That first night in the Forest of Anlane seemed to last an eternity. After an age, they paused and Anyara was set upright on the horse. Her bonds had torn tracks of stinging pain around her wrists. It was too dark for her to see clearly. The wind was rising, shivering through the leafless canopy of the forest above her. She looked around for Inurian, and saw a hunched figure seated in front of a rider a few yards away. Then the massive arms of her Inkallim captor embraced her as he took up the reins once more and nudged the horse on. She felt his chest pressing against her shoulders and tried to ease herself forwards. As the horse got into its stride she slid back and could not help but rest her weight against the warrior. They kept a steady pace, weaving through the ever-thickening forest. To Anyara, peering out over the horse's bobbing head, it seemed that they were travelling blind. Trees loomed up out of the darkness, boughs leapt at her. Now and again at the very edge of her vision she saw people running ahead. Some were Inkallim, judging by their bulk. Others, more distant, were those same less substantial figures she had noticed before, lean and rangy shapes that ghosted silently through the woods. The realisation came that these were Kyrinin: woodwights of the White Owl clan were guiding the Inkallim through Anlane. Perhaps they too had set the fires in Kolglas that kept help from coming to the castle. The thought put an icy needle into her heart. She was in the hands not only of the enemies of her Blood, but of her very race.
As dawn's first light began to bleed through the roof of the forest, the trees solidified out of darkness. They sloughed the night and gradually took on form and substance. Anyara's thoughts had run off on pathways all their own, and she came to herself with a start as if roused from a waking sleep. She swayed on the horse. Her eyes, her back, her throat all ached and she feared she might fall at any moment. She looked about her. They were following a narrow, almost overgrown trail. Ahead of her, Inkallim were running in single file, keeping a steady, careful pace. She could see no sign of the Kyrinin. She craned her neck to try to see behind, and glimpsed other horses and riders before her captor slapped at her face.
After an hour or so, when the grey shades of dawn had become the clear light of day, the relentless pace slowed a little. The path widened. Anyara felt exhaustion and cold settled deep inside her. Although it was warmer now, the night's chill had taken root in her body and would not relinquish its hold.
Another horse came up beside her and she turned to see Inurian seated in front of a smoke-blackened warrior. He looked pale and drawn. Blood had crusted his forehead and laid dark stains down his left cheek. Anyara started to say something, then bit her lip at the sound of a third horse coming up behind them. It drew level and she recognised the na'kyrim who had appeared after the fighting in the castle was over. He was a good deal younger than Inurian and to Anyara's eyes his skin had a hungry pallor about it. His pale hair hung lifelessly to his shoulders.
There was excitement in the newcomer's face as he leaned towards Inurian, as if the dawn, the flight and the warriors all around brought forth in him a feral joy.
'My name is Aeglyss,' he said.
Inurian fixed his eyes upon the path ahead.
'You did not sense me, did you?' Aeglyss said. 'Nor did you get inside the minds of those Inkallim. I wasn't certain I could hide their intent from you, you know. You, the great na'kyrim who can see a man's thoughts. I promised the ravens I would do it, let them play out their little charade, but in my heart I didn't know. But, see! I was the stronger, was I not? My gifts proved the greater.'
Still Inurian ignored him. Aeglyss seemed to relax a little, sinking back into his saddle and adjusting his hands upon the reins.
'How old are you?' he asked after a moment or two, his voice calmer now, more measured.
'Old enough to have seen your kind before,' Inurian responded. There was ice in his voice.
'And what kind is that?'
'Dogs that think they are wolves.'
Aeglyss laughed at that. There was a ragged edge to the sound, as of a man laughing at word of some disaster.
'They would have killed you but for me, little man. The Children of the Hundred have no great liking for na'kyrim. They tolerate me only because they know I can help them. I saved you from their tender mercies, and you should not forget it. We will have much to discuss later.'
He glanced dismissively at Anyara, then kicked at his horse. It lurched forwards, trotting up the trail to the head of the column.
