‘And if you go to Kelshan another mage will be with you this time,’ Lemos croaked.
‘Another mage?’
‘Favrian won’t leave – he’s Sword Master and will only leave here again if absolutely necessary now.’ He coughed and rubbed his scarred throat.
Emas muttered something and took the tray off to make her brother fresh tea. Tika still looked puzzled.
‘I expect Cyrek will go with you as the second mage.’
‘Second?’
Now Lemos looked puzzled as well. ‘Well, you are a mage, aren’t you?’
‘Me?’ Tika sat bolt upright. And stared at him, thoughts churning through her brain.
Lemos grinned and Gossamer Tewk leaned across and patted Tika’s hand in a kindly fashion. ‘Of course you are. Did you really not know?’
‘But. But, I’ve never been trained as a mage – or whatever it is you do to become one.’ Tika felt real panic at Lemos’s suggestion.
It was Gossamer Tewk who realised how shocked Tika was. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you realised, but I see you didn’t. But listen Tika – you can heal the most awful wounds. You can speak mind to mind with other creatures as well as with people. You have survived situations I can’t even contemplate. I know a few, a very few, mages who might be able to do one of those things. But only a fraction as well as you can. My dear, you must be the most powerful mage in the world right now.’
Tika had listened to Gossamer’s words, but in increasing horror. Surely she would have known what she was? What she had become? Suddenly Lemos was kneeling beside her, reaching for her hands which he held firmly between his own.
‘Listen child. Think back. Someone must have wakened your power, opened your mind. Someone must have at least begun to teach you. Think back,’ he repeated. ‘Who was that first teacher? What was his name?’
The brilliant green eyes surrounded by the tiny silver scaling, began to fill with tears. Tika’s hands turned within Lemos’s grasp and gripped his fiercely.
‘Her,’ she whispered. ‘Emla’s friend, Iska. A sweet lady. She showed me. She began to show me,’ she corrected herself, her voice hitching. ‘But she was murdered. Then we had to rush to the Northern Stronghold. I saw Iska’s body there.’
She leaned forward, her tears falling on their clasped hands. Lemos leaned in, his forehead bumping gently against hers.
‘Then now you must honour that sweet lady my dear. Remember all that she taught you. And think how proud she would be to see you now. Because she would be you know.’ Lemos eased back to sit on his heels and gave her hands a little shake. ‘Mother Dark knows, I am proud of you, and I’ve only known you a few days.’
There was a gently teasing note in the voice which was now a cracking rasp. Emas reappeared with a tray of tea and hot cakes and rolls. She took in the situation in a glance and simply sat down and began to pour tea into the bowls. Tika freed one of her hands and reached out to Lemos’s scarred throat. His eyes widened and he almost pulled away, but held himself still. Tika’s hand dropped away and she gave him a shaky smile.
‘Perhaps you can teach me some of the things I ought to know?’
‘My knowledge is yours for the taking my lady.’
Emas gasped. Her brother’s voice was a rich baritone, clear and unstrained. She had not heard him speak in that voice since they were about fifteen years old and the bear had taken his voice and given him his mage powers in return. She met his eyes and, in the manner of twins, knew he too was astonished at what this woman had done. And done so simply.
Emas had watched tribal healers at work, including occasionally her brother. There had been rituals, chants, songs and the heart beat throb of drums. Yet this woman had merely touched Lemos’s poor scarred throat and although those scars remained, the damage within was clearly healed. Tika got to her feet.
‘I think I’d like to see if Farn’s back,’ she said. ‘I need him.’
Lemos nodded, edging away still on his knees.
Tika almost ran to the door then stopped. ‘I would like to ask you many things Lemos. But later.’
‘Whatever you wish, whenever you wish.’
Emas listened to her brother in amazement. Such a beautiful voice, ruined for thirty years and more, given back to him so easily. She hurled herself into his arms, weeping with joy. Gossamer Tewk sat silently watching, absorbing all she’d just seen. No, Tika’d had no idea of her strength. Would she accept that knowledge now? Gossamer thought she would, but not happily. From the little she’d gleaned of Tika’s life, she thought the woman would prefer things as they’d been when first she’d met the Dragons.
