Daughter of the Dark: Shadow Through Time 2

by Louise Cusack

  They gazed into the still, dark water while around the edges of the loch stood the men of the Verdan Guard, the gold trim on their dress uniforms sparkling like the sun in Ellega’s eyes. Barrion could not even cry. All his emotion had been wrung from him and now there was only cold deliberation.

  ‘Would My Lord journey to the Volcastle?’ his Guard Captain asked.

  ‘I will eat the Volcastle one stone at a time if that’s what it takes to get to Sh’hale,’ Barrion vowed quietly. ‘I will not rest until he is dead.’

  ‘But The Dark’s instructions … My Lord, we must not attack another great House while the Northmen occupy our lands. If we divide they will conquer us easily.’

  Barrion turned on his Guard Captain. ‘The Balance be damned,’ he said. ‘Should I bring the Maelstrom itself down on my head, I care not. I will have my revenge and none will stand in my way.’

  ‘I stand at your side, My Lord,’ the Guard Captain said quietly.

  Yet rather than apologise for his harsh words, Barrion said, ‘Good. For all who do not stand with me are against me, and I will kill anyone who obstructs my vengeance: Northerner, Be’uccdha guardsman, Volcastle sentry. All will die if they dare slow my path to Sh’hale.’

  ‘I will rally the men, My Lord,’ the Guard Captain said, looking about at his guard ranged around the loch in their funereal finery. ‘We will be ready in an hour.’

  ‘I go now.’ Barrion stepped across the platform and onto solid ground. ‘Catch me up.’

  ‘There are Northmen about —’ the Guard Captain began, then was silenced by a glare from his lord. ‘I will send your private guard behind you, My Lord. The rest will follow after’ Barrion turned away and started into the forest, his usual vertigo at being outdoors banished by the same anger that had driven grief from his heart. No soft feeling lived within him anywhere, and he knew he would dash a child against rocks if it stood between himself and Sh’hale. The madness of his anger was so ripe it was like a fruit ready to explode and splatter any in its circle.

  ‘He killed her as surely as though he’d driven a knife into her chest,’ Barrion spat to the forest as he strode through it imagining the rape Ellega had suffered at the hands of Sh’hale. ‘First our king and now …’

  Yet though his fury was for Sh’hale alone, Barrion could not escape some measure of guilt in his heart. He should have accompanied Ellega to the Volcastle for her wedding to Mihale, and waited with her there instead of staying at Verdan to oversee the preparations of dowry and finery. Had he taken this course he would have been on hand to comfort her when news arrived of the king’s death. He would also have been able to protect her from Sh’hale’s violence.

  For that attack alone Barrion would have killed Sh’hale, only that The Dark had forbidden it while the Northmen occupied their lands. Lae’s death was certainly the greater evil and Barrion had felt that if The Dark could hold off vengeance until the Northmen were exiled, then he could surely wait to seek retribution for Ellega’s violent defilement.

  But now that Sh’hale’s unwanted child had taken his sweet sister’s life, Barrion’s anger knew no bounds.

  ‘I am the rock that falls from the sky to crush your head, Sh’hale,’ he shouted, his vision now blurred by tears of grief. ‘I am … the cold wind that would steal your breath,’ he choked, staggering to a stop beside the trunk of a tree which he leant on heavily as his hands covered his face. ‘I am a man alone.’

  Barrion of Verdan said no more then for his throat was convulsed with the grief he could no longer hold back. Tears ran freely from his eyes while within his mind he saw Ellega dancing for joy at the news of her betrothal to Mihale, skipping gaily around their reception room, teasing her brother with her new status. Barrion wept anew to remember her thus, laughing with excitement, her eyes sparkling.

  It was the last time Barrion had seen her animated. At Be’uccdha she had been a shell of a woman, her eyes dull and empty, no words falling from her pale lips. Sh’hale’s violence had robbed her of her mind, and his child had robbed her of her life. Robbed Barrion of the one person he loved.

  No punishment could adequately express his loss, but he would try to do justice to Ellega’s memory. Kert Sh’hale’s death would not be quick, and neither would it be painless. Ellega had suffered nine months of torment, although thanks to The Dark’s medicinals she had at least found a painless end. Though it might cost him his own life, Barrion was determined to see that Sh’hale suffered as no man had suffered before.

