Her small black eyes studied him as blood dripped from one of her fangs on to the white snow. ‘Thou hast lost thine ear, morsel, and also thy fingers,’ she said, sounding so matter-of-fact that he choked out a helpless laugh.
‘Yeah, I seem to have misplaced them.’
‘If I had found thee sooner, perhaps thou wouldst be more whole.’
‘It was you what saved me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
She shifted her massive furred shoulders in a gesture he realised was meant to be a shrug. ‘The Servants of Mizhara demanded it of me.’
‘Well, sorry to put you to any trouble.’
‘It did not trouble me. Come, morsel, mount. There is something I would show thee.’
He took an uncertain step back. Even if he wanted to end things, he didn’t very much want to end them in her stomach. ‘I ain’t in the mood for sightseeing.’
‘Mount,’ she said again. ‘Thy mood is not my concern.’
She held out one of her crooked legs, offering a route up to her back. In the pear orchard he saw that the Servants had turned to watch and it was the disapproval on their faces that had him grasping her dirty fur and pulling himself up to the saddle.
She gave him no more warning than before when she took off and he yelped as her powerful wings lifted him up. Salvation was a marvel from the air, glittering with rainbows, but it soon fell away to the size of a toy. The ground looked flat from this height, though he knew better now what it was actually like. He wanted to ask her where they were going, but the wind was fierce enough to carry away any words he might have spoken. It cut through his thick furs and he clutched them round his chest and kept silent.
The change to night was so sudden it shocked him even now, the third time he’d experienced it. The sun was gone and so were they. Between one wingbeat and the next they’d travelled somewhere else.
Rii didn’t seem to notice the change. She flew on into the night until Eric wondered if she ever meant to stop. Finally he felt her wings dip. The filling dropped out of his stomach as his ears cleared with a painful pop and then they were on the ground. He didn’t wait for her order to dismount, and she held out her leg to ease his descent. It was lighter than he’d expected, the snow holding an uncanny glow.
‘I don’t understand it,’ he said. ‘Where are we? Where did the sun go?’
‘The sun is where it has always been, at the southern pole of the globe. My master’s magic keeps Salvation in his sister’s light, but when we escaped the reach of his machine, we returned to our true location.’
‘Right you are,’ he said, not comprehending a word of it. ‘And that’s what you wanted to show me?’
‘No, morsel. Turn thy face about.’
He did as she asked and saw nothing, until she reached out a claw and delicately tipped his face up. Then he could only stare.
The sky was filled with light: green and blue and purple streaks of it like someone had taken paint cans and splashed them all about. The moon was in the centre of it all, seeming like a solid rock floating in a sea of fantastic vapours. The lights shifted as he watched, as if the same wind that chilled him could somehow move them too.
He tore his gaze away from them to glance at Rii, and saw that she was also mesmerised. The lights reflected in her eyes but died in her black fur. She watched a moment longer and then turned to him. ‘Beautiful, is it not?’
‘It’s bloody amazing is what it is.’
He knew her well enough now to know he’d pleased her.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Did the moon god make it?’
‘Why wouldst thou wish an answer? Is the mystery not more wonderful than any certainty could be? The Servants deny themselves this sight, for the light they choose to live in is so bright it hides all others. They fear the darkness, but the night may hold more beauty than the day.’
They turned back to watch the display together, and when he shivered from the bitter cold, she draped her wing around him. The smell was worse beneath it, but a comforting warmth came from her body and he leaned against her greasy fur and relaxed.
‘Why did you bring me here?’ he asked when the lights had calmed to rolling ribbons of green and blue.
‘I desired to speak to thee about thy child.’
He twisted beneath her wing to stare at her in surprise. ‘I thought you hated the Servants. What do you care about another one?’
‘I have heard his heart within the belly of thy wife.’
‘His heart? All the Servants are women.’
‘Thy son is not a Servant of Mizhara. The moon hath returned to the world and a new race of Servants will be born to serve him. Thy son will be the first.’
