A Thousand Glass Flowers (The Chronicles of Eirie 3)

by Prue Batten

  She tripped and fell to her knees, the stones digging in. ‘I can’t walk Finnian, I c…’

  ‘You can.’ He took a firm hold of her arm and pulled her behind him, down the steps and along the ghats to a row of quaint boats with worn and cracked paint and upswept prows with accusing eyes painted on either side. She was scooped off her feet and thrust into a craft that had large flakes of black underneath the turquoise and blue, the boat rocking fractiously as he jumped in after her. The rope looped under, over and through and the odd vessel fed into the eddying currents along the edge of the river.

  Lalita collapsed onto the damp floor, her heartbeat slowing a fraction. She concentrated her sight on Finnian because if she let even a whisper of a thought at what she had just done in the door, she knew she would go mad. So she watched him as he scrutinized the shore. On the edge of her vision, a swirl of smoke funneled into the sky from the ghats downstream as the deceased of Fahsi were cremated with honour and love.

  The craft floated out into the middle of the river and Finnian continued his surveillance. One smoke stack funneled into a swirl that resembled a whirlwind and amongst the ebb and flow of wailing widows it seemed to Lalita as if it were a blatant signal with someone shouting ‘Murderer, murderer.’

  ***

  Finnian looked down at her damaged face. A cut on her temple oozed glutinous blood and a graze ran from the contusion to the middle of her cheek which was mottled and marbled with red and blue. He wanted to gentle her, tell her all things would be well even though he knew they were far from a modicum of safety. This was a woman he could love and he wanted to halt time so that he should. But there was no time and Lalita now sat dry-eyed on the floor of the boat, her legs pulled up and surrounded by the circle of her arms, shielding herself from rape by the world, the battered face a mask of misery.

  ‘How did you do that?’ her voice trembled.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘The boat. How did you untie the ropes without touching them and propel it downstream without paddle or sail?’

  ‘It’s a Færan boat. I had used it already and knew which one it was. No one else would see it there, it appears to have a knack of disguising itself. It has a personality of its own.’

  She barely responded to his wry comment, instead seeking the shores, her eyes wide and frightened. Later, she spoke in a querulous manner. ‘Where are we going? If we keep on the Ahmad we shall end at the delta and be stalled in muddy channels and they will find us.’

  ‘I intend for us to head to a Gate.’

  ‘A Gate?’

  ‘We must get away from here, Lalita.’

  ‘Curiosa?’ The skin beneath the cuts and bruises began to whiten.

  ‘Put your head between your legs, that’s it.’ He bent across and rubbed the back of her neck, noticing her flinch at his touch. ‘Breathe, just breathe slowly.’ Aine but she was a strong little thing. He never imagined she could kill a man. Defend herself yes, but kill? He kept rubbing, relishing the softness of her skin and the way loose strands of her hair caught in his fingers so that he had to untangle them with care.

  ‘I despise myself. I started as a thief and finished as a murderer. I took a life.’

  ‘Lalita, it was you or him. Alright now?’

  She nodded but he recognized self-loathing and disgust in her expression. And fear. Ah yes, my sweet thing, I recognize that.

  ‘What of Curiosa?’ She pushed his hand away.

  ‘Curiosa was unconscious.’ Finnian returned his hand to her neck as he remembered the way the antiquarian had looked around at the invisible shade who had deliberately rattled the glass pendants of a lamp. He had enjoyed the subterfuge, scaring the man out of his wits. ‘I knocked him out at his desk. He was drinking copiously and his hand was shaking like an old man with palsy. He is a complication neither you nor I need.’

  ‘I thought you would kill him.’

  ‘So did I but I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘And he is so witless now, his silence is a given. But Kurdeesh would have been another story altogether. If you hadn’t killed that fat whore-son, then I would have.’ The gentle lapping of the river was a false counterpoint to his words as the boat floated around rocky bends with high escarpments. Above, kites and vultures drifted on the hot eddies of the Symmer wind. ‘Can you talk about it?’

