by Simon Birks
Yes, he had been here. His ears were still filled with the drumming noise, undercut with what sounded like a hive of angry bees. He tried to speak but all that would issue forth were small moans and croaks.
For a moment, Hossip thought he might not be able to get his breath. Something felt like it was pressing on his chest. The coachman blinked, and concentrated.
Small breaths, he thought. Small breaths will keep me alive.
*
Downstairs, Visenai put a hand to her chest. She dropped the soup spoon with a clatter and looked at Ma Poppun with such a look of alarm, it frightened the older woman into action.
“What’s the matter?” she asked the girl.
Visenai pointed to her chest, to her mouth. She made little gasping noises. At first Ma Poppun thought this was all part of the charade, but then realised the girl was finding it hard to breathe. Had the soup been poisoned? Had whoever killed the people at the house somehow followed them here?
Then, in one short, sharp intake of breath, Visenai managed to say “Hossip,” and point upwards.
The cook stood, grasped the girl, and was carrying her upstairs within seconds. She hurried along the hallway towards the coachman’s room. The image of the hall at the house flashed up in her mind, and she nodded to herself. If was fair warning.
She opened the door, and they walked in. Hossip didn’t look like the others had looked at the house. He was still alive, and he seemed to be looking at her. Yes, he was definitely looking at her.
Ma Poppun stood the girl on the floor at the foot of the bed, and went around to Hossip. He, too, was having trouble breathing. Ma Poppun loosened his clothing, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. The man’s eyes seemed frantic.
Think, Ma Poppun thought, what’s happening to him? Instinctively, she turned the man onto his side. He coughed violently, once. It sounded like something had become stuck in his throat. She climbed onto the bed, sat one leg either side of him to steady his body, then clouted him on the back.
He coughed. She clouted. He coughed again. She clouted again. Another cough. Another clout. A different sort of cough, one with a gurgling sound.
“Come on,” she shouted to the room, and clouted him again. Something green spluttered from his mouth. Green with black speckles in it.
Another clout, and more of the mixture appeared. Then Hossip’s body heaved in what looked like a spasm, and the cough that came next shot the remainder of the bile across the room. Hossip gulped in air.
Behind her, Ma Poppun heard the girl gulping in air, too. She turned and saw Visenai on her side on the floor, the soup she’d just eaten next to her. Visenai looked up at Ma Poppun.
“Thank you,” she said to the older woman. “I think you just saved both of us.”
*
Part Two: The Vengeance
Desert
The old woman didn’t look like she was going to move. She sat on the desert floor, bags around her, head bowed. It was a sight Jenza hadn’t expected to see. In truth, she doubted the old woman was there at all. It didn’t make any sense however much she thought about it, which wasn’t very much, as even such a simple process of thinking had become difficult as her days in the desert had dragged on. Her water was now almost completely gone, and she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. There were moments Jenza wasn’t even sure she was awake anymore; this could all just be one long, final dream before her body gave up on life entirely.
She’d seen the woman from the top of a ridge she’d crawled up that morning. Jenza wasn’t sure how she could have seen her from so far away, but she had; a dark figure against the increasingly bleached landscape. She’d been concerned it was some kind of wild animal, but had decided to take a chance, anyway.
Not many choices left, Jenza thought.
She’d been in the desert for a little over a week now. Every day she’d expected a search party from the Telar-Val to catch up with her, but each day there’d been no one. They must be looking for her, she thought. The business at Broken Song could not be overlooked.
The nights had been cool, but not cold, and she’d made a habit of stopping by the cover of rocks for each evening’s rest. She’d seen little wildlife, and had started to wonder whether the desert creatures she’d been told about even existed. Then, on the third night, she’d woken to the noise of something growling nearby. She’d kept still, and half-opened her eyes. Something had been prowling about twenty feet away, silhouetted in the Orb light, walking back and forth, back and forth, keeping its distance.
From what Jenza had seen, the creature was only half her height, but stocky. It walked on four legs, and turned the corners in tight, powerful circles. Jenza remembered tensing, ready for it to make its move, but it didn’t seem interested in coming any closer. It was as wary of her as she had been of it.
As she’d lain on the desert floor, she’d noticed something else too. The creature limped, very slightly, but there all the same. One of the rear legs wasn’t moving as well as the other.
It isn’t in full health, Jenza had thought. Perhaps it had gotten into a fight, and gotten itself hurt.
Jenza had thought about making a move, but decided against it. She waited it out, sword in hand, hidden under the sand. Minutes had passed, and it had crossed her mind that maybe she was just in the creature’s normal sleeping place, and that had made her smile, despite the situation.
Finally, thankfully, the creature had given up and slunk away. Jenza had made sure she watched its powerful shape gradually grow smaller, until finally it had vanished out of sight. She hadn’t slept well that night.
She’d heard other animals since, but their calls had been far off, carried to her by the wind. On the fourth day, with food and water both very low, she had tried to use her power to give her an idea of the direction she should head in. She had tried for five minutes without any results, and had nearly fainted with all the exertion.