Gossamer felt an unusual pang of pity. Life moved on, and right now it was moving far too fast to try to stop and turn back. She hoped Essa and Menagol would be back tonight, she needed to talk to them.
Tika blinked in the sunlight, a surprise after the lamp lit den. She knew Farn and Storm were still playing at the foot of the Ghost Falls with Shea and Theap; not far but she hesitated to call Farn back.
‘What troubles you daughter?’
Tika spun, to see Kija reclining further along the verandah, watching her with eyes that whirred a buttery yellow. Tika joined her and sat leaning against the house wall with a great sigh. She opened her mind and let Kija see her confusion. Kija took it all in without comment.
‘Did you know?’ Tika finally asked.
Kija’s long face lowered and brushed gently against Tika’s, her breath ruffling the dark unruly curls. ‘I was beginning to see it.’ Kija’s mind tone offered endless comfort and affection. ‘It isn’t just the power you have that frightens you though, is it small one?’
Tika drew her knees up and rested her cheek on them. ‘Suppose I do something wrong? Kija, healing seems too easy now. I don’t even get tired or hungry when I use power, and I need to use so very little.’ She turned her head to look into Kija’s face. ‘Suppose I was angry, as I have been angry. Imagine what I could do, should I lose my temper.’
Kija took her time before she replied. ‘Do you remember, at Lady Emla’s house? How many times did you break a tea pot before you learned control enough to just move it? When Farn knocked the chimneys off the roof? He had to learn to control his fire. I think you must learn that when your anger rises, you must find a way to separate it completely from the part of you that reaches for power.’
‘I suspect that will not be easy,’ Tika said ruefully. ‘Do you think Iska knew all this about me?’
Kija’s forearm moved, scooping Tika close against her great chest. She curled her bulk around her, almost hiding Tika from sight.
‘I’m sure she did, dear one. I’m sure she did.’
Tika slowly began to relax and Kija crooned softly to comfort her daughter.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The creature who now occupied the body of the anatomist Tomin, smiled at the many who asked after his health. He assured one and all that he was fully fit, indeed, he’d never felt better. He took some time to get out of the infirmary because of those concerned enquiries, but eventually he strode down through the galleries to the yard encircling the Citadel.
He was fully aware of the man who followed him. He laughed to himself when he stopped suddenly, half turning back as if he’d forgotten something. His follower very nearly collided with him. Then, flustered, he stooped to retie a bootlace as excuse for delaying until Tomin chose which route he was taking. Tomin took a direct path into the City, towards the rooms he rented above a baker’s shop.
The baker was setting out a fresh selection of loaves in the front of his shop and he waved as Tomin passed. Tomin swung down the side alley, ran up the wooden stairs and unlocked the door at the top. From the corner of his eye, he saw the man who’d followed him idle past the end of the alley. Tomin chuckled. Inside, he went to the small window overlooking the street. The man was now talking to another, seated on a bench outside a tavern. Both were facing the baker’s shop, their gaze flicking up briefly when Tomin moved at the windo
w.
Tomin went through to the back room. A much smaller window gave a view of the baker’s back yard which seemed to hold only stack upon stack of fuel for his ovens. Tomin sat on the narrow bed. He spread his hands out in front of him, watching the knuckles move under the skin as he clenched and unclenched his fingers. He frowned and plucked at the green gown he wore. He hooked a finger in the neck and tugged.
The gown split, tearing down to the wide leather belt at his waist. He pulled at the buckle, snarling when his fingers were unable to work out the fastening. He pulled a little harder, and the buckle broke away from the leather. Looking round the tiny room, he saw a wardrobe squeezed into the corner by the window. He rummaged through its contents, throwing three more green gowns on the floor behind him with growls of disgust.
