‘You’re wrong there. It treats its friends as nicely as its enemies.’
‘Then you should feel sorry for her,’ Estarinel said sharply, and all at once Ashurek’s expression changed from anger to a distant, unreadable bitterness.
‘In a way, I do,’ he replied quietly. ‘But that is no good reason to risk the Quest.’
Estarinel was remembering the times Medrian had obliquely warned him not to put implicit trust in her. ‘You may be most cruelly betrayed,’ she had said. And, ‘Half of me wants the Serpent destroyed, but half of me is in its power.’ However, he was not about to add weight to Ashurek’s case by repeating these chilling words.
He said, ‘She was different in Forluin. Completely different. She... Ashurek, she has no loyalty to M’gulfn. I would stake my life on it.’
‘It is possible to work for a cause without feeling loyalty to it. Can you also swear that you believe she has no connection with the Serpent whatsoever?’
Estarinel was silent. Then he shook his head. He said, ‘But surely the Lady of H’tebhmella would not have let her come, if her presence really did put the Quest in danger?’
‘How do we know? The Grey Ones lied to the H’tebhmellians. Who knows what other lies have been told? There may be no limit to it... Don’t you remember how vaguely the Lady answered certain very specific questions? Perhaps she had not the gall to actually lie, but truths have been hidden from us, nevertheless.’
They saw Medrian ahead, standing by a tree. She had put her cloak and her boots back on and appeared to be waiting for them, her head bowed and her arms clasped across her stomach.
‘Don’t be harsh with her, Ashurek,’ Estarinel said.
‘I will do whatever the continuance of the Quest requires,’ was the unbending response.
#
Thousands of miles away, at the southernmost tip of Morrenland, Benra was running – staggering, rather – along a cliff-top. Benra was a neman, a human of a third, asexual, gender that sometimes occurred in northern Tearn. The neman was close on seven feet tall and from his shoulders two pairs of arms sprouted, one above the other. His skin and hair were the same shade of gleaming golden-bronze, and he was naked except for straps that held his sword, shield, axe and knife. Normally there was a kind of beauty in Benra’s sombre features and symmetrical, long-limbed form, but now his face was streaked with dirt and blood, and he was sprinting along the cliff-edge like a gangling marionette.
‘What ails you, good sir?’ said a voice.
The neman turned, gasping raggedly through contorted lips, to see an old man clad in a soiled cream-coloured robe. His skin was dull yellow like old brass, and he was almost bald but for a stiff wisp of grey hair. His eyes were as pale as milk.
‘Ships – why are there no ships?’ demanded Benra, waving at the ocean below the chalk cliff.
‘Alas, they have all gone,’ said the old man impassively.
‘They can’t have done! I must travel to the House of Rede!’
‘Good sir, you sound demented. Be calm, I pray you. Every ship that was seaworthy has already departed for the House of Rede.’
‘This cannot be – I must fulfil my mission!’
‘I also wished to go to the House of Rede, but I could not, because no one asked me to go with them. Tell me, friend, if you were to find a way there, would you take me with you?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Benra muttered abstractedly. ‘What are you babbling about? How can we get there without a ship?’
‘There might be a way, if you will only tell me why you need to go there.’
‘What?’ Perhaps the old man was a dotard, but the neman was too crazed with fear and desperation to care. He needed to tell someone; the words began to tumble over one another. ‘I am Benra, formerly of Sphraina, now in the service of Setrel, the village Elder of Morthemcote in Excarith. Excarith was beset by an army of walking corpses, but Ashurek of Gorethria came to our aid and vanquished them – but then he and his two companions vanished – so Setrel sent me south to tell Eldor that Ashurek and the others were lost, and to relate the terrible things that had happened to Excarith, and whatever else I saw on my way–’
‘Now who’s babbling?’ muttered the old man with a gap-toothed grin, but Benra paid no heed.
