by Ziv Gray
Charo leaned forward.
‘What?’ she asked.
Understanding unfurled in front of Emmy like a scroll. The grimness of the commander, the meeting, and now Rel’s bleak expression…
‘They have to fight, don’t they?’ she asked.
Rel kept her eyes on the fire. The flames reflected like snapping whips.
‘Masvam ships have been seen,’ she said. ‘They’re sailing for Athomur, the city you arrived through. The Masvams are attacking along the northern coast. They’re trying to gain ground so they can storm Kubodinnu.’
‘And because of the Masvams, they have to fight,’ Emmy said, ire rising. ‘They have to risk their lives.
‘No,’ Rel said. She kept her gaze on the flames. ‘We have to risk our lives.’
Blinking, Emmy’s heart sank.
‘Oh…’ she said.
Rel sat back on her hands and crossed her ankles. Blackness shadowed her face.
‘I had hoped we would not have to go,’ she said, ‘but Commander Pama has a great hate for me. She wants to be rid of me, and now she has her chance. She says I must go, and that I must take my pet, too.’
Emmy blanched.
‘That means me, doesn’t it?’
Throat pulsing as she swallowed, Rel licked her lips.
‘I wanted to keep you from the fighting,’ she said, ‘but it seems I have failed in that regard. I hope you took heed of my lessons. You will need them.’ She stood. ‘We leave tomorrow.’
The little group fell silent, the reality of the next morning weighing upon them. It was bound to happen eventually, Emmy thought. She shook her head. I should know by now. Nothing ever works out the way you want it to… She looked at Charo. She looked at Zecha. Then she looked at the ground, the dirt churned up beneath her feet. I hope I don’t die, she thought.
Finished her off, I did.
#
No rest was had in the camp that night. The atmosphere was taut as a bow string. In less than an hour of the commander’s meeting, everyone knew what was to come. No face displayed a twitch of happiness. All brows were drawn, either in anger or in fear.
Emmy knew she fell into the latter category. She wrapped her arms around her waist and looked up as several gorgons fluttered overhead. On the ground, soldiers carried stacks of supplies, led vaemar, or loaded carts. Messengers scurried to and fro in the scant light of dawn, moving like shadows. One young messenger was fond of vaulting the barrels being rolled around. Whatever was in them was heavy, for each was pushed by two soldiers. When one broke open, the messenger skidding on its contents, it put an end to his jumping— the tongue-lashing he received was severe.
The barrels were full of sand. Why are they rolling barrels of sand around? Emmy thought. When one of the females plucked a gleaming weave from of the barrel wreck, she understood. They were cleaning chain mail. That explains why the barrels are coming from the armoury.
The armoury was where Emmy had to go. It was a wooden structure, full to bursting, the crowd barely kept in check by mounted guards. Soldier-slaves were herded forward like animals to receive their battle garments. Emmy joined the crush, examining the piles the soldiers left with. Mail. Shields. Scrappy leather armour. None of it looked particularly protective.
Jostled with increasing frequency, Emmy’s temper flared. If I don’t get through soon, she thought, I’ll take someone’s head off! Between the shoving and the stink of barely-washed bodies, the likelihood of cleaving an inconsiderate head from someone’s shoulders was high.
Great clangs and crashes sounded from the smithy nearby. Emmy could feel the great heat on her face. The temperature made the stench even more unbearable. As she was jerked to the side again, Emmy wished that Rel was with her. The other soldiers would have given her a comfortable berth if she was flanked by fearsome Medicine-Rel.
As days passed, Emmy reflected more on Rel and the kindness she had shown. The last thing I expected was to find a friend in the Althemerian camp, she thought. That was exactly what Rel was. Emmy ventured a smile. I feel a little safer knowing she’ll be with me during the fighting.
In spite of the heat, she shivered. She was to stay away from fighting, safe at a medical encampment. But if the Masvams came in high numbers, they could roll over the Althemerians, especially if it was a force made up of green and unwilling Metakalan prisoners. If that happens, Emmy thought, we’re all dead. Memories of the attack on Bellim came back to her, of her pathetic attempt to wield a knife. How could I keep a Masvam at bay?
