t guess,” said Rix. “It’ll be days before it’s safe for people there to send out carrier birds—maybe weeks. But… maybe people living underground are better off. Stonespell wouldn’t have hurt Cython, in any event, since it’s not made from stone mortared together, but excavated out of solid rock.”
“What if ash blocked the air vents? Or an earthquake cracked the water storages and flooded the place?”
What terror her people must have felt when the land was shaking itself to pieces. Cython appeared safe, deep underground, but Tali knew how vulnerable it was. How could the Pale, who had only taken over two months ago after a thousand years of ignorance and slavery, know how to look after their home in such a crisis? Was Cython still that marvellously engineered and cultured realm, or had it collapsed into anarchy?
“And the Three Spells?” said Tali.
“The first did a lot of damage,” said Rix, “though probably not as much as Grandys intended.”
“How do you know, Lord Deadhand?” said Thom, who was sitting in his wheeled chair with his plaster-encased legs stretched out in front of him. The left leg was healing well but his right leg had been badly broken. No one knew if he would ever walk again.
“I’ve had lots of carrier bird messages, lad. Stonespell only knocked down buildings made from mortared stone, but the Cythonians mostly build with unmortared stone, keyed together. Stonespell wouldn’t have affected their buildings.”
“How come Garramide didn’t fall down?”
“Grandys built it, and he protected his own.”
“What about Writspell?” said Glynnie.
“It failed. No one knows why.”
“The number was wrong,” said Tali.
“How do you mean?” said Rix.
“Grandys put the Immortal Text into the furnace, and your father’s portrait, so when he cast the spell, nineteen documents burned.”
“So what?”
“The spell required seventeen—no less, no more.”
“What’s happened to Grandys’ army?” said Thom. “Will it come back?”
“No, lad,” said Rix. “Everything they believed in is gone and that army will never fight again.”
“So it’s over,” said Tali.
“I hope so, because life is going to be a struggle for years to come.”
“Life is struggle,” said Glynnie. “It’s also hope.”
“But what if the disasters keep coming until there’s nothing left? Will the creeping ice finally cover us all?”
Not even Gummy Ned could answer that one.
CHAPTER 90
When they had gone, Tali lay back on her pillows, thinking about her quest over the past half year. Had justice been done for her mother? And if so, had the price been worth it: the price she had paid; and the price paid by all those people she had used in her reckless pursuit of justice at all costs.
Tali had not been totally responsible for Mia’s beheading, but she was to blame for Lifka’s cruel death. She had also used Rix at one time or another, and Tobry, and her thoughtlessness had led to gentle Rannilt being attacked by Lyf in his caverns months ago, and almost dying. That had been unforgivable. As was taking advantage of Benn to track down Lyf. How could she have risked the lives of a ten-year-old girl and boy?
In enumerating her crimes, Tali had saved the worst betrayal until last. She could not begin to imagine how Rannilt had brought Tobry back from the rabid state he had been in, the day Rix and Tali had chained him to the tree to put him down. But somehow Rannilt had surpassed all the healers in the land and, with love, devotion and sheer persistence, she had found the man inside the beast and brought him to the surface.
Tali could still see the desperate yearning in Tobry’s eyes the night Rannilt had brought him to her—and his terrifying plunge into madness after her rejection. How could she have spurned him so coldly when he needed her most? What kind of a monster was she?
Radl had been right; Tali’s justice was thinly disguised vengeance, and she had used most of her friends in pursuit of it. She wasn’t much better than Lyf himself, and to claim otherwise was rank hypocrisy.
She had to make amends. She had to reach out to everyone she had harmed, and show them how deeply sorry she was… though it wasn’t that simple. Mia and Lifka were dead; those debts could never be repaid. And Tobry was scarred for life. She did not see how she could make it up to him, either.
It brought her back to her quest for justice. What did it really mean? Whenever Tali relived the murders of her four closest ancestors for their ebony pearls, her rage was as strong as ever and the oath sworn on her mother’s body felt as binding as the day she had made it. Lyf had not paid!
He had regained king-magery, and the power that came with it—overwhelming power. Could his statement that the war was over be believed? Or would he march out to complete his conquest of the devastated land?
He had achieved his goal. And yet, she realised, Lyf had failed in the most vital way of all—in the king’s primary duty to heal the land. She had seen how crushed he was by that failure, and how aged. Had he suffered enough, or must she follow the oath she had sworn on her mother’s body to the bitter end? Must she bring Lyf to justice no matter what?