This, he realised, was her dream. This was what she’d predicted. ‘But why would the son of a Servant be one of their worst enemies? It don’t make no sense.’
‘Thy wives do not tell you all the truth, but only those parts of it which it pleases them to relate. Hast thou not asked thyself why the Servants are all made as they are, without any males among them? Hast thou not asked why thou art needed?’
‘It’s just the way they are. They ain’t exactly people, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
She huffed out an annoyed breath, wafting the smell of blood all round him. ‘Attend to this lesson, morsel. My master and his sister loved each the other until the day of her betrayal, and they made their Servants in their images and as one race. The Servants of Mizhara and the Servants of Yron were once the same people, wed to each other and born of the same wombs. When their masters sundered so did they. And when Mizhara killed her brother, his Servants were crazed with grief for want of him. They crept beneath the ground to hide from the sun’s cruel face, and they sought to feed upon the life which my master created them to study.’
‘The worm men – they’re Yron’s Servants.’ Eric realised that he’d heard this before, back in Smiler’s Fair. Only he hadn’t been paying attention, because what could all that talk of gods possibly have to do with him?
‘So thy people have named them,’ Rii said. ‘It was not their choice to crawl under the earth, rising only to be slaughtered by thy brethren, so that but few of them remain despite how they are feared.’
And then what she was really saying came clear to Eric. ‘You’re saying my child – my son – he’s gonna be a worm man.’ Back in Smiler’s Fair, when the worm men crawled up from the ground and caused the First Death of a pitch, they sometimes left scraps of flesh and bone behind. He’d seen them once and lost his lunch. Rii was telling him that he was to be father to a monster. He stepped out of the shadow of her wing and backed away.
She shuffled forward, leaning down to peer into his face. Her own wasn’t capable of much expression and he couldn’t tell if she was angry, but he backed away another step just in case.
‘Thou hast misunderstood. My master’s Servants became those beings you call the worm men in my master’s absence. But the moon has been reborn. Yron is in the world again, and thy son shall be the first of a new race made to serve him. Thy child will be not mad, nor need he shun the sun with Yron’s power to protect him.’
‘If you say so. I don’t know, I suppose it’s better for my boy to be something new than another bloody Servant. But it ain’t no concern of mine. The babe ain’t in my body, and I don’t plan to be around to see it come out of hers. Though I would like to see their faces when it does. That’ll be one in the eye for them, I reckon.’
‘Thou hast not heard me, morsel. The sun is the most bitter enemy of the moon. Her Servants love not his: they will not suffer thy child to live.’
They’d kill his boy? His wife would murder her own son? It didn’t seem possible she could do it, and yet he’d seen how one-minded the Servants were about what they believed in and their goddess most of all. If they decided it was Mizhara’s will …
It was a terrible thought, a mother killing her baby. When he’d believed the child would be cared for, it had seemed just
fine to leave. But how could he abandon his son to die? His heart twisted as he realised that he couldn’t. He had to stay. It felt like the boy had reached out a tiny hand from within the womb and clasped it round Eric’s wrist.
‘Thou shalt save him,’ Rii said. ‘Thou shalt remain in Salvation until thy son is born, and then I will carry thee to safety, back to the land of thy birth.’
‘You’ll take me home?’
‘I will return thee and thy son to where thou art needed most.’ She reached round her own back, picking awkwardly at the saddlebags hanging from her harness. Eventually, her claw tore through the material and the contents spilled to the ground. She scooped up a round of bread and held it out towards him. ‘Eat, morsel. Thou wilt need thy strength, for a grave task lies ahead of thee.’
31
Sang Ki could see Smiler’s Fair like a blight on the horizon ahead of them. Their army had grown since leaving the Rune Waste. More warriors of the Brotherband had trickled in to join them by twos and threes until their force almost outnumbered his own. He wondered if that had been Chun Cheol’s plan all along. Even Gurjot might have balked at adding so many strangers to his army, but like a canker that turns into a killing tumour, the growth had been too slow to alarm him.