Then he found a tunic of plain brown wool. Two pairs of trousers, of the same brown material, were folded on a narrow shelf. Tomin yanked away the remnants of his gown and struggled to get the tunic over his head. It took him a while to realise his boots had to come off before the trousers could go on and he was surprised to feel suddenly exhausted by these efforts.
He sat on the bed and looked at his hands again. They seemed to blur, the fingers curving into hooks tipped with thick horny nails. He blinked, and they were human fingers again. He thumped one hand against his knee. He must concentrate, stay in this body as long as he could. When he’d found her, he could become himself again. He stared unseeing at the wall, unaware of the drool slathering down his chin.
Tomin sat thus, as if entranced, until the sound from the shop below ceased and the room in which he sat grew dark. He stirred and rose, moving silently to the window at the front. A few lanterns burned along the street, distantly apart, but the shops were all closed. The landlord of the tavern across the way was collecting mugs from the deserted tables. Tomin watched him retreat into the tavern, the door close and heavy bars slam into place.
He went to the outer door and closed his eyes, his hand on the latch. On the wooden stairs beyond, the air seemed to thicken and become almost like fog. Beslow’s agent was hunched beneath the stairs, hands tucked in his armpits for warmth, and wondering where his replacement had got to. He vaguely noted that a sea fog had drifted in with full night, but paid no particular heed to it.
He had one heartbeat to see the impossible shape bending towards him. A clawed hand grasped the front of his jacket, snatching him up out of the shelter of the stairs. His next heartbeat was his last. He had a glimpse of small dark eyes, fangs and tusks. He felt unbelievable pain as the hand dug through his clothes, through his skin, his ribs, to clutch his heart. The hideous mouth came closer, to rip out his throat.
Tomin held the body until he’d drained it of blood, saving the heart for last. Then he went to the entrance to the alley and sniffed the air. There was someone, not far away, who might have information he could use. He was halfway down the street before he remembered to contract himself within Tomin’s human form. The effort tired him but he didn’t notice.
The ghost leaning over the edge of the roof was frozen with horror. When he’d lived, and since he’d died, he had seen too many examples of what men could do to their fellows. But he had never seen anything like this. He drifted after the creature, staying at roof height. He watched it take on the shape of a man and walk, rather than shamble, on into the lower City.
The ghost hovered in indecision. Should he follow, or go back to Gossamer’s house? Hesitantly, the ghost followed, but he sent out the odd call used among the community of ghosts, to summon each other, and hoped that his call might be answered, and swiftly. The ghost soon realised that the creature didn’t appear to know where he was going. Twice he retraced his route, the second time very nearly back to where he’d started from.
The ghost continued to call at intervals and eventually a group of seven others joined him. He explained what he’d seen and four of them shot off the roof to investigate the alley where the corpse lay. They all watched the creature standing beneath one of the street lanterns, turning in a slow circle, sniffing audibly. They drew closer to each other when the man shape blurred again and clawed hands reached skywards and a bellow of fury came from the tusked mouth.
It was obvious he was seeking someone or something, but the ghosts couldn’t begin to guess who or what that might be. The first ghost was desperately agitated. Having met the woman, Tika, and discovered she could speak to him and hear him so easily, her absence meant that once more he was excluded from communicating with the living. He asked the seven ghosts to continue their watch whilst he sped to Gossamer’s house.
How could he make that idiot, Drengle List, understand? He came to an abrupt halt. He stared at the streets below him. He was in the Guilds’ Precinct. The ghost knew of Snail the Embalmer: he knew that Gossamer and Drengle both visited her regularly, along with quite a few others who were in the same unfortunate position. There were a surprising number of people murdered in Kelshan who found themselves cursed to live on in a strange kind of existence. For a while the ghost dithered, flittering down to street level and studying the discreet signs displayed above doors and windows.
He found Snail’s establishment but it was closed up tight, not a chink between door and frame, or around the small windows. While ghosts could pass through solid objects, many of them found it an unpleasantly disorientating experience. He whisked back up to the roof, to the chimney from which rose a thin thread of smoke. The ghost floated slowly down until he came to a fireplace. His substance thinned as he entered a room.