‘–and on my way here I have seen terrible things, I have seen people stricken with a plague but walking about, mad with fever – this in Belhadra – complaining that the great Sorceress to whom they paid tribute had left them to the mercy of the Worm, and I saw people bent in postures of obscene worship of the Worm, trying to appease it in their terror. When they tried to make me join them I ran, but then I was trapped for three days in a fell storm that spat red lightning at me whenever I tried to emerge from my shelter. When it abated and I came out, there were creatures of the Worm roaming the lands. Some vile thing, like a great bald dog with too many mouths, attacked me. I slew it, but there were more, things that seemed to have heaved themselves up from the sea, things that were ill mockeries of true animals... and I have run the rest of the way, all through Tearn to Morrenland, forgetting to eat and sleep. But the worst thing…’ Benra gripped the old man’s arm, eyes wild. ‘The most horrible thing is that a demon has been following me.’
‘A demon?’ said the old man as if he thought Benra mad.
‘You don’t believe me? You’ve never seen one, I can tell.’
‘No, I’ve never seen one.’
‘They pretend a human form, but they crackle with a silver light, like lightning. Their mouths are red, their eyes shine like coins. And they – they – do you know how it is never to have feared anything in particular, and then to find Fear standing at your side, laughing, giggling at you? It is not the fear of death, or even of pain... but fear of Fear itself. I must get to the House of Rede before it catches up with me.’
Benra’s face blanched under the golden tint of his skin, and now he was gripping the old man involuntarily, with three of his four hands.
‘You’re a neman!’ The old man exclaimed. The surprise and disgust in his voice hit Benra like a whiplash.
‘Yes,’ said Benra, withdrawing his hands. ‘I thought you had noticed.’
‘No. I’m blind, you see.’
‘And I did not perceive it, any more than I recognised you as Sphrainian,’ Benra said, long-buried bitterness surfacing in his voice. ‘I must apologise.’
‘What are you then, a mercenary?’
‘Yes. In Excarith’s pay, as I said. An exile, like my siblings.’
The old man was backing away, and the expression of disdain on his face began to anger Benra beyond reason. Benra should have realised by the colour of his skin, although faded with age, and the familiar accent, that the old man was Sphrainian. But the neman had been too distressed to notice.
In Sphraina, the third sex was regarded with hatred and suspicion. Every pregnant woman dreaded to bear one, and if she did, it would be left out to die. Few nemale infants actually did die, because they were hardy, and there were groups of nemen who would take in and raise the abandoned ones. Most nemen chose self-inflicted exile rather than remain within a society that hated them, and because they were tall and strong and four-armed, most became mercenaries. As such they ceased to be despised and became respected as formidable fighters, highly valued by their paymasters.
Yet, confronted with the scorn of this Sphrainian man, frail though he was, Benra felt the old humiliations reawaken.
‘I suppose now that you know what I am, you will refuse to travel with me,’ said Benra.
‘I want to go to the House of Rede. I’m afraid we must travel together, albeit under sufferance,’ said the man, exaggerated distaste in his voice.
‘So here we stand, supposed compatriots, on a white cliff upon the edge of the world, with drooling beasts and demons closing in on us, from which the rest of the world has already fled, leaving us trapped by a shipless ocean,’ Benra exclaimed furiously, ‘and still you can think only of the disgust you fe
el for nemen?’
‘I can’t help it. I’m old, I can’t change my ways. No, don’t touch me!’ The man cringed as Benra gripped his shoulders and arms with all four hands.
‘This world is decaying before our eyes! We might be the last two people left alive! Yet still you cling to the old, irrational hatreds!’
‘You’re out of your mind! Don’t hurt me!’
‘Yes, I am out of my mind. I’d like to see the human who can be chased by a demon and stay sane. I am human, you see, just like you, born of a man and woman as you were.’
The old man was shaking in Benra’s hands as if racked by a convulsion. No, he was laughing. Astonished, Benra stared into the grinning red mouth, suddenly aware – too late – that the old man was changing. Before Benra’s eyes the robe fell away like wet paper and the yellow skin split and curled back from the man’s torso like a rind. Benra recoiled, stunned and nauseated. Wet gleams of silver showed through the cracks, like the new skin of a snake as it discards the old one. Gradually the moist figure eased out of the rind and there stood the demon – the one Benra had been fleeing – glistening argent, a laugh hissing from its blood-red mouth. The skin of the old man lay on the ground in a heap of leathery flesh, the face, horribly, still intact.