  She closed her eyes and they flickered as she drew on the memories. ‘He wanted the paperweights’, she said, taking slow breaths, ‘and I wouldn’t tell him what I had done with them. He wanted to hurt me, to scare me into revealing what I knew. I thought his threat of rape was just that, a threat, but then…’ Her breathing began to quicken and Finnian touched her arm with a mesmer that would warm her and diminish the horror so she could look from a distance. ‘He has tried to touch me indelicately all of my life. Even when I was little, before I could take measures. I always wished I had the courage to tell Aunt and Uncle but I worried. He said they would never believe me, that I would be considered a typical child prone to drama. This however was his… He…’ her voice dwindled to a halt.

  Finnian didn’t push her to continue and as he stroked her arm he voiced a thought. ‘It’s my hope that Curiosa will dispose of Kurdeesh’s body somehow so that no attention is drawn to the emporium but the man is so visibly awry we can’t count on it. Which is why it was imperative we left.’

  ‘What…’ they spoke together, the same word.

  ‘You first, what were you going to say?’ Lalita’s voice grated with exhaustion.

  He sat down opposite, his back against the starboard side of the boat, his legs stretched across but bent because of their length and the fact the boat was such an intimate space. He noticed her hand reach into her pocket and stay there and he knew why. ‘I have to ask, I have to know.’ He schooled his voice to studied care. ‘You have placed yourself in such jeopardy, Lalita, and for what? Why do you want the paperweights so badly?’

  She sat very still. That she struggled with a secret was obvious and he cursed the devil spawn who had forced her to distrust life. Above them, high on an escarpment, a whirlwind of dust and sand danced along the ridge and he glanced at it, almost missing the rushed words she blew out. ‘What I told you before was the truth. I do it because I have to.’

  But he had no time to pursue her revelation further. ‘Wait, look.’ He grabbed at her hand, pointing at the cliffs. The sheer terrain of the Raj folded and blended before their eyes, becoming greener, harsh rock merging into mounded hillside. Even Finnian, fey as he was, attuned to enchantment and glamour, was awed at the transformation through which they floated. Between Veniche and Fahsi he had been distracted, sunk in self-indulgent introversion, not caring greatly about this strange occurrence as he passed through a Gate into another part of Eirie. Now trees appeared, bending their graceful branches over the river – willow, river-ash, aspen and birch and the chirp and chirrup of bird and frog, with damsel and dragonflies dipping and darting. The yellow waters became silvered and narrowed until a rivulet of graceful proportions wound its way through forest and leaf, a vale of closely pruned trees spreading before them.

  The boat had metamorphosed into a punt of grey timber that edged along the riverbank to the foot of pleached peach and apricot trees, all unaccountably in blossom and fruit at once. The odour of ripeness and the hum of bees filled the atmosphere between them as Lalita leaned over the boat and trailed her fingers in the crystalline water.

  ‘Don’t!’ He grabbed her hand and pulled it back and as he did there was a splash, a trail of sparkling drops flying up over the side of the boat to drop onto their laps, a wicked laugh echoing from the undergrowth that frilled the edge of the river, the sound sending sprinklings of ice down even his own spine. ‘There is much that is malevolent and wretched in the waters of Trevallyn, Lalita. Wights that can shape-change and charm and have you down in the green depths before you draw breath.’

  ‘But it’s so beautiful.’ Lalita peered skeptically into the water as it rippled past.

  ‘T
hat is its danger.’ He jumped onto the riverbank and held out his hand. ‘We’re in enchanted country here, full of the unexpected, and you must assume that everything is not as it seems or else you’ll place yourself in peril.’

  She gave him her hand as she spoke with feeling. ‘Then perhaps you’re not what you seem and I place myself in peril with you. Perhaps you are really the Ganconer or some dread shape-changer who seduces and then leaves one to perish.’ As she confronted him, he realised that she had dropped into a black abyss at Curiosa’s and nothing would ever be the same again, least of all herself. She would either fold and crack or she would become even tougher and more self-sufficient. ‘Yes, you see,’ she continued. ‘I know the stories of Others from outside the Raj. Your stories.’

  ‘So it seems.’ he answered, looking away, examining the surrounding forest. ‘But you are safe with me. I have no intent. None beyond continuing what we began to discuss earlier.’ He wanted to banish the Ganconer from the ugly morass that seethed in hidden corners of her mind along with Kurdeesh’s hands and his touch.

