Lokant

by Charlotte E. English

  Pensould was in the midst of the three draykons, hard pressed but holding his own. Llandry felt another stab of guilt; in her anxiety for her mother she’d left Pensould to fend for himself against three draykons.

  Well, now she would even the odds.

  Tensing herself for impact, she hurled herself into the fray, letting her body collide with Isand’s at maximum speed. The red draykon bellowed and dropped, but she wasn’t incapacitated for long; her head came up, her jaws fastening on Llandry’s hide. Her teeth pierced the skin and Llandry shrieked with pain.

  Minchu, get out of the fight!

  What a time for Pensould to get protective. Don’t be absurd, she replied. Take care of the other two. Isand is mine.

  She turned on the wine-hued draykon, absolutely intent on killing her for the attack on her mother. She bit and clawed ferociously, heedless of her own safety, uncaring as long as she took Isand down with her. Claws raked fire across her side; she bellowed and turned, darting in and around Isand’s guard to snap at her neck. Her smaller size gave her the advantage of speed and agility; her teeth connected, sinking deeply into the red beast’s flesh. She ripped her jaws free, revelling in the other draykon’s bellow of pain and the flow of fresh blood as she circled away and back.

  Why fight us? Isand’s speech was laced with pain, a fact which gave Llandry considerable satisfaction. We are the same.

  We are not the same! Llandry screamed the words at her. These are MY people!

  Your people? The question was heavy with confusion. That cannot be.

  But it is so. And the woman you may have killed is my mother. For that, I WILL kill you.

  Your mother? Such a thing is not possible. She is human; you are draykoni. Isand’s jaws snapped at Llandry’s flanks again, but half-heartedly. I do not wish to fight fellows. Cease your defence of these worthless creatures.

  Llandry attacked again, raking her claws across Isand’s red hide. I will not!

  Isand shook her great head and roared. Then she began to retreat, her blood streaming away to the ground.

  We retreat! she bellowed. The other two draykoni paused in their harassment of Pensould; Llandry felt their confusion and resistance to Isand’s order. But they obeyed it.

  As they fell into line behind Isand, Llandry launched herself in pursuit.

  MINCHU! The name was roared so loudly that Llandry felt her brain might explode. Cease your pursuit! NOW!

  Llandry flew on.

  Pensould’s massive weight slammed into her from above, knocking her off balance. He kept on her, herding her to the ground, using his superior size to cut off her escape. Fighting him every inch of the way, she was nonetheless forced to earth.

  Pensould snapped his heavy jaws near her face, growling. You will not DARE to kill yourself in pursuit of revenge! That is for the likes of Isand. Your family needs you alive. I need you alive. Stop it now!

  Llandry drooped, her rage dissipating under the weight of Pensould’s disapproval. He was right, of course. She had lost her temper, something she never remembered doing before.

  And once you are calm, Pensould said more gently, there may be something we can do for your mother. His nose nudged gently at her flank; she was surprised to feel a flash of pain there. And these must be tended to also.

  For the first time she noticed that his own hide was striped with wounds and dotted with abrasions.

  I’m sorry, Pensould. I got carried away.

  She felt him sigh, a whistling of breath through tired lungs. Well. Let us see what’s become of your parent.

  Parent, singular. She realised that she hadn’t seen her father. He ought to have been by her mother’s side; he would have been, if he were here.

  Where, then, was Papa?

  When Llandry took her human shape again, she was alarmed to find bloody wounds decorating her arms and torso and bruises shading her skin. It hurt to breathe, and one of her legs felt horribly weak. Pensould was in little better shape. He wrapped her in a brief hug, soothing her fears with a rush of affection.

  I would tend to these first, but I fear we may need all of our energy for your mother.

  She nodded and pulled away from him. They were in the infirmary, waiting to be taken to Ynara. At first the medics had refused them admittance: Ynara’s condition was too severe for visitors, they said. They had spoken to Llandry stiffly, keeping their distance from her.

  With a start, she realised they were afraid of her.