Could she ever let go?
She roused from her self-excoriation to the realisation that someone was knocking on her door. No, pounding on it.
“Tali, Tali?”
It was Benn. She wrapped a blanket around herself and went to the door. She had spent so much time in bed that for a minute she felt light-headed. He kept pounding. It was making her head throb.
“I’m coming!” she snapped, then bit her tongue. Benn was one of the many she had injured; she had to start making amends right now.
“Sorry I snapped, Benn. What’s the matter?”
He hadn’t noticed. “It’s Rannilt.”
“What about her? She… she’s not dead?”
“She’s come back,” said Benn. “With Tobry!”
The light-headedness worsened. Tali clung to the door handle, afraid she was going to faint.
“Can—can you bring them here, when they’re ready?”
“Rix said you’ve got to come down to the gates to meet them.”
In public? Panic overwhelmed her—she was a wreck and she couldn’t let him see her in such a state. Neither could she bear to see the servants’ knowing looks, and their self-righteous judgement of her.
“I’d rather not,” said Tali.
“Rix said you’d say that. He said you’ve got to come—right now.”
“Um, I’ll just have a wash and get dressed. I’ll be twenty minutes.”
“Rix said you’d say that, too. He said if you don’t come immediately, he’ll kick the door in and carry you down to the gates, even if you’re—if you’re in the nuddy.” Benn’s expression was a mixture of embarrassment and scandalised delight.
“All right!” Tali put on some slippers, pulled her tattered dressing gown around herself and went with him.
At least a hundred people jammed the gates, and almost all of them were taller than her; she could not see anything. She wriggled and pushed her way through, though she was so shockingly weak that the effort exhausted her.
She reached the front of the crowd. Rix was out ahead with Glynnie. Benn slipped in beside her. Rix was shaking hands with a tall man on crutches. Tali did not recognise him. He had a week’s growth of black beard and his left leg had recently been amputated above the knee—she could see the outline of the bandages on his stump. He appeared to be in considerable pain, but he was smiling.
Rix moved and she saw Rannilt. And Tobry! He was even thinner than before; no, gaunt, and it made his hollow eyes appear huge, but thankfully they weren’t cat eyes. They were Tobry’s familiar grey eyes, a little bloodshot in the corners.
Rix shook hands with Tobry, embraced him, then shook hands with the one-legged man again and embraced him as well. Rix bent and hugged Rannilt, turned, and Tali saw that tears were flooding down his face. He made no effort to hide them. She had never seen him so overcome.
Benn pushed Thom’s wheeled chair forward. Rix introduced the two boys to the one-legged man, who shook their hands, and she caught the name, “Jackery”. Rix lifted Rannilt high; he was beaming, laughing and crying. He called for three cheers for her, and the throng roared.
Benn whispered in his ear. Rix turned, put Rannilt down and his eyes picked out Tali, standing there with a desperate look on her face.
“Guard house!” said Rix coolly.
She went inside. It was empty. She sat in one of the plain chairs behind the rectangular table and pushed the other three chairs as far away as possible. What was Tobry’s mental state? Could he be healed? No, that was impossible. She leaned back and stared at the water-stained ceiling. She wanted to see him, but she dreaded it as well. What a curse love was; it caused nothing but pain.
The door opened. Her hands flew to her hair, but encountered only stubble and a bandage that must have been changed while she was asleep. What would Tobry think of her shaven head? What if he couldn’t care less?
Rannilt entered, taking some time to locate Tali in the dim room. Tobry followed, slowly, warily.
“Tobry,” she whispered. So many emotions were flooding her—hope, fear, guilt and shame among them—that it was all she could think of to say. Hope rose above the others but she forced it down. She could not take that path again. “Are you—?” She turned to Rannilt. “Is he—?”
“He’s still a shifter,” said Rannilt coldly. “But he’s much better. Aren’t you, Tobry?”
Tali reached over and patted the chair closest to hers, a yard and a half away. He sat down gingerly. Was he afraid he’d break it? No—it was as if he had to re-learn what a chair was for, and how to use it.
He looked into her eyes and she saw that the madness was gone. All she could see was Tobry, though he was not the old Tobry, any more than she was the old Tali. But still…
“I’m glad you’re better,” she said. Her heart was racing and she felt a desperate urge to run, but she had to begin to make amends. “Tobry, I’m sorry. I pushed you away when you needed me most. Betrayed you. I… I was too afraid of reaching out to you, and losing you again. I just couldn’t bear it.”