  Thus with his resolve renewed he raised his head and dashed the tears from his cheeks with an impatient hand. Behind him he saw the five warriors of his personal guard waiting a distance-away, still in their funereal finery, as was Barrion.

  Sound leadership would have seen him take time to prepare for the journey but the savage nature of his emotions would not be tempered by reason. His Guard Captain had the cooler head. He would take precautions and see that the men were outfitted and equipped at the hold before they set out. Barrion needed no food or shelter for himself. His raging heart would keep him pounding towards Sh’hale’s door no matter the weather or foes they encountered, and though they had seen no Northmen in their forests, the weather of late had been fearsome indeed.

  One morning they had woken to a cold Barrion had never experienced before in his hold, where even the air they drew from above hurt their throats. In fear for the Spirit of the Loch he had risen quickly in the creaking elevator and, once on the platform above, had been horrified to find portions of ice floating on the Loch surface. Burning coals in metal braziers had been hurriedly brought aloft and set adrift to thaw the ice, but Barrion had not been content until the Loch temperate had been raised to its tepid norm.

  This had been done in respect for the wisdom the Spirit of the Loch possessed, and in gratitude for its aid in defeating the Northmen. However, when Barrion had submerged his hand to commune with the spirit, to ensure it had not been damaged, he had been surprised to feel its voice inside his mind say, I will repay this restoration. The day will come.

  That should have been a gratifying memory, but when Barrion thought of the Loch now, he would always see his sister sinking into its depths.

  A thin innocuous fog slid through the trees and another unseasonable chill stung his damp cheeks. Barrion hugged his thick honour cloak more tightly around himself as he set off again, due east. Behind himself he heard the men of his guard following, the dull clank of their sword sheaths striking high dress boots.

  Barrion tried to concentrate on the sound, to block out the vision of his sister sliding into the warm welcoming waters of the Verdan Loch, her eyes closed as though in sleep, her cheeks painfully thin. But he could think of nothing else and soon the repetition of the clanking sound became an irritant to his ears, inflaming his mind when he sought only the respectful silence that Ellega’s death demanded.

  ‘Leave me to walk alone,’ he commanded, turning his anger on his men. ‘Wait apace and follow. I will call if you are needed closer.’ And with that he swung back to the trail and continued, uncaring for their worried glances. His Guard Captain may well censure them when he caught up, but they knew better than to disobey their lord, especially in his current mood.

  The mist grew quickly thicker though it was nearer noon than night, still Barrion had no thought for his own safety or his stomach. Ripe spicefruit hung from the trees around but they offered no temptation and he scarcely noted them until his boot landed in a mass of pulp and slid. Barrion threw out his arms to balance himself but he went down, his massive bulk seeing him land heavily on his back, winding himself. His startled gaze caught the treetops above and he noted then that the fruit from these trees was missing. Every single piece of fruit. His hands, spread at his sides, were sticky with pulp and Barrion knew then that he had fallen into a trap.

  ‘Guard!’ he tried to bellow, but his chest would not expand to release the word with any force, and while he was still gasping for breath figures ran in from the side.


  Northmen.

  ‘A nobleman,’ one said, and. ‘Hurry, his men follow.’

  Barrion waved his sticky hands but they were quickly immobilised as his cloak was swaddled around him. He struggled hard to escape but was thwarted by a blow to the head.

  His gasping breaths were stilled, and as awareness slid from his mind it was replaced by endless, echoing silence.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ‘Tell me more of this concept. Friendship.’

  Breehan swallowed back fear and struggled to hold his train of thought as the Fire God’s underlings scuttled around him. They would not harm him while their master was present, particularly in his serpent form, but Kraal might disappear at any moment if he was not kept amused. Most of the small sticky-fingered wretches would nibble on clothing or pinch skin, but a spindle-limbed rock-chewer lurked nearby, and Breehan knew from experience that such a one would not be satisfied with merely chewing his buttons. He had awoken one night to find one sitting on his chest, the strange hot incense breath on his face, and the mouth with its wide flat teeth about to close over his nose.