  This was a curious reversal. All her life it was she who had been afraid of other people, cursedly, irrationally afraid. To find herself in the stronger position gave her a brief feeling of power.

  She had used that rush of confidence to press her point. The nurses, their fear of her weakening their resolve, had given in.

  ‘Please come with me, Miss Sanfaer.’ A medic appeared in the far doorway, clad in coveralls and with her hair tightly bound back. She said nothing further as the two of them followed her upstairs and through the halls to a private room.

  Ynara lay in a narrow bed, white-faced and unmoving. Her chest still rose and fell, but her breathing was shallow and irregular. Llandry couldn’t see any obvious wounds on her, nothing but bruises and cuts.

  ‘The injuries are internal,’ said one of the attendant medics. Three of them were in the room, monitoring Ynara’s condition and keeping her comfortable. ‘She is bleeding somewhere inside, but I can’t tell where from. If the bleeding doesn’t stop soon, there will be nothing to be done for her.’

  Llandry’s heart twisted and her breath stopped. Her strong, confident, untouchable mother was dying. And she was dying because of something Llandry and Pensould had done. They had woken Isand. They had gone ahead with the plan in ignorance, knowing nothing of the forces they would unleash. It should never have been undertaken.

  Pensould?

  He nodded and moved to the other side of Ynara’s bed, standing opposite to Llandry.

  We will do our best, though I can promise you nothing.

  It would have to do. Llandry took a shaky breath and nodded.

  Tell me what to do.

  ***

  Limbane’s plan held one or two flaws, Andraly thought as she watched the two draykons fly in to join the conflict. In his usual hazy way, Limbane had dropped the two of them on the borders of Glinnery, either forgetting to ascertain where Llandry’s mother lived or simply not caring.

  He had also forgotten to tell Andraly when they departed. She and her fellow Lokant Jace had been left to catch up. Of course, the two draykons had been long gone by the time they had emerged from the Library, and so she and Jace had simply gone ahead to Waeverleyne to await the arrival of Llandry and Pensould.

  Their advantage in timing gave them ample opportunity to observe the arrival of the other three draykoni.

  ‘I’d say we’re too late,’ Jace muttered as the red draykon laid into a unit of guards.

  ‘Warning unnecessary,’ Andraly agreed. She watched dispassionately as a foolhardy Glinnish woman attempted parley.

  ‘That’s doomed to failure.’

  ‘Stupidest thing I’ve seen in a long time,’ Jace nodded.

  The attempt at parley ended as she had foreseen. The Glinnish woman’s frail form toppled to earth, and the red draykon turned its attention back to the population of Waeverleyne.

  That was when Llandry and Pensould arrived.

  ‘Oh, beautiful timing,’ Jace said with approval.

  ‘Couldn’t have been better.’ Though she wasn’t sure what these two could do against three draykoni, all of them bigger than Llandry.

  In the end, she was pleasantly surprised.

  ‘What a demon,’ said Jace. He actually sounded slightly awed.

  Having watched the small grey draykon drive the enraged red beast away, Andraly had to agree. The girl was so feeble in person, a cringing, shy thing without spirit of any kind. Apparently she had hidden depths.

  The attacking draykoni flew away and the show was over. Andraly
stretched her limbs and rolled her shoulders, stiff from staring into the sky for so long.

  ‘I’d better tell Limbane,’ she said.

  ‘Right.’

  And back to the Library she went.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  If there was one thing Eva particularly detested in life, it was being a failure. At anything, for any reason. Tren was certainly right about that.

  She hadn’t had much experience of it, perhaps that was why. So when Limbane pronounced her an inept healer and refused to teach her any more, she had been irritated, disbelieving and uncomfortably awash with self-doubt.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Limbane with offensive good cheer. ‘You mastered mental control over both animals and intelligent species before you ever came here, and your performance with the PsiMap is creditable. With a bit more practice, you’ll be very good at self-camouflage; your performance as Andraly was almost good enough to fool me.’ He patted her arm in a grandfatherly gesture, which only irritated her more. ‘No partial ever has a full spectrum of abilities. There had to be something you couldn’t do.’