He stared at her without reacting. Did he understand what she had said? Did he care?
“You… couldn’t bear it,” he said after a pause that seemed hours long.
What was he saying? She reached for his hand. He allowed her to take it. His hand was warm, but when she squeezed it, he did not squeeze back. His hand simply lay in hers. Fear stabbed through her. Something was wrong. Did he not want her? Had he only come back to reject her, the way she had rejected him?
Their eyes met and Tali saw through his eyes into the agony within. It wasn’t her—it was the shifter curse. Rannilt had partly healed him, and he was no longer mad, but that only heightened the pain. Death was the only release from the emotional agony of a shifter’s final phase, and he longed for it.
Chills spiralled up her arms. If he had reached out to her in love or friendship she could have come to terms with it; all her life she had yearned for the kind of love her mother and father had. She could even have coped with a cold rejection, bitter though it would have felt.
But his indifference burned her. It was as if she were no more than a detail from the past that had to be tidied up before he departed—and that she could never come to terms with.
“Not long… to go,” said Tobry. “Will you… will you stay by me… to end?”
Tali wiped her eyes, swallowed, then looked away, directly into Rannilt’s anxious eyes. Tali looked down at her hands. She could not do this.
Rannilt let out a hiss of rage.
CHAPTER 91
“How is she?” said Rix to Glynnie.
Everyone who was able-bodied was out in the yard, shovelling muck into carts and barrows, because the whole fortress was covered in a thick layer of fine volcanic ash and it all had to be cleaned away while it was still damp. Once the sun dried it out it would set like rock. And even if they cleared it away today, there would be more ash to be moved in the morning.
“Her head wound is much better,” said Glynnie carefully.
“I was talking about Tali’s emotional state.”
She sighed. “I know. One minute she’s raging against the world, and Lyf, and herself—mostly herself. The next time I see her she’s just sitting vacantly in her bed, as though she’s lost her wits. I’m worried, Rix.”
“What about Tobry?”
“He’s just waiting for the end.”
Rix shovelled furiously. “There’s got to be something we can do.”
“I’ve tried everything I can think of.” Glynnie leaned her shovel against the wall and went inside.
Rix laboured on until he had filled the waiting cart and the sweat was pouring down his face. He looked back, with a degree of satisfaction, at the small area he had cleared. It was honest work, he could see the results immediately, and it was something he could control. There weren’t many such things in his life right now.
And Lyf wasn’t one of them, he thought when Lyf turned up at Garramide that afternoon, along with Errek, Mole
y Gryle and a small escort.
“Time to put aside old enmities,” Lyf said when Rix challenged him at the gates. “And time for explanations, too. Errek has regained the last of the memories he lost when he invented king-magery.”
“I don’t see that what happened in his lifetime has much bearing on ours.”
“If I hadn’t invented king-magery,” said Errek, “you would not exist, and neither would this land.”
“It was that dire?”
“It was. If you don’t understand the past, you’re liable to make the same mistakes in the future.”
“And if we do understand the past,” Rix said, “we make different mistakes.” He ordered the gates opened.
“Benn,” he said to the lurking lad, “run to the kitchens and tell Catlin we have guests. And who they are, and how many.”
That afternoon, after they had dined and repaired to the best sitting room, along with Tali and Glynnie, Rannilt and an ever-silent Tobry, Rix poured wine for those who wanted it and sat back in his chair.
“Begin,” he said to Lyf.
Lyf was sitting, head bowed, deep in thought. Moley Gryle sat beside him. He did not look up, merely signed to Errek. Errek took Lyf’s untouched goblet of red wine, held it under his nose and wafted the air above it with his fingers.
“Ahh!” he sighed. “If only wrythens could drink.”
“I didn’t know they—you—had a sense of smell,” said Rix.
“Some don’t. I do. It’s one of my few pleasures.” He sniffed again and put the goblet aside.
“Get on with it,” said Lyf without looking up. “I don’t have long left.”
Errek bestowed a kingly glare on him. “The tale begins long before my time—indeed, before Cythe had kings. Our land was placid in its isolation then, until the wyverin came through.”
“Came through what?” said Tali. “Where did it come from?”
“It was created in the terrible void between the worlds, long ago, by members of a betrayed and exiled race.”
“To what purpose?” said Rix.
“The noblest purpose of all. They were desperate to get back to their own world,” said Errek. “And when that failed, to reach any habitable world—”
