by Meg Caddy
‘Don’t even think about it,’ she said.
‘She needs help.’
‘We don’t pick up what the boss knocks down.’
‘Hemanlok!’
Lycaea’s voice cut through our argument. Hemanlok, now a step in front of us, halted. Lycaea stood. Her limbs were shaking.
‘Don’t walk away from me,’ she spat. ‘We’re not done yet. We’re not done yet, Hemanlok.’
She leapt forward and hit him. He spun without a pause, warding off the blows she dealt him with his hands alone. We watched, frozen, as she rained strike after strike at Hemanlok. The blind Watcher made no comment or retaliation, evading each blow. What he lacked in sight, he compensated for in other senses. Hemanlok snatched up his staff and they matched one another move for move, the staves locking. The crack of wood upon wood was fast and sharp, and the two moved so quickly the poles sometimes blurred. Occasionally Hemanlok would bark out a command, reminding Lycaea to spread her weight, lower her center of gravity, relax her hands and so forth. Soon, her motions became as fluid as Hemanlok’s. The stave was an extension of her arm.
‘Don!’ Flicker shouted through the building. ‘Come see this!’
Soon, all of Hemanlok’s Own were crowded into the doorway. Moth ducked between them and stood by me.
In spite of the beating she had taken, Lycaea was full of energy, hitting out at Hemanlok with passion and precision. I could have watched it forever. They were so graceful; they worked about one another as if they had been fighting the same battle since the beginning of time. When she stumbled, he would come in with a blow, but she would know he was coming, and block it. When she was behind him, he would move almost in time with her. It was eerie, and beautiful. It was more than a dance. It was a rebirth. She looked like a Rogue. She looked like a waer.
‘Finally,’ Moth breathed. ‘I thought she would never start fighting back.’
A thump drew our attention and we turned to find Lycaea pinned to the ground. Hemanlok held the butt of his stave on her stomach, pressing it. He seemed as unruffled as ever. Lycaea was panting.
‘I give,’ she gasped. ‘I give, Boss.’ She coughed. ‘Let up.’
He moved his staff to the side and pulled her up with a large gloved hand. ‘Better, brat,’ he said, clapping her on the shoulder. She leaned on her stave; I think she would have fallen without it. In spite of that, she allowed herself the smallest of smiles. It faded in a moment.
‘We need words,’ she said.
Hemanlok nodded. I left her, closing the door to shut myself and the Own out. The members of his gang swapped glances and made their retreat. Dodge would have stayed as he was, but Moth laughed and tugged on his elbow, pulling him away. I remained, and listened. It was unlike me to eavesdrop, but I needed to know.
‘Thank you, Boss,’ Lycaea said in a low voice. I heard them moving around in the room, presumably putting their staves away.
‘I was expecting you to stay on the floor,’ he drawled.
‘So was I,’ Lycaea admitted. ‘But we need your help, Boss.’
‘Do you?’ He gave nothing away.
‘Yes. Aye.’ She corrected herself uncertainly, torn between the Own’s patterns of speech and her own. ‘We need firesticks, blast-powder, people to distract him, and fighters. If you help us, other Rogues will follow and we’ll at least have a chance.’
‘To do what?’
‘To kill Daeman Leldh.’
‘You want to do that, do you? Are you sure?’ There was danger beneath his words now. ‘You think you can take a knife and stick it in his belly, or set him alight, or saw his head off? You think you can do that?’
‘You’re the one who sent me after him, Boss. I’m going to finish what I started.’ I wished I had never started to listen, or that I had stayed with her as support. ‘Because if I don’t, he will take over Luthan. He will find the Debajo, show it to every lawman up topside. He’ll chase the Rogues out and burn every last one, because he knows it will hurt you, and Moth, and Melana. He’ll make slaves of everyone in Oster, if he is allowed to go on. I can’t let that happen.’
She paused. ‘Neither can you, Boss. He hasn’t touched Luthan yet, but he will.’
Hemanlok was silent. Eventually, his voice rejoined their conversation. ‘I can’t do much out of Luthan. Broke the Watcher laws one time too many; now I need the life of the city to draw on. There’s things I can do, but I’m limited.’
‘That’s why we’re getting Melana in.’
