The Sorrow of the Waters (Kalika Magic Book 3)

by Karen Hughes

  There was a deep primitive knowing in her heart, an understanding of who she was and what she was there to do. Her mind cleared. Her worries about Sofia and her father vanished. All that was left was the howling wind, the swirling ice. She was free, she was safe, and she could do anything.

  She sprang out of the cave on her strong hind legs. The wind whistled around her; the snow pelted into her eyes and mouth. She kept her balance with her long, thick tail, leaping over deep crevasses, climbing across the narrow snow bridges, and avoiding the toppling seracs, all the way to the top of the glacier.

  She rested in the stone tower, lying on the cold floor in her snow leopard coat. It was good to be out of the howling wind, if only for a little while. There was still a long way to go, but she knew she was past the worst of it. She licked her forepaw with her rough pink tongue, and then climbed to her feet and arched her back in a long, satisfying stretch. With a great bound, she left the tower and began to make her way down the other side of the mountain.

  *

  Jabar stood at the door of his hut, watching the storm clouds gather. They huddled above him, ready to cloak the village in a mantle of winter white. It would be the first snow of the season, but he knew he wouldn’t be there to see it. Nima was coming. Shae, his spirit hawk, had told him she would be here by nightfall.

  He lifted his pack to his shoulder, cursing as his thick black hair flopped over his forehead and into his eyes. His father had said many times that he wasn’t allowed to cut his hair until he had proven himself a warrior. The other boys had run their hands across their cropped heads, laughing at him.

  Resting the pack on the ground, he drew the knife from his belt. For a moment he hesitated. His mother had loved his long hair. She had told him that the strongest and bravest of the gypsy men wore their hair to their shoulders, tying it back with leather bands.

  But she was dead now.

  He reached up with his other hand, grabbed his hair in a single chunk, and slashed it with the knife, cutting so close to the hairline that he left a trickle of blood. With a dull ache in his heart, he thrust the knife back in his belt, lifted the pack to his shoulder, and turned to walk out of the hut.

  Nima was standing in the doorway. Her face was glowing and her eyes were bright. She didn't seem tired at all. She looked at his hair and smiled.

  ‘It suits you,’ she said. ‘You look like a man.’

  ‘I don't care how I look,’ said Jabar. ‘I’m a Dasa Warrior.’ He ran his hand over his forehead, grimacing when he saw the blood on his fingers.

  Nima saw the look on his face and laughed. ‘You're too soft to be a warrior,’ she teased.

  Jabar laughed with her, but inside he was hollow. His father had said exactly the same thing.

  The only sign of the storm on the lower slopes of the mountain was an icy wind, which whipped around their ears and left an ominous chill in the air.

  ‘Bet you wish you had your hair now,’ said Nima, as she held her hands up to shield her face.

  Jabar said nothing. He sat his pack on the ground and pulled two brightly coloured scarves from the top. ‘These belonged to my mother,’ he said.

  Nima took one of the scarves and tied it around her nose and mouth. The silk was soft against her skin. She breathed in the spicy perfume that Jabar’s mother, Sara, always wore, and the memory made her sad. She’d sat by Sara's bedside, watching as she slowly faded away. The shaman was no help – he had crouched alone in his cave, his magic gone.

  Nima sighed. She hadn’t know then that she was the apiki flower, that she had the power to heal people.

  Jabar tied the other scarf around his face, and picked up his pack. ‘There’s a secret road to Nagara that only the gypsies know,’ he said. ‘We just have to get to Sampa Cove without being seen by the emperor’s soldiers.

  Nima took a deep breath. She didn’t want him to get hurt. It was bad enough that she’d made the wish, that she’d caused all this trouble in the first place.

  ‘You don’t have to come with me,’ she said.

  Jabar laughed. ‘I want to come.’ he said. ‘It’s about three days to walk to Sampa Cove. We’ll have to travel by night and sleep during the day – ’

  He saw the expression on her face and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘There are plenty of gypsy homes between here and Sampa Cove. I’ve done this before. I know where to hide.’