A plump woman lay on a couch, her hands folded on her stomach. As the ghost moved towards her, she glanced in his direction. Her eyes rounded and she pushed herself up into a sitting position. The ghost was cautious. He’d discovered that quite a lot of people, and animals, were aware of his presence. Some could even discern the outline of his form. Perhaps Snail was one of these. He moved to the right and Snail’s eyes tracked his movement. Very slowly, he lowered himself onto the end of the couch. Snail drew her feet tighter beneath her, but her eyes remained steadily fixed on his.
‘Who are you?’ she whispered. ‘Why are you here? I can do nothing for you.’
The ghost was astonished, then he remembered her reputation for compassion towards those such as Gossamer Tewk.
‘Can you hear my words?’ The ghost spoke loudly.
Snail frowned and leaned forward. ‘Did you speak?’ she asked.
Simert’s Blessing, she’d heard him! He whisked round the couch and hovered close to her face. ‘Can you really hear me?’ he yelled.
Snail smiled, a little nervously. ‘Could you speak up a bit, you don’t need to whisper. There’s no one else in the house.’
The ghost regarded her. This might take a while.
In fact, it was close to dawn by the time Snail had grasped all that the ghost had to relate. They had argued because the ghost had been urgently adamant that she pack a bag and go to stay at Gossamer’s house. He could give no good reason for this demand but finally Snail was persuaded by his desperation. He’d argued that her establishment was closed for business anyway, and for a reason he could not articulate, he felt she’d be safer further from the Citadel.
Snail let herself out of her house and hurried through alleys and even narrower passages, avoiding the still empty streets. The ghost floated ahead of her, a pearly outline in the crepuscular light. Snail had never been to the house before and was thankful for the ghost’s guidance. Although she’d been dubious about leaving her own home, she couldn’t deny a strong sense of relief when she reached the open back door of Gossamer’s house. Drengle List was seated at the kitchen table. He leaped to his feet in astonishment and then beamed at her.
Snail immediately noted the purple and yellow smears over Drengle’s face and body, and thought the colours were very familiar.
‘Snail! Snail! How nice of you to visit!’ Drengle observed Snail’s narrowing eyes and spread his hand inadequately over his chest. ‘I’ll put the k
ettle on.’ He waved at one of the cupboards. ‘There’s lots of different teas to choose from. Excuse me a moment, won’t you.’
He stumped hurriedly away, Snail guessed to remove the evidence of his theft of her cosmetics. She looked around the kitchen, her lips pursing in disapproval. The place was filthy. She looked out of the door and saw many ghostly shapes clustered in an ancient overgrown orchard. First things first. She put her bag on the table and rolled up her sleeves.
Despite his grumbles, Drengle quite enjoyed scrubbing the floor. He liked being told to do straightforward things. Difficult things upset him. By midday the kitchen was up to Snail’s standards of cleanliness. She hadn’t yet dared to look elsewhere in the house. She sat on the broad step outside the back door, enjoying a bowl of tea Drengle had made her. A breeze riffled the air behind them and Drengle was on his feet at once.
Snail looked back into the kitchen to see an amazingly beautiful woman standing beside the table. The woman stroked a hand over the wooden surface, then inspected her palm.
‘Astonishing.’ She beamed at Snail. ‘I didn’t think cleaning was actually done here.’
Snail got to her feet. She stared at the woman hard.
‘You aren’t dead,’ she said. ‘But there is something wrong with you.’
Dark red hair began to curl and writhe about the woman’s shoulders and the skirts of her fine black dress lifted and fluttered like lacy cobwebs.
‘There is absolutely nothing wrong with me woman,’ she said haughtily. ‘Do you not know who I am?’
Snail shook her head. ‘Sorry dear. I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you a friend of Gossamer’s then?’
Drengle made a strangled sound and barged past them into the hall. The woman raised delicately feathered brows.
‘I am Ferag. Mistress of Death.’
Snail placed her tea bowl very carefully on the counter beneath the cupboards.
Dark Realm: Book 5 Circles of Light series Page 33