‘I ain’t dealing with her. Wytch gets crazier every day.’
‘I will.’ I could hear a pulse of relief in Lycaea’s voice. ‘I’ll deal with her, or goad her into it. Does that mean you’ll help us?’
‘Not sure I have much of a choice. And what of your friend Kaebha?’
I pressed my ear closer to the door, but neither of them spoke for a long while. It was Lycaea who broke the lull.
‘How did you find out?’ Her voice was ragged.
‘Melana’s scry-pool.’
‘Does everyone know?’
‘Just Melana and me. Why did you think I tested you?’
‘Thought you were punishing me.’ A shuddering intake of breath. ‘I’m trying to make it right, Boss.’
‘You can’t undo it.’
‘I know.’
I drew back from the door. Their words were cryptic to me, but I imagined they were talking about the things Lycaea had revealed to Leldh under torture. I did not want to know the details of her torment, if she disclosed them to Hemanlok. I had listened enough.
The door rasped open behind me as I walked down the corridor and turned a corner.
‘I’m on-side, Lycaea,’ Hemanlok said. His voice was deep and firm, finally speaking the words I knew she had been longing for. ‘Get the Wytch in, and I’m with you.’
Lycaea
The journey from the Den to Shade territory was easy and quick. Melana’s gang, the Shadows, resided to the south-east. As the two turfs were side by side, I was unhindered for most of the passage. The change as I crossed over to Shade Turf was easy to see. The smaller tunnels networking within most turfs had lamp-posts situated at the beginning and end of each way. Shade Turf did not have these; in replacement, eerie grey-green lights bobbed about the alleyways, disappearing and reappearing at random. The place smelt mustier, and the distinct odour of Melana was in every corner. I could barely tolerate it. It was a strong perfume, cloying and overpowering.
The smell of my mother.
Melana had abandoned me when I was very young, and my father had taken me beyond her reach in case she ever changed her mind. I had few memories of my life with her before that. Being locked in a cupboard. Begging her for food. Being slapped. My father’s greatest gift to me had been taking me from her care so early.
There was a chance for negotiation with Melana nevertheless, and I had every intention of exploiting her power. If anyone could get us into Caerwyn, it was my mother – she was able to translocate people across short distances, and she was an expert in subterfuge. Her powers relied on bargains and binding contracts, which was where most of my reservations lay. The rest of my reservations concerned her insanity. It was not always obvious, but it simmered beneath the surface, in her malice and her erratic moods.
I turned down a street. The cobbled paving of the other turfs in the Debajo was replaced with soft, moist dirt. The walls of the buildings were a deep green with vines stretching from the ground. I knew Melana’s passion for earth and greenery. It reminded her of her distant home on the island of Pelladan. She recreated the place as best she could in the middle of the city using glamours and enchantments. It did not work. There was something forced and unnatural about it. But then she had never been good at telling fact from fiction. Sometimes, I thought, Melana still believed she was on Pelladan.
Something moved behind me and I turned to face the Shadows.
No one in Luthan knew how many Shadows there were, or what exactly they were; they kept their
faces obscured by masks and it was impossible to tell one from another. They reeked with the thick scent of Melana’s magic and, as with their habitat, there was something deeply unnatural about them.
One of them gestured. I followed as they turned and started off into the darkness. The eerie green lights followed us, barely illuminating our way as we turned down winding alleyways and passed sharp corners. Something scurried across my path. It was neither cat nor dog, nor anything I had scented before. I was not perturbed. Such an occurrence was common in Shade turf. I thought back to the legend of the Watchers. I had heard it so many times from Dodge, I knew it by heart. The Morning, the Night and the Grey Hours Between. Moth, Hemanlok and Melana respectively. Melana’s world was blurred; a mingling of reality and delusion. Nothing was certain. The creatures in her realm were neither one thing, nor another. They were caught in a permanent state of uncertainty.
We came to a small, dim building. The Shadows ushered me in, closed the door and were gone. Fading into the darkness that clawed about me.
I knew the small building well. I had made deals with Melana before. They came at a high cost, but she never broke a bargain. Melana was more honourable than Hemanlok or Moth in that sense. Hemanlok would break a deal under the right circumstances, and Moth would break one to save a loved one, without question. Melana held her word to the letter.
