by Tim Lebbon
Ramus nodded at Konrad, trying not to let his surprise show. The left side of the man's face was raised in a dozen ugly circular ridged scars, each of them the width of a thumbnail. He held out his hands and the men shook.
“Striking scars,” Ramus said. Not mentioning them would be false, and he did not want to set off the wrong way with any of these Serians. Over the course of the voyage, it was likely he'd rely on them to protect his life.
Konrad smiled, but the scar tissue pulled it into a grimace. “You should have seen the ’gator.”
Ramin sighed and clapped Ramus on the shoulder. He was tall, dark-skinned and completely bald, and he looked nothing at all like Konrad. “The ’gator was a baby,” he said. “My cousin always likes to talk himself up. You have to forgive him, he can be . . .” He touched the side of his head and rolled his eyes.
“Rat piss, Ramin,” Konrad said.
Ramin laughed, startling the horses. “Ramus, give me your bags and I'll load up your mount.”
Beko touched Ramus's arm and inclined his head. He frowned slightly before he spoke. “And over here, meet Lulah.”
The short, slight Serian woman was strapping her gear to a huge sand-colored horse. She had long beaded hair, skin the color of Cantrassan chocolate, delicate hands. She glanced over her shoulder, and Ramus blinked back his surprise. She had only one eye. The other socket was covered by a brown leather patch, seemingly sewn into the skin and studded with one large metal star.
“Good journeys,” Ramus said, holding out his hands.
Lulah continued tightening the straps around a weapon roll, giving no sign that she had heard.
“Lulah?” Beko said, and the captain's voice was almost a plea.
Is he really in charge here? Ramus thought.
The woman turned fully and stared at Ramus. She looked him up and down with her one good eye—it was a startling gold color, contrasting against her skin like the sun rising at night—and then stepped forward. Her expression did not change. “Good journeys, Ramus,” she said, holding out her hands. They shook and she pulled away, turning back to her horse and continuing to load her gear.
Ramus swapped glances with Nomi. Some stories to hear from that one, he thought. He wondered who or what she had killed to get the stud in her eye patch.
A huge man walked down the slope toward them. He carried a leg of some unidentifiable meat, chewing as he came, smiling through the grease and scraps of skin that clung to his beard. Several children hovered around him, eyeing the group of Serians with a mixture of awe and fear.
“Have you ever seen a group of finer horses?” the man said, spreading his arms as if to hug them all.
“Pancet, you've done me proud,” Nomi said. “And all on a promise slip.”
“A promise from you is as good as its word, Nomi.”
Nomi was smiling, and Ramus was surprised at how this man's charms affected her. He'd heard stories about Pancet, and not many of them were good.
Pancet chewed at his meat again, eyes straying over the rest of the group. They dwelled a little too long on Rhiana and Lulah, and Ramus could not help smiling. I'd like to see him try. “An interesting group,” the horse trader said. “Long voyage, Mam Hyden?”
“Just a little trip into the wilds.”
“Which wilds would they be, then?”
Nomi's wide smile was still there. She's so good, Ramus thought. So good that she sometimes fools me.
“Just a jaunt,” she said. “A trip, a walk, a ride through fields and pastures new, forests, perhaps, some mountains and marshes and a few boat trips in between.”
“Can't help being curious,” Pancet said.
“I have your money, if you have my promise slip,” Nomi said. The smile had slipped at last.
“You like the horses?” he asked, ignoring her outstretched hand.
“They're perfect,” Nomi said. “Well kept and healthy.”
“The runner you sent said not to give you any old nags.”
“Then she passed on my message well.”
“I don't keep nags, Mam Hyden. And if I did, I wouldn't sell them to you.” Pancet's voice had fallen in tone and volume, and the hand holding the meat was swinging by his side. The children hiding around his legs moved away, rushing back up the hill and giggling amongst themselves.
Nomi shrugged. “The Guild uses other breeders as well, and sometimes they're not as scrupulous as you.”