The line crept forward. The armourers’ craggy faces became clear. They were battle-worn females, and bore thick scars on their faces and arms—or arm, in the case of the brutal-looking one whose left appendage had been cut off above the elbow. They all sweated, the air thick with the stench and their swearing.
When she reached the front, Emmy came face-to-face with the one-armed armourer. Her dark eyes looked her up and down, her lips curling. Then she turned, rummaging in racks of mail with her one hand. When she turned again, she threw an ancient shirt into Emmy’s hands. Emmy’s arms strained under its weight.
‘Put it on,’ the armourer grunted.
Struggling to pull it over her head, Emmy gasped, the metal rings suffocating her. The chain mail clanked in her ears, and the smell of rust and old blood invaded her nostrils. When she finally managed to find the hole for her head, she wheezed and stumbled forward.
‘Look at this one!’ the one-armed female cackled.
A loud burst of laughter erupted from the other armourers, as well as the crowd. Emmy was too winded to care. Under the weight of the mail, she felt rooted to the ground, even as the one-armed female spun her around to get a better look.
‘It’ll do,’ the armourer said around a chuckle. ‘It ain’t like you’ll survive too long for it to matter none.’
Another wave of laugher crashed, but Emmy’s ears were too stopped up with fear to hear it. The armourer thrust more garments into her unwilling hands. Then she was propelled away.
Emmy stumbled out. She didn’t look back as she crossed the compound. Nothing seemed real. Blood rushed to her head faster and faster, until it was all that she could hear. Please let me wake up and be rid of this terrible nightmare, she thought. Let me go back to Krodge. Let me go back to what I know. She knew it couldn’t happen. Bellim was nothing more than distant memory, Krodge a character in a story she had half-forgotten.
When she lumbered back to the safety of the healer’s tent, she cast the bundle from her arms fell onto her cot. She hooked a claw through one of the small rusted mail rings. Dread pooled in her feet. How am I going to survive? she thought. I’m not a warrior. I’m not an anything.
‘Do not fret.’
Rel approached, releasing the clasps of her cloak. Emmy laid her hand flat on the mail shirt.
‘I can’t not worry,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been near fighting before, except in Bellim, and you know how that turned out.’ She shook her head again and tried to ball the mail in her hand. ‘I’m going to be killed. And Zecha and Charo. We’re…we’re all going to die.’
‘No.’ Rel knelt, taking Emmy’s hands. There was something different about her, a strangeness Emmy couldn’t place. ‘I will keep Death’s grasp from you. I didn’t spend all this time looking for you to let you die.’
The vehemence in her eyes made Emmy sit back. Unwanted tears sprang into her eyes. Her throat tightened.
‘What do you mean, looking for me?’ she asked.
She struggled to pull her hands from Rel’s. The more she fought, the tighter Rel’s grasp became.
‘I told you of my journey to the mountains and to the Uloni,’ Rel said. Her voice was quiet, but unwavering. Her eyes were bright, as though there was a lingering blue in their depths. ‘I did not tell you why we went there. I did not tell you who my friend was.’
‘You didn’t,’ Emmy said. Her voice trembled. ‘You didn’t tell me what the wind was. You didn’t tell me why your eyes glowed blue. I
wanted to know all of the answers, but now I don’t, because you’re scaring me, Rel. I…’
Emmy’s words stopped short. Fat tears rolled down Rel’s cheeks.
‘I had no home, no life,’ Rel said. ‘I left, but I could not find myself. I was about to give up… I was about to take my own life, but…’ A smile of relief passed over her face. ‘My friend found me. And helped me find myself.’
‘Who is your friend?’ Emmy asked, feeling tears well in her own eyes.
‘She is everything,’ Rel replied. ‘She saved me then. She saved me from the fire. I pledged my life to her.’ She lifted a hand. ‘I took her ring, to show I was bonded to her. I’m here because of her, not alive, but in this camp. She had to go, but I stayed because she asked me to wait.’
‘To wait?’ Emmy asked.
Rel wiped Emmy’s tears with a gentle talon.
‘To wait for you.’
‘But why?’ Emmy asked. ‘Why me? Why here?’