‘I am Ahag-Ga,’ said the demon.
‘Why are you pursuing me?’ stammered Benra, retaining a trace of oddly cold reason through the enveloping fear. ‘Why?’
‘Why not?’ the Shanin leered.
‘I wish you would kill me quickly, and not torment me,’ Benra said. ‘What do you want?’
‘I have what I want, my dear neman,’ Ahag-Ga replied. ‘Someone commissioned me to go to the House of Rede. Alas, due to the peculiar laws governing my actions, I cannot go there unless I am legitimately invited by a human.’
‘And I–’
‘Yes, while I was disguised as the old man, you said you would take me with you! By the way, your description of me was very pretty. I am flattered. “Fear of Fear”! Very eloquent.’
‘Oh, Setrel, forgive me,’ Benra groaned, falling to his knees, feeling a terrible pressure like a metal vice on his head. ‘Demon, tell me, why did you pretend to be Sphrainian?’
‘Oh, you were so touchy, I simply could not resist baiting you. It was a rare delight,’ said Ahag-Ga. ‘Well, I am sorry that your errand for Setrel has been such a waste of time – for you, I mean, not for me. Incidentally, Ashurek is not lost. Would that he were. I have particular reason to dislike him. Still, that doesn’t concern you any longer. Stand up, my dear neman.’
Benra did so, now glassy-eyed and almost completely in the Shanin’s power.
‘It is time to go to the House of Rede. Thank you for asking.’
‘We still have no ship,’ Benra said woodenly.
‘That’s all right. I don’t need one. All I require is you.’
‘I will not serve you. I would rather die,’ the neman whispered.
‘Would you? Oh, all right.’ The demon shrugged, then in one swift movement it seized Benra’s shoulder with one hand, and with the other rent the neman’s belly so that the vitals spilled out in a red gush.
A few minutes later the demon, Ahag-Ga, was trotting towards the ocean, wearing the guise of Benra.
Chapter Eleven. The Mathematician
This has gone too far, my Medrian, said the Serpent.
‘Let me alone. Don’t speak to me. You will never weaken me like that again,’ she replied, hugging herself against the mole-black, icy pain in her head.
But I will. Like that and worse. Again and again until you surrender. Again and again until the two humans die by your own hand. And until you tell me about the weapon, and until you give up this pitiful Quest. Again and again and again and…
‘No. Damn you,’ she whispered.
You are becoming very weak. There is a limit even to your stubbornness, my Medrian, and you know that in only a short time you will be able to tolerate this pain no longer. Accept this.
‘No,’ she croaked. But she knew that M’gulfn was right. Her dreadful battle against it had continued without relief since the night of the bears, all across the hills and through the forests and over the crags and the rock-bed and the river... and all the time she had deluded herself that she had it in check.
Ever since she had first learnt to suppress M’gulfn, when she was very young, she had had confidence in that control. She had never considered that the Serpent could so determinedly erode it, chipping at her wall of ice day after day until it was hardly stronger than a sheet of frost about to shatter.
Perhaps M’gulfn had never been this afraid before.
She had put absolute faith in her ability to operate independently of the Worm. Now the unthinkable was in view: her imminent surrender. Her faith in herself was gone. She had turned with the Serpent raging in her and tried to push Ashurek to his death. He had seen the corpse-light in her face. She had nothing left to fight with.
This pain, this humiliation, said the Serpent as if reading her thoughts – had she lost even that now? – are the inevitable results of trying to fight me. You have chosen a hard way to learn this. Only let me into your heart, and you will find release. Its thoughts were blunt, almost soothing.
‘Release! Just as all your other hosts found it?’ she replied. ‘Their agony was worse than mine, because they found no way to resist it! You think, having come this far, I would condemn generations more to this unspeakable abuse?’