  ‘Finnian, I will tell you. But please can we rest? I am sore and tired and,’ she shrugged her shoulders, her eyes becoming moist. ‘Just sore and tired.’

  ‘Of course.’ The image of the illustrated scribe on his tiny piece of parchment sprang to mind but the thought of Isolde diminished the brief moment of comfort. ‘I was caught up in the need to escape, it’s paramount.’

  ‘But surely we’re safe now we’re here? I suspect we passed through your Gate, didn’t we? No one can follow?’

  ‘Not Curiosa and the Raji Law, no.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Maybe someone else entirely.’ He walked further up the bank to a fallen log and sat. ‘Here. Come sit.’

  She moved toward him, hauling the folds of the sari out of the way as they caught on twigs at the side of the log. ‘Damn,’ she tugged hard. ‘What do you mean, someone else entirely?’

  ‘As I said, this is a land filled with the malign. You are in Other lands now, Lalita. It’s anybody’s guess who might follow and why. But please, can you tell me why you place yourself on a precipice the way you do?’ He spoke with an impatience he chose not to mask. Her sigh was not lost on him.

  ‘I found out two days ago that I have a niece, a babe called Isabella,’ she began. ‘That Kholi, my deceased brother, fell in love with a Traveller and they conceived a child before he died. Finnian, you have to understand. I have… that is to say I had… no one. My parents were killed in an avalanche when I was a baby. Kholi was murdered. Kurdeesh,’ she stopped and heaved a breath, but then her eyes chilled, the green becoming as hoary as grass in winter. ‘That jackal killed my aunt and uncle – his own brother who had been so good to him. He killed him.’ The frost set hard as she continued. ‘And then a jealous odalisque killed my dog who was all the family I had left. I had no one and I was so bereft, insane with grief. Which is why I decided to take my own life by jumping off the seraglio tower.’

  Dismay filled Finnian and he grabbed her but she started and pushed at his fingers.

  ‘Don’t, please, don’t touch me.’ She sat and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I tried but I was forestalled. The person who saved me told me of little Isabella and my hopelessness would have been replaced by relief and contentment but for one thing. Prior to the news of Kholi’s child, I had discovered… that is the paperweight…’ she stopped and looked at him and he leaned forward with anticipation. ‘As I fell off the tower…’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Fell. That is to say, I jumped.’ Her eyes said don’t interrupt, just let me tell and be done. ‘As I fell down I dropped the paperweight and it smashed onto the rocks at the foot of the tower. I was caught… that is to say, I was saved…’

  ‘Caught? By whom?’

  ‘Rajeeb. A djinn.’

  ‘Djinns,’ Finnian swore and jumped up.

  ‘He is like no other djinn, I’m telling you. He and the afrit…’

  ‘Afrit! Aine, what is the point? Two of the most dangerous…’

  ‘DO YOU WANT ME TO FINISH OR NOT?’ Lalita’s fraught emotion roared around the little glade, birds flying up in feathered alarm. He sat again, no apology, as she continued. ‘They rescued me. The afrit picked up a tiny piece of the broken paperweight as I sat trying to pull myself together and I noticed it was a hollow cane, absolutely tiny, and inside was a roll of paper. I’m sure you can guess what it was because why else would you want the paperweights so much? So yes, I have a charm. Rajeeb and the afrit knew what it was and you see, they didn’t try and take it from me. They were honest. After Rajeeb told me about my infant niece, he explained how your brother, my brother, the charms and everything were linked.’

  Words rolled across the glade as he struggled to catch every syllable, listening closely, deciding to let her tell her fantastic story.

  ‘Rajeeb moved me to safe surroundings and whilst I slept and he and the afrit guarded me, I dreamed such a strange dream of paperweights and charms and tragedy. Have you ever had dreams that lead you to do something?’

  A brief vision of the Moonlady flashed through his mind but he drew his attention back to Lalita, watching her – her oval face, her hair, her mesmeric eyes.

