by Ian Irvine
Now – horrible, horrible! – she opened a vein in Mama’s neck and filled the glove with dribbling blood, then tied a knot in the long wrist and thrust the glove down her front. Tali made out a crimson glow there, shining through the glove, but it went out. She checked on the man, who was at the other end of the stacks, slowly moving her way.
On the far wall of the cellar, the carved face of Lyf shifted. Yellow moved in its stone eyes and a foggy hand reached towards the woman, stretching and stretching as if to pluck out the glove. It was more magery, but whose?
There came a purple flash from behind a pile of barrels, a zzzt like a spell going off and the hand recoiled, then faded out. The woman froze, staring at the stone face, then laughed and picked up the gory tongs.
‘Oh!’ she whispered. ‘Oh, yes!’ and licked them clean.
Tali saw her muddy eyes roll up until the whites were showing through the holes in the mask. Tali wanted to punch her nose flat. After checking that the man wasn’t looking, the woman filled a square, green-metal tin with Mama’s blood, twisted on a brass cap and licked her bony fingers.
Tali’s eyes burnt and her nose was running. She wiped it on the back of her hand, fighting the urge to scream. If she made a sound, the man would cut her open like Mama. But she was much more scared of the evil woman with the crab-leg fingers and those awful eyes. She pressed a finger to the slave mark on her left shoulder, for luck. Touching it always made her feel better.
The man was tall, with a round, jiggling belly like a pudding basin. He was outside her hiding place now and she caught a glimpse of the gleaming knife blade, as long as her arm. Tali recoiled and felt a shocking pain as a nail in one of the crates pierced her hip to the bone. Tears stung her eyes yet she dared not move. If she made a sound he would stab that knife right through her.
The man was panting and the spirits on his breath made her head spin. His hand shook as he raised the lantern, then lowered it. Silence fell, apart from a sickening drip-drip from the black bench.
After Papa’s terrible death, Mama had taught Tali how to hide. ‘A slave must be invisible,’ she had said. ‘Never be noticed and you’ll be safe.’
No slave was ever safe, but Tali was the best of the slave kids at hiding. She traced the loops and whorls of her slave mark with a fingertip, trying to find comfort there, but nothing could comfort her now. Mama couldn’t be dead. It wasn’t possible, yet she was gone.
He waited, as if he knew she was there. What if he pulled the crates away? She had to do something. She felt among the broken wood on the floor for the sharpest length, a piece as long as her forearm. If he came at her, she would shove it into his fat belly and run.
Her arm was trembling so much she could hardly hold the weapon. Then, to her shame, Tali realised that wee was running down her legs. She clamped her thighs together and, to distract herself, began to count her heartbeats, which were so loud that surely he could hear them. After another twenty beats, the man grunted and moved on. She kept still.
He sprang back, hacking at the crates with his knife and roaring, ‘Haaaaaa! Got you.’
Tali’s heart leapt up her throat and the nail ground into her hipbone. She was almost screaming from the pain but she did not move. She was going to win this contest, for Mama.
With savage hacks of the knife, the man began to tear down the crates to her left, smash, crash. He was going to find her. How could she stop him? She eased off the nail, took hold of the lowest crate and heaved. It did not budge; the weight of all the crates above it was too great.
More crates crashed down. It would not be long now. She could not go further backwards; the gap was too narrow. And she dared not wait. Once he saw her, he would jam the knife through her guts.
Tali crouched, took hold of the lowest crate and heaved, using her legs this time. Even little girl slaves were strong, and she forced upwards, slowly straightening her legs, until her back ached and her knees trembled. But she wasn’t going to give in, ever.
The moving crates scraped and squealed. He swung around, trying to work out where the sound had come from. She gave an almighty heave, the ten-high stack swayed, then with a roar the lot fell down on him.
Tali scurried sideways into a new gap and hid in the darkness. The man groaned. The woman appeared, taking her time, and heaved the crates aside. The man’s face was covered in blood. Ha! thought Tali. Take that! But it could never make up for what they had done to Mama.