‘I don’t know,’ Rel answered. ‘My friend knows things and does things that I cannot understand. But I trust her. She is special. She saved my life. The Althemerians talk of debts and bonds. For me, it isn’t like that. Duty binds me to her, my duty to help her find what she needs. And what she needs is you.’
‘I don’t understand!’ Emmy said, her voice a mere squeak. ‘What’s so special about me? Other than that I’m…different. That I’m Uloni. It just means I have different colours. I’m the same as everyone else!’
Rel paused, as if trying to stop unchecked words pouring from her mouth. But the dam broke. Her voice came out as a wavering rumble.
‘The truth is, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Not exactly. But some things, I do know. I know you are scared, Emmy. I know there is pain in you, that you hold anger deep inside. You have had a hard life, and now you face unwanted death. But I swear, I swear, I will lay down my life to save yours. Because that’s what my friend wants. And that’s what I want.’
Rel’s words buoyed Emmy up and she swallowed. She would let herself die before she would let me die, she thought. I…I can’t believe anyone would do such a thing. She took a moment to regain her calm, breathing deeply. She finally freed her hands. Wiping her face, she took a shuddering breath.
‘I don’t understand any of this,’ she said. But if we live,’ she glanced at the mail shirt, ‘you will take me to your friend.’
It wasn’t a question. Rel’s eyes widened, a smile spreading across her face like dawn.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘My friend will be happy to see you.’ She rose and grabbed one of the garments Emmy had cast aside, handing it to her. ‘Now, we must get ready. The light is coming, and soon we will depart.’
Emmy clutched at the coarse fabric of the tunic. It was blue—the blue of the Althemerian soldier. She rubbed it beneath the pads of her claws. She traced the seams. Then she pulled the garment over her head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Prophecy
The Seat of the Empire was a palace unparallelled in its magnificence. Standing high in the midst of the city of Masvam, generations of emperors had stood on the balconies and stared across the turbulent sweep of land where the Empire began. Emperor upon emperor had added to the original castle. A circular keep and high curtain wall sprawled into a complex of buildings, towers, further walls, and a huge barbican, complete with a drawbridge over the moat. This is my palace now, Bandim thought as he sat on his marble throne. It is my land, just as it was meant to be.
As a youngling, he had pressed his face to the glass of his window in the High Tower, and stared at the warren of towers and walls below him. As the cycles passed, his talons twitched. His tongue grew sour. It was all for Mantos, he thought. Everything for him and nothing for me. He chuckled, the cold sound echoing through the cavernous throne room. Now, everything is as it was meant to be.
Reclining on the black throne, Bandim grasped the carved handles. For a moment, he was still, imbibing the power that coursed with the beat of his heart. The presence of his guards was potent. Their thoughts raced, lingering on their younglings and wives, or their desire to be proved worthy. There were no words, but pictures flashed. Past, present, coveted futures. He could taste their emotions. Love was sweet. Ambition was powerful, harsh and yet desirable. Buried fear was salty, tainting all else.
Bandim wasn’t the same now. He was different. He was more. I am changed, Bandim thought. In some ways, I am not Bandim at all…
Power surged through him, painting him in ways make-up never could. I have the spirit of Dorai within me. She gives me her power, so that she may live again. Bandim chortled. Dorai has returned…
His laugh carried down through the vaulted throne room, dancing among the handful of lanterns. The carved doors opened and a figure stepped into the scant light. A ripple of fear passed through his guards.
‘Your Grace.’
The high voice sounded through the vaulted chamber. Johrann’s footsteps echoed in the alcoves. Bandim rose and beckoned her onto the dais.
‘My dear Heart,’ he said, reaching for her. ‘Thank you for coming to me.’
Johrann fell into a deep bow, as she always did. Bandim let her to kiss his hands, then pulled her to her feet.
‘How many times must I tell you,’ he said, placing a hand on her cheek. ‘You do not need to bow to me.’
Johrann cast her eyes down. Her dark robes floated like gently shifting fog. She was an anomaly among all those Bandim had encountered since the mantle of Dorai fell upon him. I cannot decipher her thoughts. They elude me. Johrann was closed, as if encased in thicker walls than the palace.
‘How can I not bow to the Great God?’ she asked. ‘Any time I am in your presence, I cannot help but supplicate myself to you.’