  ‘Did there really,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  He chuckled. ‘If you’d like to prove me wrong, you’re welcome to try, but don’t waste too much time on it. Regenerating flesh is not your strong point.’

  Limbane declared her training over soon after that, and disappeared on his mysterious errands. Llandry and Pensould had already gone, followed by Andraly and the other Lokant, Jace. Eva hadn’t found a reason to like him much, so far; he was laconic and unfriendly, his grey eyes lacking warmth. Perhaps she wouldn’t see him again.

  That left herself and Tren unattended and unescorted. She no longer needed the help of a full Lokant to get around. She could translocate herself and others without assistance. It was an empowering thought: almost enough to make up for her lack of mastery over regeneration.

  Tren had stayed away from her since their conversation in the library. She didn’t regret it. She certainly refused to admit that she missed him. The boy should stay away from her; it would give him some time to shake off her influence over him.

  For she still doubted not that his blurted confession of affection had more to do with her Lokant heritage than any sincere depth of feeling. The gulf between them was too enormous for any other explanation to hold water. And it had come out of nowhere, this declaration. She had seen no sign of special interest from him before. Awful thought: perhaps he had been knowingly insincere, trying to make her feel better.

  That was a still more humbling notion, one she tried to shake off. She really couldn’t take any more belittling reflections.

  A small but persistent part of her heart insisted on hoping she was wrong about Tren. With the utmost ruthlessness, she squashed it.

  When she finally went in search of him, she adopted a brisk, business-like air designed to keep him at a distance.

  ‘Are you ready to depart?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ He opened his door wider to reveal a packed bag waiting just inside.

  ‘Excellent. I’m going to need to make some kind of physical contact in order to transport us both. I apologise.’ She reached out and carefully locked her fingers around his wrist.

  He smiled, but it was a sad smile. ‘No apology necessary. I promise not to be scandalised.’ He collected his bag with his free hand, then straightened. ‘Where is it exactly that we’re going?’

  She didn’t answer for a moment. Her mind was already busy, reaching for the PsiMap as Limbane had taught her. It opened in her mind’s eye and she could see their Cluster, three worlds nestled around each other. She searched through, turning them about until she found the spot she sought.

  ‘Ullarn,’ she replied. ‘Specifically, Wirllen.’

  ‘Straight for Wirllen? Is that a good idea?’

  ‘Trust me.’ Selecting the precise location she wanted, she focused her will on translocation. Energy flashed through her and her body weight dropped away, fading to nothing. The process of preparing to translocate was bizarre and still unsettling; it had never felt that way when she had been merely a passenger.

  But then it was over and she was elsewhere.

  ‘Freaky.’ Tren tried to pull back his arm, but she still held his wrist in a fierce grip, afraid of losing him somewhere on the way. She forced her fingers apart and he immediately began massaging his wrist.

  ‘Did you just call me a freak?’

  ‘Er, no, certainly not, never.’

  ‘Sorry about the, er.’ She made a vague gesture at his arm.

  ‘No problem. There’s still blood in it, somewhere.’

  ‘Let’s get on with it,’ she said. Then, under her breath, ‘I really don’t like Ullarn.’

  ‘It can’t be as bad as they say. Surely.’

  ‘No, really it can.’ She wasn’t looking at him as she spoke: her eyes were busy scanning their surroundings, checking whether she had brought them to the right place.

  Shame that all alleyways looked the same.

  ‘So, where are we?’ Tren asked.

  ‘Hopefully, we are in a secluded alley off Wirllen’s city square.’

  ‘Great! And what are we doing here?’

  ‘The first thing we’re going to do is buy a carriage.’

  ‘A carriage.’

  ‘And better clothes. For you as well, I’m afraid. You’re now my factotum.’

  ‘Er. Yes, your ladyship.’ Tren stooped his broad shoulders and arranged his features into a servile expression.

  ‘Stop that. You can be normal.’