“Scrupulous,” Pancet said. He smiled. “Good word to describe me.” He looked at Ramus again, and the Serians standing beside their horses. “Yes, quite a voyage, I'm sure.”
“I have your money,” Nomi said, patting her chest pocket. “And your silence is worth a little extra, if you'd like to discuss it with me in private.”
Don't pay the fat turd a piece more, Ramus thought. He knew that Nomi was not one to be bullied, but he hated the idea that this hoodlum would gain from their need.
Pancet smiled. “I think not. That would be . . . unscrupulous of me.”
Nomi inclined her head but did not respond.
“And you're Ramus,” Pancet said, his attention shifting. “I know of you. Wise man, a reader. And I know Beko Havison too.” He turned and looked at the Serian women again, a small smile turning his lips. “So, on your way, Nomi. I never saw you.”
“I'm grateful,” Nomi said, taking a money folder from her pocket. Pancet dug in his own voluminous pockets and brought out a twist of cloth, the promise token Nomi must have sent with the runner.
Nomi and Pancet concluded their business and the fat man turned, sauntering back up the hill and opening his arms to welcome his herd of children once again. They jumped at him, laughed and darted between his legs, and he ruffled their hair.
“We need to move out quickly,” Ramus said to Nomi. “First chance he gets he'll be spreading word about us.”
“Why should he?”
Beko joined them, signaling his Serians to mount up. “Because he's a bully,” he said, “and he couldn't bully our destination from you.”
“You've dealt with him before?” Ramus asked.
“Several times. He's not a nice man.”
“I've heard the tales.” Ramus nodded across the yard at a round stone structure. “Rumor has it his first three wives are rotting down that well.”
“Nice,” Nomi said. “And now that you've both convinced me, let's get the piss out of here.”
Beko grinned. “Spoken like a true Voyager.”
The Serians were already mounted up and stroking their horses' necks, whispering and whistling to them, and at a word from Beko they moved out.
Ramus had not ridden for some time. Ramin had been good to his word, securing Ramus's traveling gear to the horse's saddle, but still Ramus felt like an amateur. He mounted easily enough, but he dropped the reins several times and his foot missed the stirrup. Nomi and Beko left the yard ahead of him, and as he finally rode out, he looked up the slope after Pancet. The big man was standing by an open door, one hand raised to his mouth, holding a new chunk of meat, the other slowly rising to bid them farewell.
Ramus did not return the wave.
Chapter 4
NOMI RODE BESIDE Beko at the head of their small group. It felt good to be in the saddle again. Since the end of her second and last voyage to Ventgoria she had only ridden a handful of times. She sometimes went riding with friends up into the foothills of the Marrakash Mountains, but each trip took several days, and it cost a lot in protection. Many people had gone into these mountains and never returned, and while Nomi believed most of them simply lost their way and fell victim to hunger, hidden crevasses or cold, some talked of cloud-creatures in the high passes that viewed travelers as succulent treats. Many who spread such rumors were mercenary Serians who benefited from the protection payments.
She was glad that not all Serians were so deceptive. When she had ridden with Beko before, she had found him to be open, honest and simple. Not unintelligent—not at all—but his life was uncompli
cated. He worked for the Guild, he went on journeys and in between he lived a comfortable life in Long Marrakash, with no real worries or troubles. No harsh Mancoserian wind-seasons to contend with. No seethe-gators slinking from the shallows when the moons were on the wane.
“Are you happy, Beko?”
He did not answer for a while and Nomi glanced sideways, thinking she may have surprised him. But he seemed calm, wearing his usual slight smile.
“Happier today than yesterday,” he said. “I like to see the land. I like to work. Wandering has been in my blood since I left Mancoseria twelve years ago, and I sometimes think the farther I am from that place, the better. So yes, happier today than yesterday.”
“And yesterday?”
He smiled. “Yesterday wasn't so bad.”
“I'm glad.” It's good to be riding with you again, she almost said. But that could imply more than she meant . . . or more than she really wanted to say right now.