She had cried then. She had allowed herself to feel sorry for her plight, and her life up until then. Alone in the desert, sitting by that night’s outcrop of rock, she had cried, first into her hands, and then she had thrown her hands out wide, and cried at the sky, silently pleading it to tell her how she had ended up here, half-starved of food and love.
The sky had not replied, and she’d stopped when the edge of the sun had touched the horizon.
Since then, her situation had only gotten worse. She was sure she didn’t have another day of life within her. Standing was all but impossible, and her hands were scorched by the day’s unrelenting temperatures.
Jenza crawled onwards, her throat dry, her eyes almost shut with weakness. And all the time, the old woman remained sitting, head down. Jenza thought perhaps she was waiting for her to die, so she could have a meal out of what was left.
Slim pickings, Jenza thought, and smiled again. Her lips cracked as she smiled, but it didn’t stop her. A bit closer, a bit closer. Jenza couldn’t hold her head up for long, so shuffled forward looking at the sand, hoping she was going in the right direction.
A bit further… then she could go no more, and her arms collapsed underneath her. She fell face first into the sand, and Jenza felt the bitter tang of blood in her mouth; she must have bitten her tongue. She wondered how close she had got to the old woman. Clearly not close enough.
I am to die here, Jenza thought. To die alone to be food for the desert.
“Well, that’ll have to do,” came a voice.
Jenza thought it might have been her own, cracked and dying.
“I thought you could at least have travelled all the way to me. I don’t like getting up once I’m settled.”
It was the old woman. Jenza found some strength, and pushed herself onto her elbows and looked up. The woman had crouched in front of her, mimicking her crawling stance.
“My you look as dead as my dog, and he’s been gone for twenty years,” the woman cackled.
“Who…” Jenza struggled to say.
“Now, don’t you go us
ing that ugly little voice of yours,” the woman said, “Look at me and just think it. I’ll hear you loud and clear.”
Who are you? Jenza thought.
Aponser.
What are you doing here?
You called me. You called me a couple of days back. Wasn’t the clearest call I’d ever had, but I heard you. Figured you’d need my help.
You heard me?
I heard you. And I won’t have been the only one. We need to get somewhere safe, and we need to do it fast before…
Before…? Jenza asked.
Before the Harvesters arrive.
Back to the House
None of them wanted to return to the house, but the realisation they’d have to gradually grew stronger throughout the course of the week at the Inn. Whilst Hossip regained most of his former health, Ma Poppun had helped in the kitchen, whilst Visenai worked cleaning the rooms and washing the linen. It was harder work than the girl normally did, but Ma Poppun was impressed by her strength and resolve to tackle the long arduous hours. Unsurprisingly, the owner had been overjoyed with the arrangement.
Much to Ma Poppun’s relief, Visenai had very few of her strange episodes, and the ones she did have were generally limited to the girl becoming unresponsive for a few minutes. She’d ask Visenai if everything was all right, and the girl would nod and smile that everything was fine. Whether it was or it wasn’t would be impossible to fathom.
Ma Poppun couldn’t remember specifically who had first mentioned returning to the house, or if anyone had mentioned it at all. There was just a day where she was preparing vegetables and she found herself thinking about going back, and the mess in the hall that awaited them. She’d heard no word about the house from any of the Inn’s patrons, and whilst she wasn’t completely surprised, she’d expected someone to have noticed the master’s absence.
Later that same evening, the three of them had been talking, and Hossip also mentioned going back to the house. He felt comfortable at the Inn, but there were things he had at the house he’d like to collect.
When asked whether she was happy to go back, Visenai shrugged; a reply that was neither yes nor no, and they had all decided they would return before the week was up. They hadn’t quite managed that, mainly due to an influx of customers at the Inn and the Innkeeper’s needy expression. Ma Poppun hadn’t minded, and agreed to help him out for a few more days as a favour, telling Visenai things such as favours were a useful currency to have in the bank.
Now they were travelling back, Hossip at the reins, Ma Poppun in the carriage, and Visenai sitting up top with the luggage. The cook had almost protested the girl sit with her, but then thought better of it. With all the upheaval she’d had to endure in the past seven days, the girl didn’t need anyone telling her what she should or shouldn’t be doing.
The Vengeance was close, but they weren’t intending being at the house very long. Ma Poppun relaxed. Everything would be all right, she kept thinking to herself. It had to be all right, for the girl’s sake.
*
Visenai held onto the straps securing the bags as the carriage bumped along on the uneven road. She felt very small, but this was on purpose. The less she felt for herself, the more she was able to pick up on the world around her.
After the incident with Hossip on the night they had arrived at the Inn, Visenai tried to build up her ability to shut out feelings at will. It was going to take some time to master, but she was already making some progress.
She hadn’t sensed the person who’d watched them from the forest in all the time they’d been at the Inn. Every now and then, she’d taken time to stop and see if she could reach out and find them. She was able to reach as far as half a mile out, but there’d been nothing to pick up on. She’d wanted to push it even further, but all too often Ma Poppun would ask her if she was all right, and she’d brought herself back so as not to arouse suspicion.