  ‘I enjoy theatrics. I was an amateur thespian once, did I ever tell you that?’

  Eva made her way to the mouth of the alley and he fell in beside her, one leg dragging with each step.

  ‘What’s that about? Are you hurt?’

  ‘I’m a factotum with a wooden leg. That’s because I used to be a pirate on the high seas before -’

  ‘Tren,’ she said, allowing an intense weariness to creep into her tone.

  ‘All right,’ he sighed, straightening. ‘But it’ll be a lot less fun this way.’

  ‘Must everything be fun?’

  ‘I am allergic to boredom.’

  ‘Then I shall try not to bore you.’ Pausing at the entrance to Wirllen’s city square, she glanced out. They had arrived at a quiet time of day, or strictly of night. The moon was low on the horizon, almost ready to set.

  Beside her, Tren gave an extravagant bow. ‘That, my lady, you have never yet managed to do.’

  ‘I hope you’ll still be saying that in a couple of days. Come on.’

  The salesman grossly overcharged for the carriage, of course. Eva paid the asking price without hesitation, earning herself an incredulous smile and a great deal of extra attention she didn’t want.

  ‘No, thank you, I’ve already arranged for the horses. I do not require new upholstery. The existing curtains are perfectly adequate. Oh, all right. Add an extra hot brick. In fact, make that two.’

  Tren leaned in slightly. ‘It’s late spring.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So it’s nearly summer.’

  Eva graced that observation with a flat stare.

  ‘Er.’ Tren stepped back. ‘Forget I mentioned it.’

  ‘It’ll get cold later. When that happens, you don’t get to share.’

  The outfitters was next on the agenda. It pained Eva to settle for ready-made clothes, she who was used to custom tailored attire. She swallowed her revulsion and submitted to the fittings patiently. These were, after all desperate times; desperate measures must be gone through.

  Tren objected to the suit she picked out for him.

  ‘I look like a clerk.’ He turned in front of the tailor’s full-length mirror, eyeing his drably grey-clad self with distaste.

  ‘That’s more or less what you are, for the next few days.’

  ‘But... the cuffs. ’ He plucked at the neat, completely unadorned snow-white cotton with so much dejection she couldn’t
help but laugh.

  ‘You’ll live.’ She gave him a soothing pat on the back.

  ‘How do you know? I might suffer death by sartorial disappointment.’

  ‘I defy you to die over a jacket.’

  He folded his arms. ‘I want my silk shirt back.’

  ‘No factotum wears silk shirts, Tren. Please be serious.’

  His expression became mulish. ‘I am serious.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I keep my factotum remarkably well dressed. Just the shirt, mind!’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Tren said, shrugging off the jacket with relief. ‘People will just assume that we’re sleeping together.’

  Eva couldn’t find a response to that.

  Ready-made clothes or not, it felt good to be in silk and velvet again. Reclining on the purple upholstery of her new, temporary carriage and listening to the clip-clop of four horses’ hooves outside, Eva felt like herself again.

  Or her old self. It was hard to be sure who she was these days.

  Tren sat opposite, his fine silk shirt largely hidden by the drab grey jacket he wore. She’d asked a maid at the inn they had chosen to do something with his hair. The girl had tried, but in her defence it was a difficult task. Tren’s dark hair, quite long by this time (for he resolutely forgot to have it tended to) was tied back into a tail, but much of it escaped around his face.

  ‘So, where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll find out when we get there. Which will be in about five minutes.’

  Tren rolled his eyes. ‘You’re mysterious just for the fun of it. It amuses you far more than might be considered normal.’

  She grinned at that. ‘It’s my prerogative to be enigmatic.’

  ‘I suppose it will have to be, for nothing can cure you of the habit.’ He shivered a little. It was late now, the moon had set and the Night Cloak had taken over. Lights shone softly in the rigidly laid-out streets, failing to make the unimaginative architecture look pretty. A brisk wind sent draughts whistling through her carriage, regardless of the upholstery and the curtains.