‘What happened?’ he moaned.
‘Stop whining,’ said the woman disgustedly. ‘You pulled them down on yourself. Did you find anything?’
Fifty heartbeats passed, then the man lurched away. ‘Must have been rats. Come on. I need another drink.’
‘I’ll pour it down your throat until you choke.’
Tali pressed a fingertip against the nail wound, trying to heal it the way Nurse Bet had taught her, but the hole went too deep. The beads of blood on her fingers were as bright as jewels, as bright as Mama’s blood. Mama! Her eyes flooded.
The woman pulled on a dangling rope and, with a screech, an iron staircase corkscrewed down. Tali felt sure the point at the bottom was going to twist right through Mama, but it brushed by her tiny waist before grounding on the black bench. The man shot up the steps, a rat running away from a ferret. The staircase was a coiled spring quivering under his weight.
But then –then the woman picked up the tin of blood, climbed onto the bench and stepped onto Mama’s chest as though she was rubbish. One of Mama’s ribs snapped like the wishbone of a poulter and a scorching fury surged through Tali, an urge to smash the woman down. She fought it; Mama had told her to not make a sound.
The woman rocked back and forth as she scanned the cellar, crack-crack, standing on Tali’s beautiful mama as if she were a piece of firewood, then followed the man.
Once they were gone, Tali darted across and touched the crimson beads on her fingers to her mama’s head, as if her own blood could heal her. There was blood everywhere, but none left in Mama. Taking hold of her hand, Tali squeezed it tightly, trying to will Mama back to life, but the spirit had left her forever.
She had taught Tali not to fight back, to always bow her head and say, ‘Yes, Master,’ and it had killed her. Tali wasn’t going to make that mistake. Mama said it was wrong to hate people, but Tali’s rage had red-hot teeth and talons as sharp as spikes. How dare they treat her beautiful mama that way?
‘When I’m grown up I’ll find them out,’ she whispered, hand upon her mother’s heart. ‘Once I get my gift I’ll hunt them down and make them pay.’
Someone took a heavy breath, close by. The murderers! Coming back to kill her! Tali scuttled into the shadows between two of the stone bins, grabbed a grey stick protruding from its broken top and prepared to defend herself.
But it was a handsome, black-haired boy, a few years older than herself, who stumbled out from behind a heap of empty barrels. He wasn’t a slave, though, nor a tattooed Cythonian. He must have been rich, for he wore a plum-coloured velvet coat with gold buttons, an emerald kilt and shoes with shiny buckles. His face was white, his eyes a rich, purply brown, his yellow vest was covered in vomit and his teeth were chattering.
That wasn’t the only odd thing about him. The faintest misty aura, pale pink as the gills of a mushroom, clung to his head and hands. The aura of magery – though not his. Tali could tell that he had no more gift than a log.
The boy reached out towards Mama then drew back sharply, staring at his hands. Tali’s hair stood up. His hands were covered in blood, yet he hadn’t touched Mama.
He doubled over, sicked onto his shoes and let out the moan of an animal in pain. Tali must have made a sound for his head shot around and he stared at her, then bolted up the stairs, yanking on the rope as he went. The iron staircase howled as it rose with him out of sight.
Tali could hold back no longer. ‘I’m going to get you!’ she screeched, brandishing the stick. A trapdoor clanged shut and the greenish light began to fade.
What if Tinyhead was waiting outside? Tali shivered. What if he came after her? No, he had betrayed Mama and he had to pay. Rage swelled until her heart felt as if it was going to explode, then she pointed the stick at the stone door, willing Tinyhead’s head to burst like a melon. With a sudden gush, the pressure was gone and her rage as well.
She was holding the stick so tightly that her knuckles hurt, and for the first time Tali saw it clearly. It wasn’t a stick, it was a human thigh bone. There was nothing horrible about it, though. Oddly, it felt like a friend.