  That had been many months ago, and he had tried to keep away from them since, sleeping in the blanket box at the end of his bed rather than on the luxurious, quilt-covered mattress. It was uncomfortable but safe.

  ‘Friendship,’ he said, when Kraal looked at him pointedly. ‘This binds two people together when there is no kinship or mate-bonding between them.’

  ‘And is typified by what manner of behaviour?’ Kraal yawned, raising a huge clawed hand to cover his serpent mouth. For some reason he had chosen this form for his evening audience and Breehan wasn’t sure if it was to terrify him or to illustrate the differences between them, differences which made his explanation all the more difficult.

  ‘Friends do things together,’ Breehan said, then realised even before Kraal glanced at him that this explanation wasn’t detailed enough. ‘They may have interests in common. Storytelling,’ he said, reminded of his hours spent in conversation with Hanjeel. ‘Or battle tactics.’

  ‘They discuss these interests together, obviously,’ Kraal said, ‘but is there any physical interaction. Paint a picture for me,’ he demanded.

  Always the specifics. Kraal seemed unable to grasp theories and was impatient with talk of religion or destiny. Only the physical mattered. ‘Very well then,’ Breehan replied, touching the memory stone at his throat in reassurance. While it remained on him, the Fire God could not harm him, and though his creatures seemed readily able to torment him, they could not touch it to take it from him either. ‘Let us imagine that you and I are friends.’ This was an unlikely opening, but one that Breehan knew would catch Kraal’s interest.

  ‘Go on.’ A clawed arm shot out and plucked the rock-chewer out of the seething mass of hairy bodies that surrounded the dais where he and Breehan stood. The spindle limbs waved and a squeal of fear erupted from it before it was popped past a row of razor-sharp teeth and the massive jaws closed on it, silencing the sound.

  Kraal knew that Breehan feared the rock-chewers. Was this a sign of approval for their topic?

  ‘There would be warm feelings between us,’ Breehan explained. ‘I would not care to see you hungry or saddened, and you would feel protective of me also.’

  ‘Interesting.’ Kraal lowered his head to rest it on his arms and immediately Breehan sat. The Fire God did not like others to stand above him. Sticky fingers immediately poked and prodded his back where Kraal could not see, but Breehan tried to ignore them.

  ‘We would speak each day, as we do now,’ Breehan went on, ‘and over time the fondness would grow.’

  ‘And do friends give each other gifts?’ Kraal asked. ‘Like the luxurious chambers you inhabit within my palace.’

  Breehan’s hand rose instinctively to clutch the memory stone, but he diverted it to tuck hair behind his ear. ‘No,’ he said calmly ‘The exchange of gifts is a mating ritual.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Kraal leant his head forward and Breehan only just managed to stop himself flinching as the Fire God exhaled the hot breath of creation around him. The poking from behind abruptly stopped and Breehan’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Why do you not complain about my underlings? I know they vex you.’ Kraal appeared to be genuinely interested but Breehan chose his words carefully all the same.

  ‘It would be ungracious of me as a guest to complain, when, as you have so rightly pointed out, I live in luxury.’

  ‘You sleep in a box,’ Kraal replied and Breehan wondered how long his host had known that. Since it first began, months ago? ‘You will be my guest for many years’ Kraal said as he often had, yet each time the words were spoken Breehan felt a pang of loss that had not diminished with time. ‘You must tell me if you are … uncomfortable.’

  ‘I would like to sleep in privacy,’ Breehan admitted.

  ‘Than I shall ensure that my underlings are not permitted in your chambers. Do you require anything else to make your life here more pleasant?’

  Breehan became even more wary and quickly shook his head. Kraal had shown him every manner of grotesque entertainment Breehan had ever imagined, and many more besides. His Shadow Woman had attempted to make his life ‘more pleasant’ by impersonating first Noorinya and then Noola in his bed. He continued to refuse, and knew if he was to stay sane he must not succumb to Kraal’s enticing emotional tortures. ‘If I am to remain, Lord Kraal, I require only that I may be of service to you in repayment for your generosity. Returning Hanjeel to our tribe and destroying The Dark are not paltry gifts but treasures to our people for which I am eternally grateful.’