As they approached, Sang Ki saw the fair’s gates open to disgorge a small group of people accompanied by only a few yellow-clothed Jorlith. It didn’t surprise him that the fair’s masters had seen them coming. That they’d chosen to send out a welcoming committee rather than a sortie didn’t surprise him either. The citizens of Smiler’s Fair were famed for many things, but bravery wasn’t one of them.
He could have dismounted his mammoth as they approached. It would have been the courteous thing to do, but he saw no harm in looking as threatening as possible. All his reading had taught him that people bargained more obligingly under the shadow of a blade.
The group was within hailing distance now, and their spokeswoman stepped forward. She was a Rhinanish matron in the rich silk robes of a senior clerk of the fair.
‘Sorry to show up unannounced,’ Sang Ki said. ‘I hope the arrival of such a large force hasn’t alarmed you.’
Gurjot shifted on his horse but remained silent, apparently happy to let Sang Ki be the one making veiled threats.
‘Unannounced but not unexpected,’ the clerk said, seemingly unrattled. ‘We know why you’re here – you’re looking for the boy called Krishanjit. Our gatekeepers have watched for him and our clerks have checked the census, but he’s not in the fair.’
The woman’s knowledge startled Sang Ki, but he did his best not to show it. ‘Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.’
‘I would hardly expect you to. You have a picture of the fugitive as well as his name?’
Sang Ki nodded. Gurjot, who’d actually met Krishanjit, had made a sketch of his face and had a scribe copy it for each company of men. At his gesture, one of the parchments was handed over to the clerk.
‘This is the boy we seek. I’m sure you won’t mind if we search the fair for him ourselves.’ Sang Ki smiled falsely at the clerk.
‘Of course.’ The woman’s answering smile was chilly. ‘We’re as keen to make sure the boy isn’t among us as you are to find him. We want no trouble with the Ashane. The gates of Smiler’s Fair are open to you, but your men must either submit to the census or be gone by sunset.’
The sun was barely rising above the horizon and once they were inside the fair, the Jorlith would be fools to try to remove them if they outstayed their welcome. Sang Ki nodded. ‘Sunset, then. I thank you for your hospitality.’ He looked across at Gurjot, who nodded too, pleased at the outcome.
Their army lay stretched out behind him: some he trusted, more he didn’t. Well, such was the nature of the world. He gave the signal to march towards Smiler’s Fair.
Marvan had told Nethmi the stables were the best place to do it. The enclosure that held his mammoth was within earshot of the Drovers’ slaughter yard. He’d said that the screams of one dying animal would be drowned out by the screams of many others.
He’d tethered the mammoth itself in one corner of the enclosure, where it stamped its feet uneasily, as if it sensed what they intended and didn’t like it.
Marvan was staking their captive out on the floor. The boy was still unconscious, though he was whimpering softly, so would probably come round after not much longer. He wasn’t much to look at: Ashane, but clearly landborn. His naked body was too thin and his face gaunt, as if he’d recently suffered a wasting disease. He was neither ugly nor handsome, just ordinary. It seemed impossible that they were going to kill him. Dread churned her guts and covered her in a cold sweat. Or was it excitement? Marvan had told her she enjoyed killing. She didn’t think he could be right, but she didn’t see what choice she had. It would cost her own life if he betrayed her location to the people of Winter’s Hammer.
‘Wait until he opens his eyes,’ Marvan said. ‘They’re the oddest things I’ve ever seen. No wonder he made his way to Smiler’s Fair. Something as freakish as him doesn’t belong anywhere else.’
‘Where did you find him?’ Nethmi asked. Her voice was shaking, but Marvan didn’t seem to care. He smiled as if they were talking about the choice of food for supper.
‘In a tavern, of course. The poor lad tried to recruit me.’
‘For what?’
‘To join the Dae.’
‘I though you said he had no friends? Wasn’t that why you chose him? What if they come after him and catch us?’ What if she was forced to murder him for nothing?