  Nima wasn’t worried about that. Jabar always made her feel safe. He was protective, like a big brother, and she knew he'd do anything for her. But it was a dangerous journey, and he’d spent so long listening to his father tell him he was weak that he seemed to believe it. Surely it would be better for him to stay in the mountains and learn the wisdom of his hawk.

  Magena's voice sounded in her head. Let him help you. This is part of his journey, too.

  ‘It has to be your choice,’ she said, slowly. ‘I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to.’

  Jabar adjusted his pack. He looked out at the mountain, his face serious. ‘Shae says the path of the warrior is a rocky one,’ he said, ‘but if you’re afraid to walk it, you’ll never find out who you really are. Don’t you see? I have to come, whether I want to or not.’

  All night they climbed down the mountain, their path lit by the crescent moon. The further they walked, the less forbidding the land became. As the sun rose, they left the hard, icy home of the Dasa and came to a wide grassland, which rolled down to a leafy forest filled with bright flowers and singing birds.

  Hidden in the forest, nestled beneath the trees, was an old hut with a shabby wagon parked beside it. The wagon was a simple white canvas stretched over a curved wooden frame, with four spoked wheels and elaborate gilding at the base. Two horses – a spotted mare with a thick grey mane and a brown carthorse with a white patch on his forehead – grazed nearby, their reins trailing through the long grass.

  The smoke from a cooking fire curled into the air, carrying the delicious aroma of bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes. Five or six shrieking children, with olive skin and brightly coloured clothes, chased a small, barking dog round and round the wagon.

  Jabar put up his hands as he walked through the trees, calling, ‘Aunty Eshe! Uncle Rauf! It’s me, Jabar.’

  The children disappeared inside the wagon. There was absolute silence. Even the dog had stopped barking. From one of the huts, a large man appeared. He wore no shirt, and his chest and shoulders were heavily muscled and covered in black tattoos. In one hand, he carried a club; in the other, a large rock. When he saw Jabar, his face split into a huge grin. He dropped both weapons and held out his arms.

  ‘Ah, it’s only you, boy,’ he cried. ‘We thought it was the soldiers back again.’

  The children climbed out of the wagon, and gathered around Nima with wide, curious eyes.

  The big man, who told Nima to ‘call me Uncle Rauf, everybody else does’, gave Jabar a great clout on the back, almost knocking him to the ground. ‘Glad you made it, boy,’ he said.

  Jabar straightened, wincing. ‘Where’s Aunty Eshe?’ he asked.

  Uncle Rauf frowned. ‘She went with the others,’ he said. ‘We were supposed to travel together, but the soldiers came and we were separated in the forest. I thought it was safer to come back here. The emperor's patrols are everywhere. I've never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Where were you going?’

  ‘Taka,’ said Uncle Rauf.

  ‘That’s where we’re going,’ said Jabar. ‘We need to get to Nagara.’

  Uncle Rauf ran a calloused hand through his long black hair. He looked Nima up and down. ‘Taka is a secret place,’ he said. ‘And she’s not a gypsy.’

  ‘The gypsies have never turned away a child,’ said Jabar.

  Uncle Rauf's eyes narrowed. ‘She’s not Dasa, either,’ he said, slowly. ‘Kalika, maybe … like the shaman.’

  ‘The shaman is my father,’ said Nima. ‘I grew up in the Dasa village with Jabar.’
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  Uncle Rauf turned back to Jabar. ‘This is the little girl who lived with you all those years? The shaman’s daughter? Little Nima?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, well.’ Uncle Rauf smiled at Nima. ‘I haven’t been to the village in a long time. Last time I visited, you were only four years old.’

  His eyes grew bleak. ‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ he said to Jabar. ‘I miss her.’

  ‘My father is dead, too,’ said Jabar, his voice flat.

  Uncle Rauf stared at him. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jabar.

  Uncle Rauf was quiet. ‘It’s a day’s journey in the wagon to Sampa Cove,’ he said. ‘I have old friends there. You remember the children, Mari and Sami?’

  Jabar shook his head. ‘I’ve never been to Sampa Cove. My mother didn’t like it there. She said it was too rough. We always took the path around the cliffs instead.’

  ‘We can’t go that way now,’ Uncle Rauf said. ‘There’ll be soldiers.’