Tali put it back where she had found it. Now so exhausted that she could barely stand up, she stumbled to the door, trying not to think about the man with the knife or the woman and her golden tongs, trying to wipe out the memories forever. When she slipped into the painted tunnel that led back to Cython, there was no sign of Tinyhead.
Learn to lower your eyes and say, ‘Yes, Master’.
‘All right!’ Tali said savagely. ‘But once I come of age, once I find my gift, look out!’
How could she find her gift when she couldn’t trust anyone? How could she beat her enemy when no one knew who he was? Blinded by scalding tears, she crept home to Cython, and slavery.
At least she would be safe there.
GLOSSARY
Aachan: One of the Three Worlds, the original world of the Aachim and, after its conquest by The Hundred, the Charon. It was recently rendered uninhabitable by massive, and mysterious, volcanic eruptions, and some tens of thousands of Aachim fled to Santhenar through a portal, in a fleet of constructs.
Aachim: The human species native to Aachan, but now also numerous on Santhenar; they are a long-lived, clever people, great artisans and engineers, but melancholy and prone to both hubris and indecision. Many were brought as slaves to Santhenar in ancient times, but later the Aachim flourished until they were betrayed by Rulke in the Clysm, after which they withdrew from the world to their hidden mountain cities, principally Shazmak and Stassor. The Aachim who came from Aachan after the eruptions mainly dwell on the arid island of Faranda.
Aftersickness: Sickness that people suffer after using the Secret Art or a native gift or talent.
Antithesis: The one object (or power or force) that can break the power of the Profane Tears and bring down the God-Emperor.
Bladder-bat: A flesh-formed aerial attack beast. An internal bladder can be inflated with floater-gas, enabling it to lift heavy objects.
Blending: A child of the union between two of the four different human species –
Charon, Faellem, Aachim and old human. Blendings are rare, and often deranged, but can have remarkable talents.
Boobelar: Captain of the Rigore militia, a malicious, addled drunk and drug user.
Calendar: Santhenar’s year is roughly 395.7 days and contains twelve months, each of thirty-three days. Every tenth year is a Dearth Year, where the calendar is adjusted, the midsummer month that year having only thirty days.
Charon: One of the four human species, once the master people of the world of Aachan where, mysteriously, the Charon were practically sterile. Though they had enormously long lives, few children were born, until the race was almost extinct. At the end of the Time of the Mirror, the few survivors went back to the void, to go to their extinction with dignity. The greatest of the Charon were Rulke, Yalkara and Kandor, all of whom came to Santhenar at some stage.
Chissmoul: A thapter (flying construct) pilot during the lyrinx war, shy but known for her reckless verve. She is the long-time partner of Flangers and was held with him by the Numinator.
Chthonic Flame, Chthonic Fire, White Fire, White-ice-fire, Rancicolludire: An elemental force that can feed on ice, chthonic fire has the power of binding (it once bound the being Stilkeen’s physical and spirit aspects together), and unbinding, i.e., it is capable of opening dimensions that would normally be closed. It was stolen from Stilkeen by Yalkara in ancient times and used to find the Charon’s escape route from the void to Aachan.
Clanker: An armoured war cart which moved via pairs of mechanical legs and was powered by the field. All were rendered useless by the destruction of the nodes at the end of the war.
Clysm: A series of wars between the Charon and the Aachim beginning around 1500 years ago, resulting in the almost total devastation of Santhenar.
Colm: Once the heir to Gothryme, he lost both clan and heritage during the war and resented it deeply. He accompanied Maelys to Mistmurk Mountain and once nurtured an affection for her but later became estranged. Embittered by his sister’s death, and feeling betrayed by Flydd, he accepted Klarm’s amnesty and went over to the enemy.
Construct: A war machine at least partly powered by the Secret Art, invented by Rulke in the Nightland as the virtual construct, a kind of three-dimensional blueprint for the real one that he built on Santhenar after his escape. His construct was capable of creating portals, though the constructs later modelled on his by the Aachim, and brought to Santhenar through a portal thirteen years ago, were not. All were rendered useless by the destruction of the nodes at the end of the war.