Chuckling, Bandim leaned in. Their embrace lingered.
‘I am not the Great One,’ he said, ‘though she dwells within me. I am merely the Hand, and you are the Heart.’ He pressed his palm to her chest. ‘Without you, I am nothing. Without you, I do not exist.’
Johrann pressed her lips to each of his knuckles in turn. The kisses were fleeting, each one leaving an imprint of aching desire behind.
‘You are beautiful,’ Bandim said, tilting her chin up.
Though he couldn’t read her clearly, a mix of sugared joy and turgid pain made his gut clench. It was gone as fast as it arrived. Bandim wrapped his arms around her.
‘Why is your happiness tainted with despair?’ he asked.
She tried to look away, but his gaze was commanding.
‘No one has called me beautiful before,’ Johrann said. ‘I have been called many things. A monster. A fool. Filthy. Dangerous. But never beautiful.’
Bandim tasted a sharp vulnerability. He pressed a kiss to her temple, willing her sadness to depart.
‘If anyone disrespects you, my Heart,’ he said, ‘I will pull them limb from limb. I will find their town and burn it down. I will kill their kin, just so they can taste the pain they inflict. I would kick the very moons from the sky, if it would take your suffering away.’
Round pearls beaded at Johrann’s eyes.
‘Your Grace is too good to me,’ she said. One tear dropped. ‘I am not worthy.’
‘You are more than worthy,’ Bandim said. ‘You have given me my every desire. My right. My kingdom. My crown.’ He embraced her again. ‘You have given me my God. You are more than worthy. And now, you will help me with my greatest mission: to return us to the worship of Dorai.’
In an instant, everything flickered. His thoughts danced like a sputtering candle, and his balance betrayed him. Stumbling backward, Bandim fell onto his throne.
‘Your Grace!’ Johrann cried.
At the commotion, two guards charged towards the dais. Vision returning, the world no longer spinning, Bandim waved off their concerns. He blinked. I cannot feel their thoughts. I can only glean what they reveal through their faces. A coldness passed through him. He shuddered.
‘Your Grace?’ Johrann as
ked. ‘What ails you?’
‘It is nothing,’ Bandim said. ‘Nothing of consequence.’
However, every thought he had was now of consequence. His plans. His actions. His blackest desires. It seemed so simple just a moment ago. But now, he thought, it all seems so far-off, so…unobtainable. I feel as though Dorai has forsaken me. Nothing is as simple as it seems.
‘It is one thing to take the land,’ he said, his concerns blurting out. ‘It’s something else entirely to keep it. There are no guarantees.’
Johrann drew back and bowed her head.
‘Your Grace,’ she said. ‘I promise, you will succeed.’
Bandim snorted. Then he flinched, memories of sleepless nights jabbing like ragged lines. His brother’s face loomed high and clear, no matter how hard Bandim squeezed his eyes shut. Bandim, Bandim… The voice echoed on and on.
‘I know I can take the land,’ Bandim said, words sharp with sudden fatigue. He fell on the throne. ‘I’ll burn anything that doesn’t move, and kill anything that doesn’t obey, if that’s what I need to do.’ He pressed his fingertips to his eyes, willing the memories to flee. ‘The land is not what worries me,’ he continued. His words turned cold. ‘What worries me is that my brother is not dead.’
Johrann laughed like a peal of broken bells.
‘Your Grace,’ she said, ‘do not fear the machinations of your mind. It is your old life, memories of your old self. Mantos is dead. I delivered him to death. He cannot interfere.’
‘And how do we know he is truly dead?’ Bandim asked. His chest compressed, as if anger sought to suffocate him. ‘I saw his body, I know. But then it disappeared, along with my mother.’ Seething, he struggled to his feet again. Johrann stepped closer, reaching for him. Bandim batted her talons away. ‘How do I know he is truly dead? I feel him,’ he panted. ‘I see him in my dreams, and when I sleep, I know that he is alive, somewhere.’
Johrann held her hands out again, as if to placate a feral animal.
‘Someone may have taken his body,’ she cooed, ‘but I took his life. There is no way he can come back from that. I made sure of it. Only my folk have the power to manipulate the spirits and break the spell of death, and there are no other Uloni left. Not one. I purged them all in flames.’