  He walked over to the fire and lifted a flat pan off the flames. ‘Eat,’ he said, ladling the food onto china plates. ‘And then we’ll load up the wagon and make a start.’

  ‘What if we meet the soldiers on the way?’ asked Nima.

  ‘You can all hide under the goods in the back of the wagon. I’ll tell them I’m going to Nagara to deliver fine silks to the palace. I have gold brocade with tiny seed pearls. It’s the emperor’s favourite.’

  ‘But didn’t you say the soldiers were chasing you? Isn’t that why you’re going to Taka?’

  ‘The soldiers are looking for children,’ said Uncle Rauf. ‘They’ve always been cruel to our people, marching us off to the dungeons on the slightest pretext, but they’ve never taken the children before. I don’t know what has changed.’

  He sat the pan back on the fire, straightened up to his full height, and flexed his muscles so the tattoos seemed to dance across his chest.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m stronger than twenty soldiers. They’ll think twice before they try to take my children.’

  Chapter 7

  Sampa Cove

  Night had fallen and the moon was out when the Ceradwin crawled into a busy harbour docked with a fleet of fishing vessels. Men in wide-legged pants and coarse linen shirts sat in the moonlight repairing their nets. They looked up as the sailors on board began running and pointing and shouting, ‘Man overboard!’

  Lanterns flashed. Ropes whistled through the air. In all the commotion, no one noticed three figures with grimy faces and grubby clothes sneak, one by one, out of the hatchway and over the bow of the ship into the water.

  ‘Nice of Fintan to take a little swim for us,’ said Brek, when they were sitting together at the edge of the harbour. ‘I must confess, I wasn’t sure how we’d get to shore without being caught.’

  ‘I can’t walk straight,’ said Indie, taking a few tottering steps. ‘And all I can taste is that disgusting moka grain. I’m never eating moka bread again.’

  ‘Me, neither,’ said Kai. ‘And climbing up that splintery old wharf in the dark wasn’t exactly fun. I don’t think this was one of your better ideas, Brek.’

  Brek grinned. ‘We’re here, aren’t we? I think you should both stop complaining.’

  ‘We’re not here at all,’ said Indie. ‘This is Sampa Cove. We’re supposed to be in Nagara.’

  ‘We’re in Moto,’ said Brek. ‘Now we just need to find someone to take us to the city.’

  Kai and Indie followed him along the narrow track that led from the docks to the sleeping village, past tiny houses and through dark alleyways filled with roaming cats and the overpowering smell of fish. Everywhere the shutters were closed and the lamps were out.

  ‘Why do they go to bed so early?’ whispered Indie.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Brek, frowning. ‘It wasn’t like this when I was here before. There were people everywhere: sitting in front of their houses, sharing food and stories.’ He stopped and put his finger to his lips, beckoning with his other hand for them to crouch behind him.

  There was a clatter in the shadows. A boy’s head poked up, stared at them, and then disappeared.

  ‘Hey,’ said Kai in a loud whisper. ‘Wait!’

  He ran to the place where the boy had been. It was a derelict building, with sagging walls and broken shutters hanging from the windows. Against the wall there was a pile of enormous barrels, each big enough to hold three grown men. The boy’s head appeared from one of the barrels.

  ‘Climb in here,’ he said, before disappearing again.

  Kai looked into the barrel. It was empty. At the base, where there should have been boards, he could see a dirt floor and a tunnel leading down.

  ‘Hurry,’ the boy’s voice sounded strange and hollow, drifting up from the dark. ‘Get inside before they find you.’

  Kai looked at Indie. Her eyes were wide with excitement. ‘I’ll go first,’ she said. Pushing Kai aside, she hoisted herself over the edge, dropped to her knees, and peered into the tunnel.

  ‘Wait! There could be anything down there.’ Brek had climbed in beside her. He looked down into the darkness.

  Indie sat back on her heels and frowned.

  Kai held out his hands. ‘Ksik-si-num!’ Instantly there was a soft glow around his fingers. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll be able to see where we’re going.’

  The tunnel was long and narrow, and it smelled of fish. Kai crawled quickly, wriggling through the earth on his stomach. It was just like the journey he’d made with Shaman Yanti, when he crawled through the spirit realm to find Sisika, the red owl, waiting for him on the other side.