The Wytch made no sound as she entered the room but she was easy to see. The darkness did not need to touch her. There was enough of it within her deep blue eyes, the curve of her smirk. She was clad in a loose white slip, a good deal of flesh revealed where the simple garment fell short. Her black hair coiled about her shoulders and rippled gracefully as she moved to sit cross-legged on the floor. I followed suit. I had to watch myself for this was Melana’s turf; Hemanlok had no jurisdiction. The situation was too precarious for me to make a mistake.
‘My dear child.’ Her voice was low and rich, amused. I felt a pang. There was no genuine affection in her voice. Once, I had craved her love. Now, I was sickened when she feigned it.
‘Mother.’ I met her gaze. ‘It has been a long time.’
‘Hasn’t it just?’
‘I want to discuss some business with you.’
‘It always is business,’ she chuckled. ‘Otherwise you would never enter this place, would you? You find it repulsive.’
Her manner was cool, though madness sparkled in the sapphire of her stare. I spread my hands wide. ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. Daeman Leldh gains more power by the day, and he is a living defiance of everything you fought for, all those years ago.’ I watched Melana. ‘Everything you suffered for.’
‘I have nothing to do with the Kudhienn,’ she said. ‘We lost enough last time. I wash my hands of this.’
‘You battled the collective forces of the Kudhienn once,’ I reminded her. ‘Now, there is just one: Leldh. I am not asking you to confront him. That is my task and mine alone. Nevertheless, you are needed, all of you. Hemanlok and Moth have both pledged to help us.’
Melana relaxed, sitting back. Her lips curved into a slow, sly smile.
‘Daeman Leldh,’ she murmured. ‘You were his.’
She could not have said anything more hurtful.
‘I was.’ Steadiness was the key with Melana. ‘I know better now. It is time to claim vengeance upon him. The last of the Kudhienn, Melana. It is time to make a deal.’
‘Oh, yes.’ She sat forwards. A flush rose in her pale cheeks and she shifted her hips, drawing in a shuddering breath as she set her hands upon the ground between us. Her blue eyes glistened, bright and aware. ‘So tell me, little fleshling. How much are you willing to sacrifice for the death of Daeman Leldh?’
Anything. Everything. Anyone, everyone. I watched Melana. She reached out a hand, grazing it along the skin of my cheek. I had to brace myself not to flinch.
‘Tell me about Lowell Sencha.’
An unexpected turn of the conversation. Instantly wary, I pulled away from my mother’s touch. Melana smiled and combed her fingers through her hair.
‘Oh, would you look at that face! You used to look at me just so when you were a child and I refused to tell you a story.’
‘Or when you refused to feed me.’
‘Bygones,’ she responded. ‘I asked you a question, Lycaea. Hemanlok mentioned the fellow, and I know Derry is acquainted with the family. So who is this mysterious young man?’
‘A farmer,’ I replied. ‘Of no interest to you.’
‘Oh, but he is,’ my mother said. ‘Come now, my child, you know me.’
I clenched my jaw and answered her question. ‘Sencha is a waer from the Gwydhan Valley. He and his brother found me washed up on the river, and the family took me in.’ I shrugged. ‘What more do you want to know?’
‘How much does he know?’
My stomach sank. ‘He knows all he is required to know.’
‘Does he know about Kaebha?’
No. And he never can. I said nothing. I thought of Lowell Sencha, with his dark eyes and gentle smile. His quiet reserve and endless patience.
Melana took my chin in long-nailed hands and tipped my face to kiss me on the forehead. ‘We have more in common than you are willing to admit.’
I leaned away from her. I could not lose Lowell. He was my ballast, my anchor.
‘Tell him. Tell him everything, tell him who you are.’
‘Is that a deal, Melana?’ It was difficult to keep my voice level. Melana tucked her heels beneath her, her pose becoming childlike. She smiled. I looked away. I could not fathom why she would make this deal. Perhaps she had used her scry-pool and her shadows to see what would most torment me.