You will always be my favourite, the Serpent mused, like a benevolent old man misunderstanding what was being said to him. But it understood well enough. It was mocking her.
Then Medrian made a decision, and managed to stop herself running. Calmly, despite her violent trembling, she put her boots and cloak back on and ran her fingers through her hair to tidy it. And she stood and waited until she saw Ashurek and Estarinel coming through the trees.
She was going to tell them everything.
It had always been her intention to wait until the very end of the Quest, but that was no longer possible. At least now they would understand her strange behaviour and her purpose. And then, even if the Serpent conquered her completely, they would understand what was happening, and they would be able to bind her and take her with them like a prisoner, and so defend themselves from M’gulfn’s power in her.
‘Medrian!’ Estarinel called as he reached her. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m sure she is more than all right,’ Ashurek said brusquely, laying a long-fingered, dark hand on her shoulder. His gaze knifed into her, but she did not look up at him. ‘Medrian, do you deny that you made a fair attempt to murder me just now?’
‘No,’ she muttered.
‘Might we be permitted to hear some sort of explanation?’
Medrian, as Ashurek had expected, remained silent. ‘Listen to me,’ he went on, softly menacing. ‘We have borne with your silence thus far, just as you requested when we first met. That was one thing. But attempts to sabotage the Quest are quite another. You’ve no right to expect them to go unremarked. Indeed, you have forfeited your right to keep your motives secret. Do I make myself clear?’
She nodded. Her lips parted and she drew an uneven breath.
‘Well?’
‘Ashurek–’ Estarinel began, unable to forget how Medrian had implored him not to question her, as if questions could impale her flesh like barbs, and answering would make her bleed to death from those tears. His heart went out to her. He had never seen her look more alone. But Ashurek only waved a hand to quiet him.
‘You can begin by telling us who you are.’
Her eyes flew open, agate and black, rimmed with darkness.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I want to tell you. It was never my intention–’
No, screamed the Serpent. You know that you are not permitted to speak of this.
Medrian froze in mid-sentence, no breath passing through her waxen lips. Her eyes turned glassy.
‘Go on,’ said Ashurek, g
ripping her shoulder. A thin moan came from her throat and she slid from his grasp and fell like a stone to the ground. At once Estarinel knelt by her and lifted her head. Her eyes were wide but she was unconscious. Swiftly he removed her pack and loosened her jacket.
‘Just like Skord,’ Ashurek observed. ‘She tried to speak and something stopped her. Or she inflicted this trance on herself, to avoid having to explain.’
Estarinel was cradling Medrian in his arms so that her head rested back against his shoulder. He felt how weak and rapid the pulse in her throat was.
‘Will you pass me some water?’ he said. Ashurek took a leather flask from Medrian’s pack and handed it to him. Estarinel began to bathe her face.
‘You were able to break through Skord’s trance,’ said Ashurek.
Estarinel stared at him, aghast. ‘Don’t even think of it!’
‘But this is important, far more important than Skord. Estarinel, whatever Medrian is concealing, it is vital for us to know. You have a very particular technique of hypnotism.’
‘That technique is only supposed to be used for the purpose of healing,’ Estarinel said grimly. ‘I should never have hypnotised Skord. It was wrong. After what happened to him, I swore I would never risk misusing the art again. Especially not on Medrian.’
‘Even though the risk of not doing so may be greater?’
‘No! Ashurek, I will not do it under any circumstances. Don’t ask me again.’
‘Very well. What do you suggest instead?’
‘I suggest you just leave her alone!’ Estarinel blazed. ‘I never really believed you were evil, Ashurek, but I am beginning to have my doubts.’
The Gorethrian sighed and turned away, his cloak swinging behind him. He leaned against a nearby tree and stood glaring down at Medrian, his lean arms folded.
Presently she began to recover. Her eyes fell shut and some colour came into her cheeks. Estarinel got her to drink some water, and she began to breathe evenly.
A Blackbird In Darkness (Book 2) Page 27