  But Sisika wasn’t waiting for him this time. Instead, he crawled out into a large cavern where he was met by a group of children with clutching hands and piping voices. They grabbed at his clothing, clamouring for food. He pushed them away and climbed to his feet, brushing the dirt from his hands. Indie emerged from the tunnel behind him, closely followed by Brek.

  Kai looked around. They were in some kind of catacomb, with a series of tunnels and chambers branching off in all directions. Moonlight crept in through the tunnels, making patterns on the walls. Beyond the tunnels, he could hear the roar of the sea, but there was no water here now. The caves were warm and dry.

  ‘What is this place?’ he asked.

  The ragged children said nothing. They stood staring – scratching their hair, and rubbing their scrawny arms and legs against the cold.

  ‘Sea caves.’ It was the boy who had found them. ‘See that tunnel over there. It leads to the cliffs on the edge of the shore.’ He looked Kai up and down, and then said, ‘You’re not from here. They’ll send you to the islands if they find you.’

  ‘What islands?’ asked Brek. He was bent over, as if the crawl through the tunnel had broken his back and it would never be straight again. ‘Are they locking away children in Moto now?’

  ‘Not just children,’ said the boy. ‘Gypsies, too. Anyone who is different ... Emperor’s orders. You’re crazy to be here. You should go back to wherever you came from.’

  ‘We can’t,’ said Indie. ‘We have to get to the royal city.’

  ‘Nagara?’ The boy stared at her. ‘Why do you want to go there? I told you, the emperor’s soldiers are rounding up people all over Moto and locking them away. That’s why we’re hiding.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Brek. He turned to Indie and Kai. ‘I can understand that the emperor might be angry with Gort and the Dasa – the battle on the Gilliba Plains is still fresh in his mind – but why send the gypsies away? The gypsies have lived in Nagara for centuries.’

  ‘The emperor thinks the gypsies are too close to the Dasa,’ said the boy. ‘The Dasa have appointed a boy as their leader, and his mother was a gypsy.’

  ‘You mean Jabar,’ said Indie.

  ‘Yes. Jabar is his name. Do you know him?’ asked the boy, wide-eyed. ‘He’s a hero. The gypsies say he speaks with the animals.�
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  Indie remembered Jabar’s spirit animal, the grey hawk, who came to him during the battle and told him to lay down his weapons for Indie.

  ‘I guess he does,’ she said.

  The night closed in, bringing the familiar sounds of the seashore: the crash of waves against the rocks, the harsh cries of the seabirds, the slap of water against the hulls of the fishing boats. Indie listened from her makeshift hammock – a net lined with old clothes and rags, strung from rusty hooks embedded in the rock.

  Kai and Brek lay in hammocks beside her, whispering to each other so the others wouldn’t hear. ‘We should go back,’ Brek was saying. ‘I had no idea this was happening.’

  ‘How can we?’ asked Kai. He wriggled in his hammock. It was too short for him, and his feet stuck out the end. ‘We have to find Nima. The soldiers will know straight away that she’s Kalika.’

  Brek sighed. ‘They’ll know we are, too. Just look at us! We won’t be much help to her if they send us off to this island, wherever it is.’

  ‘We can’t leave her here!’

  ‘We might have to. She’s the apiki flower. The spirits will protect her.’

  ‘And what if they don’t?’

  ‘Shh,’ said Brek. ‘Keep your voice down.’

  ‘I’m not going back without her.’

  ‘You’re going to wake everyone,’ said Brek. ‘Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning.’

  Kai couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned. For some reason, he kept thinking about the grey mist in the forest. In his mind, he watched as it morphed into a fierce black creature with yellow eyes and bared teeth. The creature prowled through the trees. It was angry, intent on revenge. He knew that it would never rest until there was nothing left but sadness.

  He climbed out of his hammock and tiptoed past the sleeping children until he reached the mouth of the tunnel that led to the cliffs. It was wide and straight, and not very long. He walked through until he came to a dead end. In front of him, there was a rope knotted into a ladder, which climbed up the rock wall to a patch of dark sky.