‘It was precisely why I chose him,’ Marvan said. ‘There are no Dae. The whole tribe was wiped out a few years ago. Besides, I followed him all day and the only person he seemed to know in the whole fair was that drunken tribesman we found passed out in his room. I’ve met the fellow before and believe me, he has no problem with one man wanting to kill another. If we asked, he’d probably offer to help us bury the body. There, all done.’ He took the rope between his teeth to tighten the last knot, then backed away.
His face still wore the expression of sardonic amusement Nethmi had come to recognise as habitual over the days she’d known him, but his eyes gleamed with excitement. She saw him clench and unclench his fist, as if his hands were longing to close round their captive’s throat.
Nethmi looked down at her own hands and realised they were doing the same. The moment was here. The boy’s eyelashes were beginning to flutter as his head tossed from side to side. She tried to tell herself she was giving him a gift. She’d ended In Su’s pain and he’d been grateful. Their captive looked sick and half-starved – maybe he’d be grateful to escape his life too. Maybe she was doing the right thing.
Marvan drew his knife and moved it towards the boy’s throat, but Nethmi pushed his hand aside. She couldn’t do it while his eyes were closed. It didn’t seem fair that he wouldn’t even know.
‘Wait till he wakes up,’ she said.
Marvan looked like he might argue, but she clasped his hand, caressing his palm with her thumb. It was easy to do, almost as if she did feel something for him.
‘I want him to know his death is coming,’ she said, and Marvan smiled delightedly.
The Ashane had taken over the entire Blue Hall, to the clerks’ impotent displeasure. A few of them remained at the back of the room, muttering mutinously while the most junior among them carried trays of spiced wine and fire-fern cakes for their unwanted guests.
Gurjot and his commanders occupied the left side of the hall, and Sang Ki and his men the right. The Brotherband had chosen to roam throughout the fair, apparently keen to be the ones to lay hands on the fugitive. Sang Ki wasn’t sure if their absence made him feel safer or more anxious.
The dim light of the hall was intermittently brightened by a shaft of sunlight as the doors were thrown open and another candidate was dragged in. There were two this time, one brought by Gurjot’s own men and the other, bruised and cowed, held between two warriors of
the Brotherband.
Gurjot strode over to inspect the captives. The youth his own men had brought looked very much like the picture: he was hollow-faced and lank-haired, but his eyes were as ordinary as Gurjot’s own. The justice sighed and gestured for his men to take their captive outside. ‘Close, but not close enough,’ he told them.
The man being held between the Brotherband warriors barely merited his glance. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Gurjot said. ‘Get him out of here.’
‘But he’s Ashane,’ one of the warriors protested. His face was so blank, it was impossible to tell if he was in earnest.
‘He’s got nearly as much flesh on him as me,’ Sang Ki pointed out. ‘Our quarry is half-starved.’
Now the warrior was definitely smirking. ‘He could have eaten something since he got here.’
‘A whole mammoth, perhaps? Go away and stop wasting our time.’ Sang Ki dismissed them with a wave and returned his eyes to the page in front of him, though his attention was only half on it. He’d insisted on checking the fair’s census for himself, but in truth he doubted there was much point. If the clerks were trying to hide the boy from them, they’d hardly have been stupid enough to leave his name on the list. For a similar reason he didn’t expect to find Nethmi’s. She wasn’t a fool; she wouldn’t have revealed her real identity, though every instinct told him she was here.
He was so certain he would find nothing that he almost missed the name as his eyes passed over it. He blinked, moved his finger back and looked again. The chair toppled as he stood. ‘I’ve found him, Gurjot!’
The other man looked around, as if expecting the fugitive to have been dragged in.
‘In the census,’ Sang Ki said. His knees creaked as he heaved his bulk over to the other man. ‘His name was on the list all along.’
Gurjot grabbed the parchment from his hand. ‘Where?’
‘There. Dae Krish.’
‘That’s not him – the boy isn’t a tribesman. He’s as Ashane as I am.’
Smiler's Fair: Book I of The Hollow Gods Page 38