'What a . . .' Anyara started to say, but a sudden tensing of her guard's arm warned her to hold her tongue. She looked across to Inurian and he had time to nod before the horses parted once more and he was carried ahead and out of sight.
They followed paths that Anyara often could not make out. The tracks wove through what seemed to be impenetrable undergrowth. They went fast, the Inkallim jogging along, the horses grouped in the middle of the column. The Kyrinin reappeared in the mid-morning. They drifted in and out of sight, running figures passing amongst the trees on either side without a rustle or a footfall. Haunting birdcalls, which Anyara did not think were made by any bird, ran through the forest every so often.
They stopped without warning, in early afternoon as far as Anyara could tell from the sun's angled rays, beside a forest stream close-fringed by willows and alder. She and Inurian sat against rocks while their Inkallim guards drank from the stream. The warriors who had been acrobats bowed their heads into the water and rinsed the dye from their hair. It made Anyara think, absurdly, of villagers washing clothes by a mill-stream. Eddying clouds of amber and red swirled away down the current. Then began the meticulous task of re-dyeing. The warriors produced packets of powder from their belts and pouches. Mixed with water, it made a thick paste that they worked through their hair. It took some time. When they straightened, every man and woman had sleek black locks. Anyara looked away. The Inkallim, she remembered being told, wore their hair black in token of the birds that once accompanied the God called The Raven: Death.
A few Kyrinin came in and squatted with Aeglyss and some of the Inkallim, talking in hushed tones. Anyara could not help but catch her breath at their closeness. She had only seen Kyrinin once before, and they had been dead, brought out of the forest by the warriors her father had sent to hunt them down. The skin of these strange, fearful figures was so colourless it seemed almost translucent to her. The characteristics that Inurian had inherited from his Kyrinin ancestors were here before her in their purest form: fingers long and precise, tipped by uniform white nails; eyes of a flat, unnerving grey; fine, sharp-featured faces; pale hair that had an almost luminous sheen. Two of them bore markings she had heard described in stories. Thin blue lines ran in great, whorling spirals and curves across their faces like ferocious masks. If the tales were true, these were the tattoos worn as badges of honour by the most savage warriors of the Kyrinin. Only now, seeing them in soft conversation just a few yards away, did Anyara understand how truly unhuman these people were. As much as anything, the difference resided in their air of detachment and self-assured grace; the way in which they held themselves and the unspoken language of their movements and gestures.
After a minute or two the Kyrinin rose and headed back the way they had come, vanishing from sight.
'Gone to check for pursuit,' muttered Inurian. He seemed less haggard and drained than he had in the early morning.
'They'll not find any,' he continued, talking as much to himself as to Anyara. 'We've come too far and fast. None but other Kyrinin could keep to this trail and match our pace.' He chewed at his bottom lip. 'Where are we going, though?'
An Inkallim swordsman loomed up before them. He gestured towards Anyara with a deerskin pouch of water. She resisted the urge to shake her head. She was thirsty, and would gain nothing by denying it. The warrior held the pouch as she took a few sips. He offered it to Inurian as well, but the na'kyrim ignored it.
'Not to a White Owl vo'an, surely?' Inurian mused as the Inkallim strode away. 'And not all the way to Kan Dredar?'
'We'll find out sooner than I'd like,' said Anyara glumly.
Inurian glanced at her, as if only reminded by her voice that she was there.
'That is true,' he said. 'That is true.'
'Do you know where we are?' Anyara asked him.
Inurian frowned. 'Not with any certainty. We have been heading deeper into Anlane all the while, north and east. We crossed the track from Kolglas to Drinan in the night. It makes little sense, unless they mean to spend the winter here and I think even the Inkallim, with Kyrinin aid, would not choose to do that.'
Anyara sighed. She caught the eye of one their guards, who was glowering at her, and lowered her gaze.
'They must be mad to even attempt this,' she muttered. 'Whatever it is they're attempting.'
'Not mad,' said Inurian. 'It makes sense, if you believe what they do. They have nothing to lose, after all. Failure only means death, and they cannot reach the world they crave without dying first. This world is hateful to them.'