‘It’s hard to say whether you can be trusted, fleshling.’ She stretched, fully in control now. ‘Waerwolves are good judges of character, for the most part. They have good instincts. And he has no bias towards the person you used to be. If this Sencha stays with you after the tale is related, I will come with you. I will aid you in your battle against this Daeman Leldh. If he leaves, I will know you are not worth fighting for.’
My mind whirled. ‘Lowell Sencha has no need to know.’
‘And I have no need to come with you.’ Melana rose, placing one hand on her hip and drumming her fingers along her upper thigh. ‘This choice is yours to make, Lycaea.’
The choice was made. I could deny her. But I could not bring myself to make the deal, to lose what I had found in Lowell.
‘So, you do not trust yourself either.’ Interest sparked in her features and she took a step closer. ‘Still, I find myself wondering why you are so afraid to tell him. Surely he is no great asset? A farmer is no advantage to you. You have very little to lose, dear daughter. Why the wild eyes?’
I did not know. He was unskilled in combat. He was a farmer. He was a waer. But…
‘Wolf stays,’ I said.
She laughed. The mockery edged under my skin, peeling it back and exposing old hurts. I fixed my eyes on the ground, reining my temper back as Melana laughed.
‘You will never be fully healed,’ she told me. My stomach twisted. ‘Leldh has triumphed in one aspect at least. You will never be the person you were. In fact…’ Her voice became a purr. ‘There is, I believe, a part of you that is still…’
‘Stop.’ My chest hurt, though whether it was my heart or my lungs I could not tell. Melana waited. I shuddered. ‘There is more I wish to deal for,’ I said. ‘I need information on the survivors from the Gwydhan.’ If I was going to tell Lowell Sencha the truth, I wanted at least a chance to bear good news to him as well. If I could find the name of even one survivor, one person he cared about… ‘Look in your scry-pool, Melana, and tell me who survived.’
‘No.’ She sat back, all business now. ‘I do nothing for free. Allow me to counter-propose. I want Caerwyn.’
I rubbed my forehead. Hemanlok was right. She was getting worse. ‘We’re going to Caerwyn, Melana.’
‘No, no.’ She flicked a hand, irritated. �
��No. I want Caerwyn. Once Leldh is dead. Once his armies are routed. Once you are satisfied in your half-sung quest. I want Caerwyn to myself. I do not want Hemanlok to send in his little Rogues and people to establish a new colony. I do not want Kirejo claiming it for his own. Too long, I have slunk through the tunnels and caverns of the Debajo, underneath Hemanlok’s thumb. I want a place of my own, as I once had on Pelladan.’ She had been banished from Pelladan, and rightly so. Melana was not safe out in the world. But in Caerwyn, far from other cities and protected by the mountains…I considered it. Not to mention that she would be far from Luthan. Hemanlok would approve. Melana liked nothing better than to trouble him.
She went on.
‘I want Caerwyn, and I want you to tell Lowell Sencha the truth about your time in Caerwyn. Those are the conditions for my support. And I will throw in a peek into the scry-pool for old time’s sake.’
I hesitated. There had to be something I had not thought of. Melana’s deals were often part of a longer game, and sometimes the simplest bargain could return to bury you.
But we needed her.
I extended my hand.
Melana clasped it before I could reconsider. A jolt sped up my arm. Blue sparks buzzed about our locked fingers. I caught my breath as Melana squeezed tighter. I became dizzy and dropped my head. Melana released me. All lies of tenderness were gone, replaced with intoxicated triumph. The deals gave her strength, but each one addled her mind further. One day, I knew, she would be beyond reach. She was already so far from Hemanlok and Moth.
She pulled to her feet and danced to the side of the chamber to take a clay bowl from the table. Placing it in front of me, she rubbed her hands together and breathed on them. I turned my eyes away as shadows poured from her mouth, entwined about her fingers. She shook her hands and the shadows dripped into the bowl.
‘The Gwydhan Valley,’ she said. ‘Mm. Norther-waer.’ She flexed her fingers over the bowl, drew shadows into formless shapes. They melded with the water in the bowl and Melana spun them once. When she moved her hands away, the shadows moved of their own accord. The Sencha house stood in darkness. Soldiers moved about it. I could pick out Dodge’s lanky silhouette. It was the night of the attack. I leaned in as the shadows fanned out, depicting all of the Valley in inky detail.