“These are good horses,” Beko said, saving her. “You must know Pancet well.”
“I know what he is,” she replied. “And I know how to play men like him.”
“He's a thug.”
“Yes. And a murderer, if all the stories are true.”
“You know how to play murderers?”
Nomi looked across at Beko's innocent smile. “Captain, are you trying word games with me already?”
“Mam Hyden, I talk straight; you know that well.”
Nomi laughed.
Not long after setting out they entered Clyst Forest. It would take them until midday to ride through, and then the rest of their route out of Marrakash would be across the vast Clyst Plain: a hundred miles of grassland and moorland rolling through valleys and over gentle hills. It was an easy ride, and the dangers were few. There were a dozen small settlements between here and the border with Pavissia Steppes, and they would have tracks to follow and farmsteads at which to stop and buy food. Marrakash always offered a gentle start to a voyage, and Nomi was glad of the gradual change.
The shadows closed around them, the trees grew high and there was a pleasant chill to the air. Ferns grew between the trees, taller than a person in places, and they swayed in time with tune birds singing in harmony. Every song was different, and some claimed that the birds felt the same emotion a person would whilst listening. The song this morning was upbeat and bright.
There was a path through the woods—a much-traveled route worn down to the rock in places. Before long, they passed a group of people going the other way, the men carrying heavy baskets on their heads, while the women bore tools and water skins.
“Nolan berries?” Beko asked.
The lead man carefully lowered his basket to the ground, nodding. He was sweating and breathing hard, but he offered a smile.
“Can I buy some?” Beko patted his stomach. “I've had breakfast, but Nolans lose their freshness so quickly.”
“Help yourself,” the man said. “Good crop this year, and I'll not take money for something you can pick a few hundreds steps on.” He lifted the basket back onto his head and leaned against Beko's horse.
Beko chose a dozen fat berries, handing a few to Nomi. “Good journeys.”
“Same to you.” The man and his party headed off.
Nomi ate a berry. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in the taste. It was sweet, juicy and rich, and she could hardly think of anything more perfect.
Beko ate a couple of berries then turned his horse, passing the rest to Rhiana behind them. “Pass them along,” he said.
“Should have taken a few more; they make a great filling for plain doves.” Rhiana grinned at Nomi as she chewed, a dribble of juice speckling her chin.
“Hey, Ramus!” Nomi called. Ramus was at the back of the group, looking around calmly as they ate and chatted amongst themselves. “Come up and join us?”
He shook his head, smiled but said nothing.
“Please yourself. But I'll get there first!”
They moved deeper into the forest.
_____
NOMI HAD NOT traveled this way in over a year, and when they came to the standing stones, she gasped in surprise.
The stones had always been there. There were nineteen of them; fifteen were arranged around the clearing in a rough circle, while four others stood beyond the circle at the four points of the compass. The glade was almost a hundred steps across, and at its center lay a wide, flat rock with weathered carvings in its surface. Time had made most of the images impossible to discern, and the remaining indents were home to lichen. The stones were huge—the largest twice as high as a man and just as wide—and no one knew where they had come from, who had placed them or how they had been maneuvered through the forest. Their purpose was similarly vague. Temple, sacrificial altar, burial place of a Sleeping God—all had been suggested. There had been digs over the years, but few people were really interested enough to spend much time here. Noreela, both known and unknown, was scattered with thousands of similarly intriguing sites.
This place had always appeared wild, primal and untouched; even the stone circle had seemed a part of the land, not the result of people upon it. But now all that had changed. The trees around the edge of the clearing were adorned with countless scraps of colored cloth, some of them tied to lower branches or fixed to trunks, others hanging so high above the ground that whoever placed them there must have risked life and limb to do so. Blue, red and purple were the main colors, but amongst hundreds of these Nomi could also make out a few yellows, some greens and one or two black strips.
“What's this?” she asked, perplexed and a little awed.
“Remembrance trees,” Beko said.