'Why are the White Owls helping them?'
'That, I would be interested to know,' muttered Inurian, 'but I think our unpleasant friend Aeglyss will be a part of the answer.'
They were quiet for a little time.
'Inurian . . .' Anyara said after a while, 'my father...'
His arms tugged the bonds that held them, and she thought he wanted to reach out to her. The cords would not yield.
'I am sorry, Anyara. We tried to guard him, but there were too many.'
'Orisian?'
'I don't know. I would have given anything to prevent this, but I was too slow, too mistrusting of my own instincts. What gifts I have were not enough. I knew something was amiss, but. . . somehow Aeglyss blunted the edge of my perceptions. I've never before wished for a greater, or different, strength in the Shared, Anyara. Now I wish for nothing else.'
He hung his head. Anyara almost wanted to turn away, so clear an echo did his pain find in her.
'And it is only days ago that I warned your brother against wishing for what is not,' Inurian said quietly.
They sat together in silence, each of them longing in their own way for the world to be other than it was.
They slept that night in a narrow clearing, stopping long after dusk had fallen. Anyara and Inurian were kept apart. She huddled down, resting her head against a grassy tussock. Grief and despair were writhing in her and she felt close to tears. That she would lock in. They would not hear her cry. A coarse blanket was thrown over her, but it did little to obstruct the mounting cold. She thought that the numbing pain in her wrists and hands, the hard ground and damp grass, the creaking of the trees all around, would keep her from sleep. Instead, her exhaustion flooded up from within and carried her off in minutes.
Time and again she came partway awake, shifting to ease some building pain in her back or arms. Strange sounds, filtered through the veil of drowsiness, reached her: the plaintive call of an owl; the flap of wings above the trees, and once the lilt of soft, unintelligible voices whispering close by. When someone kicked her awake, before dawn had even begun to erode the darkness, the blanket had slid away from her and she could hardly move, so stiff and sore was her body. She felt as if she had closed her eyes mere moments ago.
They made Anyara and Inurian walk for a while that morning. A rider - one of the female Inkallim - went before them, leading them by ropes. Whenever they tried to talk to one another she would tug at their bonds. Anyara felt as weak as she had in the first days after the Fever had broken. They had been given nothing save water since being seized from the castle, and her head was light. She stumbled along, and fell now and again. Each time she was dragged along the trail a short distance and Inurian shouted at the rider ahead until she reined in her horse and allowed Anyara to struggle back to her feet.
Aeglyss came and rode behind them for a stretch.
'Did you sleep well?' he asked.
Inurian straightened his back and walked on. Anyara looked over her shoulder.
'I'm hungry,' she said.
'No doubt,' said Aeglyss, but his eyes were fixed upon Inurian. 'Did you sleep well, I asked.'
Still Inurian paid him no heed.
'I need some food,' insisted Anyara.
'Your hunger is not so bad,' said the na'kyrim at length, in a voice now gentle, slow and deep. The sound of his words soothed Anyara in some strange way. 'It is not as great as it was. A strong girl like you could go on without eating for hours yet, days even. Think instead of the fall of your feet. Let that rhythm be your only thought. Your legs are strong. Pay no heed to your hunger.'
Anyara felt her sense of herself shift a little. Aeglyss was right: there was an easing tempo in the rise and fall of her steps. They were steadier now. She did not stumble any more. She lost herself in the feeling of walking, and heard the rest of what was said distantly and without real understanding.
'She should be quiet for a time,' said Aeglyss. 'My voice has always been one of my better features. I can be very . . . persuasive, but she is particularly easy.'
'She is exhausted,' snapped Inurian, 'and weak from hunger, and shock. It is a childish trick, and one I doubt you could play upon someone wakeful and healthy.'
'Ah, but I can, I can. I am stronger than you think. But at least now you have something to say. I thought I would have to continue talking to myself.'
'I am sure you would not find that too great a burden.'
'Come now, Inurian. We should not bicker, you and I. We are na'kyrim together. Our kind has enough enemies without fighting amongst ourselves.'