  ‘It seemed obvious to me that a deadly charm that could kill my brother’s friend could be used to kill my baby niece, maybe to destroy all life in Eirie. I woke from my dream believing that the child was owed a long and safe life, the one her father never had. I owed my brother the care of her.’ Her eyes welled but she didn’t cry, just scrabbled the tears away. ‘I determined to find the remaining paperweights and deliver them to a man I believe might know the secret to their destruction. When I told Rajeeb about my dream and what I wanted to do, he said that Fate had brought me to this point. See? Another like you who believes in Fate.’ She took an enormous breath and clasped her hands tightly. ‘There. Now you know. Like I said, it sounds implausible, paltry and mad. A quest based on a dream.’

  His head filled with voices – the mellow tones of a lady with hair like spun sugar, of a man with gentle eyes and a compassionate heart. He pushed himself up and brushed past her. ‘Fate. I told you, didn’t I? And you chose to berate me about it, despite the fact that your kind djinn said the same.’ Irony filled him to bursting. ‘Moons and stars and fate.’ He laughed, a grim feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

  She spoke emphatically, each word pressing into his soul. ‘I don’t lie, Finnian. Everything I told you is the truth.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Everything I said, everything, is the truth.’ She ran after him as he walked away, her feet brushing through the grass. ‘You can choose to believe it or not as you like, but I shall tell you this – I found I had family when I thought all I loved had been taken from me. But Aine the Mother be thanked, there is one little piece of goodness left in my life,’ Lalita’s voice began to rise, ‘a benediction and so help me, I shall protect her with every ounce of strength that I have left in my body.’ Finnian stood with his back to her. ‘When something matters that much, that is what one does. Because when you have family, you do that. You must know this.’ Her voice dwindled to a halt but then a fresh burst built inside her. ‘Aine, I have answered you, have you nothing to say?’ She swung away from him and walked to the edge of the glade, tearing at the folds of fabric that caught on leafy obstructions. ‘Damn!’ She yanked the sari and it ripped. As a further aside she muttered, ‘Please yourself,’ and pushed past a thicket of wild lilac that sent grasping fingers after her. ‘It matters little to me what you think.’

  She thought she had hooked herself into the shrubbery as something tugged her by the arm, pulling her back. ‘You’d be wise not to wander on your own,’ Finnian said. ‘You have no knowledge of what’s out there.’

  ‘My own company is all I seek so take your hand off me.’

  ‘Woman, your life would be over in a day if you left this glade alone.’

  ‘Presumption on yo
ur part, sir, that I am unable to handle myself. I am a murderer remember? Murderers have ways of looking after themselves.’ Murderer, murderer. She jerked from his grasp and as she did, she slipped on the grass of the riverbank and began to tumble. His hand reached out and grabbed her, holding her tight by her upper arms and she hung there, not sure if she should be grateful or terrified as he pulled her from the edge of the enchanted stream.

  He loosened his hold slowly, as if time had no dimension and slid his fingers down past her elbows to her forearms, all the while looking into her eyes. She wondered if she were mesmered, if she were like a deer in the way of a speeding arrow. His palms barely touched and she cursed that her skin almost stretched to meet him, wondering why she did not rebel at his touch. Kurdeesh’s fingers pushed at her memory but the thought faded and she turned her head away to hide from such recollection and from Finnian’s seering gaze. But he took a step even closer.

  Still, be still and she wondered if she meant him or her frenzied heart.

  His coat rustled like a whisper and she felt his breath on her hair and then his lips grazed the well in her collarbone and she heard him suck in a breath, knowing instantly it was the silver on the necklet that hurt him. But he continued, his hands still light upon her, his lips grazing her skin like a moth’s wings and she closed her eyes, turning toward him just slightly.

  His cheek slid over her own, still that infinitesmal touch and she didn’t mind the rough of the stubble. Nothing but rough and smooth, soft and hard.

  She turned another degree and his lips brushed hers, only brushed, but a sensation of such intent.

  ‘Look at me,’ he whispered.

  But then sadly it was done and she hated that it was so because the world had shifted on its axis and if there had been tellurions and orreries, their whole swinging rhythm would have become wider. ‘The truth, Finnian. Your turn,’ she said and wondered if it really mattered.