The colors felt right here, not intrusive, and as a breeze rustled leaves and strips of cloth alike, they felt like a true part of the forest.
“I've seen remembrance trees before,” she said. “But why here, so suddenly?”
Beko shrugged.
“The sightings,” Konrad said. “There are rumors of wraiths being seen here, starting last winter.”
“I've not heard of that,” Nomi said.
“Then you don't drink in the right taverns. I've heard the tale from a few people—Serians, traders, a mercenary—and it's much the same whoever does the telling: the ghosts of children run here when the death moon's full. They say they were sacrificed to the moon a long time ago. Though the mercenary told me that the children are only recently dead. Still suffering their sacrifice, he said.” Konrad grinned. “But then, he was very drunk.”
Nomi shivered. “So why do people suddenly see this as a place of remembrance if it's so haunted?”
“Maybe because it's close to beyond,” Ramus said. He had ridden up quietly on his horse, and now sat an arm's stretch from Nomi. She wanted to touch him, but she was not sure how he would react.
“I don't like it,” she said. “I did, but now I don't.” The strips decorating the stone circle clearing suddenly made her uneasy, and all she wanted to do was move on.
“Different colors from different faiths,” Ramus said. “Death moon, life moon, the land. Sleeping Gods.”
“Which color for them?” Nomi asked.
“I think probably the black ones.”
“Shall we move on?” Beko asked. “It will be good to get through the forest in time for lunch.”
They skirted around the clearing. It did not feel right to break the circle.
NOMI FOUND HERSELF riding alone. Beko went on ahead with Lulah, the short woman dwarfed by her huge horse, and Nomi heard them talking in subdued tones. Behind her rode the other Serians, mostly in silence but sometimes responding to comments or jokes from Ramin. She was already warming to most of them—though Lulah seemed cold and distant—and she hoped Ramus would become more friendly. They would be spending a long time together as a group, and she would far prefer that it was on good terms.
Ramus still brought up the rear. Nomi glanced back now and then, and noticed that Ramus's movement on his horse was awkward. He
still had to find his rhythm. He'd be sore after today's ride. Nomi's thighs and rump were already warm from the unaccustomed exercise, but her movements had quickly fallen in tune with her horse, and she sensed that the animal was at ease with her. Almost fifteen hundred miles, she thought. It was seven hundred miles there, assuming they did not have to divert for anything. Coming back, the same; and who knew what they may be carrying on their return journey? She clicked her tongue and the horse's ears twitched.
“So, I hear women make better Voyagers than men,” Rhiana said. She had ridden up beside Nomi and now kept pace, moving with grace and poise. Even the cruel angles and curves of her weapons did not seem out of place.
“Of course,” Nomi said. “We don't have anything to prove.” She smiled, but Rhiana's answering grin did not seem all humor.
“Piss!” the Serian said. “Everyone's got something to prove. But is it true? This is my third voyage, and the first two were with men.”
“How did they go?”
“First one was with a turd called Blaken.”
“I know him,” Nomi said, nodding slowly. A turd indeed.
“We went south across the Pavissia Steppes, heading for the unnamed lake at its southern edge. He wanted to camp on the shore and catalog its flora and fauna. But he hadn't researched the route, or even planned how long the voyage would take. We ran into a band of Steppe marauders, disturbed them attacking a farming village, and we lost three people.”
“Serians?”
“Two of my friends, and a woman from Long Marrakash, one of Blaken's soft friends. When we returned, it came out that the marauders were known to be working in that area. Reports had filtered back from an earlier voyage, but Blaken had paid them no heed.”
“What happened?”
Rhiana touched her leather tunic, finger circling a patch of bare leather. “Had a place just here for Blaken's stud. But Beko talked me out of it.”
“You're not the first Serian I've heard of who wanted Blaken's head. But good for Beko.”
The soldier offered a wry smile. “I suppose so. Killing a Voyager wouldn't have put me in good favor with the Guild.”