'This is not a fight I started, and I would rather not be reminded that we are of the same kind.'
'But we are,' said Aeglyss urgently, 'we are. I saved you, did I not? Kept the ravens from killing you? The girl they were content to take alive, but you they would have killed in a moment if not for me. Na'kyrim must stand by one another, for no one else will.'
'Forgive me if I do not thank you for saving me from murderers you brought with you.'
Aeglyss gave an exasperated sigh. 'I wish only your friendship, Inurian,' he said. 'You have seen what I can do. The Shared wakes strongly in me, you can see that. But I am still young; I have more to learn. I have heard there is no one with greater knowledge of the Shared than you. Some people speak highly of you. That is why I came to Kolglas, you know. The Inkallim came for the Thane's family. I came for you.'
When Inurian did not reply, Aeglyss went on, now quietly insistent.
'You could teach me. And I could lend you my strength. How many have you known who could oppose your own insights as I did? I could raise us both up. And I have powerful friends. Without me, the White Owls would never have agreed to help the Gyre Bloods. None of this would have been possible without that help. Horin-Gyre is in my debt. When all of this is done, I will be one of the powerful myself. You could be a part of that.'
'Leave me be,' said Inurian.
Aeglyss said nothing for a few moments, then, 'Very well. You will think differently in time. Girl. Anyara!'
The sudden sharpness of his voice jolted Anyara. She lifted her head, which had grown heavy. Her eyes were clear, as clouds she had not been aware of until that moment parted.
'Are you hungry, girl?' Aeglyss asked.
And in that instant, the hunger was back, gnawing more than ever at the pit of her stomach and sucking the strength out of her limbs. She almost lost her footing and fell. Inurian was looking at her, concern and some kind of pain in his face. She tried to smile, but could not be sure whether she managed it. She risked a brief glance behind. Aeglyss was gone, fallen back out of sight.
'I was almost asleep,' she said.
'Not exactly,' replied Inurian gloomily before a harsh tug on the ropes reminded them of the wisdom of silence.
They marched on over ever rougher terrain. Long, low ridges ran through the forest, and the company followed trails up and over them. They crossed tiny streams and wove around the great boulders that dotted the slopes. The forest was open, a m
ixture of birch, pine and lichen-armoured oak. Anyara was sure they must still be within the lands of her Blood, but she saw no sign of either stock or men. Herders would only come so far into the wild lands in the summer, and then only if they could find no grazing closer to home.
Some time after noon they did come across some men of Lannis-Haig. It brought no cheer. They were angling down a slope towards a brook that Anyara could hear gurgling over rocks ahead. When they came to the stream, she saw that there had been a hunters' camp here. It was ruined now, the tents cast down, the cooking fire doused. The three men who had made it lay there, all dead. Anyara stared at them as they walked past. One of them lay on his back, his blank face upturned, his tongue poking out from between his lips. He was young, perhaps sixteen. Orisian's age. She felt a tightening in her throat and looked away.
Not long afterwards they were hauled up on to horses once again, and the company increased its pace. Anyara's stomach was by now growling with such insistence that it was almost painful. She found herself struggling to keep at bay tendrils of sleep. The enclosing arms of the Inkallim rider kept her from slumping to the ground. She was drowsily aware that they were climbing, rising up some steady slope.
Later, only half-conscious, she felt a breeze on her face and strong hands pulling her from the horse. She was thrown to the ground, unable to move. Her leaden eyes opened and she saw clouds scudding across a dimming sky. For the first time in what seemed an age, no branches hemmed in her view. Far, far above, an unbridgeable distance from the patch of rough ground upon which she lay, an eagle glided serenely over the forest. She fixed her eyes on it for a time, and could almost imagine her thoughts riding its great wings away into the stillness.
Around her, the Inkallim were making camp for the night. They had halted in a high clearing near the crest of a ridge. The land rose, for this short space, above its mantle of trees like the back of a whale breaching the surface of the sea.
Godless World 1 - Winterbirth Page 13