Council of Santhenar: An alliance of powerful mancers. The Council helped to create the Nightland and cast Rulke into it, but was later overthrown by the Numinator.
Crandor: A wealthy, tropical land on the north-eastern side of Lauralin. Its capital is Roros.
Cryl-Nish Hlar: Generally known as Nish, he started out badly but grew to become one of the greatest heroes of the lyrinx war, though at the end of it he was cast into prison for rebelling against his father, Jal-Nish. He was freed by Maelys a few months ago and has been on the run ever since. At the end of the war Nish vowed to overthrow his father and relieve the suffering of the people of Santhenar, but has not been able to keep his promise, for he is stricken with self-doubt and afraid that he will take the same corrupt path as his father. He has always been tempted by power and what it can bring. And Nish never got over the death of his beloved Irisis, slain on his father’s orders; Jal-Nish lures him by offering to bring her back from the dead and, though Nish knows this is impossible, he is unbearably tempted.
Nish was twice held in thrall to Monkshart (Vivimord), who wanted to turn him into the Deliverer to overthrow Nish’s father, but escaped both times, latterly in the distant land of Gendrigore, and is now leading a small militia from that rain-drenched land to the Range of Ruin to defend the high pass of Blisterbone against his father’s mighty army.
Cursed Flame: A mysterious flame in the caverns below the Charon obelisk on Mistmurk Mountain. It has somewhat ambiguous healing properties.
Defiance, the: The Deliverer’s supporters and army, initially controlled by Monkshart, but now fallen apart after his and Nish’s disappearances.
Deliverer, the: The one person (or so the common folk believe) who can overthrow the God-Emperor, i.e. Nish.
Dry Sea: Formerly the Sea of Perion, it dried up in ancient times but began to flood at the end of the lyrinx war a decade ago and is now the Sea of Perion again.
Elludore: A large forested land, north and west of Thurkad on Meldorin Island. Flydd found the mimemule there, in a cave where it had been hidden as part of Karan’s reparation to Faelamor.
Emberr: The son of Yalkara and Rulke, born in the Nightland and therefore unable to leave it. He sensed Maelys on her first visit there and she became infatuated with him; on her second visit they made love but a trace of chthonic fire on her skin killed him.
Faelamor: Leader of the Faellem species who came to Santhenar soon after Rulke, to keep watch on the Charon and maintain the balance between the worlds. She was Maigraith’s liege and kept her in thrall for most of her life.
Faellem: The human species who once inhabited the world of Tallallame. They were a small, dour people, forbidden to use machines and magical devices (though they sometimes did), but were masters of disguise and illusion. Faelamor took most of her people back to their world, Tallallame, at the end of the Time of the Mirror, and there they self-immolated. A few remain
ed on Santhenar, living deep in the cold southern forests.
Flangers: A soldier and hero in the lyrinx wars, he is stricken by guilt for following orders and shooting down a Council thapter, and desperate to atone. Taken prisoner by the Numinator seven years ago, along with Yggur and Chissmoul, and held at the Tower of a Thousand Steps, he was recently released by Flydd.
Flappeter: A large flying creature flesh-formed by Jal-Nish, it has a pair of feather-rotors growing from the middle of its back. Flappeters are controlled by bonded riders, using enchanted amulets, and any harm to either flappeter or rider causes harm to the other.
Flesh-forming: A branch of the Secret Art invented by the lyrinx but now used by Jal-Nish to create creatures such as flappeters and bladder-bats.
Flydd, Xervish: See Xervish Flydd.
Forbidding, the: When Shuthdar’s golden flute was destroyed over three thousand years ago, the resultant cataclysm sealed Santhenar off from the other two worlds until the Way between the Worlds was opened at the end of the Time of the Mirror.
Garr, Garrflood: The largest and wildest river in Meldorin. It arises to the west of Shazmak, flows around the island on which Shazmak is built, and runs to the Sea of Thurkad east of Sith.
Gate: A structure powered by the Secret Art which permits people to move almost instantly from one place to another. Also called a portal.