Ma Poppun knew she had a skill, of course. The girl would often catch the cook looking at her. Whenever she did, the Ma would smile, but it was the look on her face before the smile that puzzled Visenai. It was mistrust, wariness.
The girl felt a pressure pass her face. It was similar to someone brushing her cheek, but was far off in the forest. It felt like something was watching them, though she couldn’t be sure. She opened her eyes and looked in the pressure’s direction, but the forest was a maze of greens and blacks, and she could see no further than fifteen feet away.
She smiled. Something was out there. She had hoped it would be. She didn’t know why it made her happy, but it did. Visenai lay on her back on the roof, put her arms through the ropes and rested. Rest was what she needed now.
Mist and the Deamons
Ka Yeta was far away. So far away, she doubted she would ever return. That was fine. She knew what was waiting for her, and she never wanted to face that again. She was better off in the darkness.
But it was not fully dark.
Other things were with her. Hidden, but there all the same. She didn’t want to think about what they might be; what unknown horrors she had in her mind.
She didn’t move. There was little point. She sat on the floor, whilst around her thick mist swirled, making patterns in the air, cooling her skin. The creatures she sensed remained just beyond the wisps, flowing around her, looking at her, wondering what she was doing sitting in the middle of them all. Usually they had no one to look at.
There was no day or night. The light, such as it was, stayed constant and dim. She found she no longer needed sleep, or any rest, and she thought perhaps her body, her real body, might be sleeping somewhere else. If it was, she had no intention of waking herself up.
When she shut these unreal eyes, she could see the tendrils of light, faintly at first, but then growing brighter and stronger. The tendrils were what sent her there, and they so wanted her to come back, to let them touch her skin…
Ka Yeta snapped her eyes open. She hadn’t realised she’d closed them. She didn’t want to close them again. She rubbed her leg. She had thought the wound would be gone in this subconscious state, but it was not. It had travelled with her, as much a part of her as her eyes and arms were.
What had happened in that room? How long had she been unconscious for? She didn’t know. If something had fixed her leg, had held the two sides of her calf together and burnt them back into place, surely that pain would have woken her?
Surely the pain from the burn would still be with her?
There were so many unanswered questions. But to ask them meant returning to reality. Returning to…
She snapped her eyes open again. How had they shut without her noticing?
The picture of the boy screaming in his house returned to the Ka. She was meant to protect these children, with her own life if necessary. But they had all died.
The mist in front of her was different now. It took her a moment to recognise what had changed, but it was thinner. And yes, she could see shapes moving. They pulsed. Nearer then further, then nearer again.
She still couldn’t make out what they were, but they were not good. She closed her eyes. The tendrils came back.
She opened her eyes. The things in the mist were closer than ever, and they said something.
“Dead yet?” they seemed to taunt. “Dead yet?”
But she wasn’t dead. And she didn’t want to be dead, she wanted to get out.
“Dead yet?” the things said to her. “Dead yet?”
Ka Yeta pushed herself up. Her body ached, but she stood, and the things got closer.
“Dead yet?”
Yeta opened her eyes and hissed at them, like a wild animal.
Like a monster?
And then she was awake, and she never wanted to go back there again.
*
“How are we not dead yet?” Hoep asked, not expecting any reply. The room was inhabited only by him and the dazed woman who’d appeared in that awful room, dressed as a Ka with a wounded leg, but clearly with an infinitely more wound
ed mind. He remembered how Gideon had caught her as she’d sagged to the floor, then put an arm under her shoulder and helped her outside.
She had spoken little in the following days, as they’d travelled, and what she had said had been disjointed, had had no bearing to her location or any conversation that was being held.
After leaving Broken Song, they had travelled off the main road, into country that was less populated. They had stopped at a barn-like building, which offered shelter from the weather and the authorities.
Gideon had cared for the woman, though she’d been unaware of his help. Hoep had watched the boy bring her food to eat, cut it up for her, and put it in her mouth. He seemed to genuinely care for the woman, but Hoep was still wary. The dark corners of his scepticism thought Gideon needed her for something. As a bargaining chip, or a cover, or a…
A sacrifice.
Yes, a sacrifice. It’s what he believed he was. He had felt it twice on that day, and it’d felt like an epiphany. He knew he would be a sacrifice. And he was slowly coming to terms with it, so when the day came he would be ready, and he would do it on his own terms.
But that day wasn’t today. Today he was with the quiet woman, whilst Gideon was out, somewhere, doing something. He had mentioned getting food for them all, and for that Hoep was grateful.
But what else is he doing?
It didn’t take anyone that long to find scraps of food.
He almost missed it. Almost, because it was so quiet and so inconsequential that it was hardly there at all. Not only that, but he’d been thinking about Gideon, worrying about him.
“Dead yet?”
So soft. So quiet.
Hoep looked at the woman. She hadn’t moved. She sat, back against the wall, rough sheet covering her legs to keep them warm. She stared into space. Hoep stood up from his position by the window as lookout, and went to her.