  Kraal smiled, the flesh rising over his long sharp teeth. ‘Eternity,’ he growled, ‘is a very long time.’ His gaze fell on the memory stone at Breehan’s throat, lingering there avariciously before again meeting Breehan’s eyes. ‘Do you think about the passage of time, Harbinger?’ he asked unexpectedly. ‘The many months of your incarceration here — do you wonder how much time has passed on Ennae?’

  Breehan stared at the Serpent God before him, stunned by the question. Khatrene had told him Magoria moved more quickly than Ennae. Yet it had never occurred to Breehan to wonder if Haddash did also.

  ‘I am wondering now,’ he said.

  Kraal’s smile returned. ‘How delicious’ he replied, then disappeared in a flare of light and smoke.

  Breehan turned away from the sulphur smell and rubbed at his eyes. The room was unchanged: large, hot, dimly lit by the dark phosphorescent walls, and echoingly empty. That was unusual. No underlings to trip him and fret at his clothes. Perhaps Kraal was giving him peace from the sniggering little creatures in all parts of his palace, not only his bedchamber.

  To test the theory, Breehan stepped down off the dais and strode quickly across the hot volcanic flagstones, his toughened soles barely registering the stinging heat. Outside the audience chamber and into the main corridor, Breehan followed his stomach to the dining room where he found the usual delicacies laid out on a long marble slab. He walked quickly to sit upon the table, ignoring the chairs. Plainsmen did not sit on chairs.

  No movement came from the shadows in the corners of the room or from beneath the dining table. A remarkable development indeed. Breehan did not think he had ever had a meal there without needing to remove a creature from his ankle, his elbow or his plate. Though Breehan did not actively detest the clinging creatures, his annoyance with their intrusive habits had been growing over time.

  So much time. Nearly a year according to the tally he kept in his head, the memory training he had undertaken as a storyteller serving him well. True, the time had passed quickly, with his evening routine of an audience with Kraal providing a focus for his day, a way to keep his mind sharp and his thoughts away from his people. But what of them? Had much more time passed for them than it had for him? Was his child with Noola growing fast, or were they exactly as he had left them, and his life was the one flitting fast like the flicking pages of a book?

  ‘She neve
r loved me,’ he said, consoling himself that it was only his heart that had been hurt by the separation and not his beloved’s. ‘She will be far happier with Hanjeel.’

  No muttering or sniggering followed these comments and Breehan felt a sudden and sharp loneliness. He had been infuriated by the plump, plucking creatures, but they had been company. Now he was alone.

  He picked up a piece of fruit and wondered if it came from the domes he had seen outside on the baking hot earth of this strange world where no vegetation grew. Everything inside Kraal’s huge palace could be the product of his breath of creation, yet Kraal had told him that he enjoyed provoking the Domedwellers, and he could well have stolen the fruit from them. In conversation, Kraal had led Breehan to assume that these Domedwellers were men like himself, yet with minds so blinded by their own rules that they could not admit the reality of what stood before them.

  The Fire God had played many pranks on them, some while Breehan watched: destroying one of their domes and making a huge boulder appear in its place, sending his flying minions to torment them. Yet according to Kraal the Domedwellers perceived all these visitations as clues to the cycle of their world. They plotted their timing and intensity, as though by doing so they could predict future events. Breehan had felt saddened for the sorry, misguided fools, until he had realised that what he saw outside the palace could also be a construct, designed solely to intimidate him.

  On Ennae, Kraal had assumed a fearsome shape to frighten his Northmen worshippers as much as his enemies, and this was the shape Breehan most often saw. Yet some days the Fire God would appear as a man, but with dark eyes that glowed like burning coals in a fire. On those days Breehan was particularly wary, fearing that Kraal intended to lull him into complacency and catch him off guard. His fingers would itch to cover the memory stone, hiding it from Kraal’s sight.

  He would speak of the Fire God’s child then, to distract him, and Kraal would want to hear again the way Breehan had felt when holding his dead child with Noorinya, and how he felt about leaving Noola before his next child had been born. In these conversations Kraal would act as though he was already a father, but Breehan wondered if he ever would be. Close to a year had passed since his arrival and still the child, which had been placed in the hot core of the Fireworld to ‘incubate’, had not emerged from its protective shielding, its ‘egg’, as Kraal called it. Yet the Fire God showed no concern.