That truth, however, may not be what Barrion desired. The fool had confirmed that Kai had been absent for some days around the time Ellega had died. Barrion swallowed, hearing again Kai’s calm recollection that his God Kraal had tricked Ellega into joining with him, thereafter to change back into his fearsome form even while he lay upon her.
Sickness rose in Barrion’s throat then and the more strident jangling from the floor of the hall before him crowded his mind.
‘Put the child there.’ Kai’s voice rang out clear and commanding.
‘Noooooooo,’ a voice wailed from across the vast chamber and Barrion could only guess it was the mother, soon to lose her child. The torment in her cry echoed Barrion’s loss so closely that he felt unbidden tears damp his eyes, loosening his crusted lashes. He swallowed again, and sought strength from inside himself. Strength to go on. To live and return to his people. To avenge Ellega’s death.
‘Begin,’ Kai said, and a moment later Barrion felt his head dragged up by the hair and the back of it smashed against the stone pillar to which he was tied. ‘Watch,’ Kai commanded.
Barrion opened his eyes. The Maelstrom danced around the pit, his deadly costume whirling around him as he came near to the small boy who stood still, his hands still down at his sides, his wide eyes locked onto the fire. Barrion held his breath as the whirling shards of metal came close to the child’s back then continued on, a moment later whirling by a babe lying nearer to the pit.
A howl rose from the corner of the room. ‘Not my child! Not my daughter!’ the mother wailed. Barrion would not look in her direction, but kept his attention on the dancing Northman whose costume sent flickers of light dancing around the hall like sparks issuing from a fire. Again he circled on the boy, and when a shard of metal struck him he cried out and jumped forward, closer to the edge of the fiery pit. Blood ran from the deep wound, down his legs and onto the floor at his feet, yet he made no move to escape. Barrion couldn’t imagine what he had been told to keep him there under such fearful duress.
The Maelstrom danced closer to the newborn, tilting on one side so the shards sliced the flesh of an arm before continuing on. Any sound that came from the babe was drowned out by the raucous whirling of the shards striking the floor.
The wailing from the corner had ended and Barrion imagined that she would be sobbing now. Resigned sobs. Sobs he had heard many times since his incarceration. Though Barrion was sickened to the pit of his stomach for the two children who would die, he turned away from them to look at Kai who still held his hair. The Northman chief was watching Barrion.
‘Do you not care to see your daughter die?’ Barrion asked, softly enough for only Kai to hear.
‘Do you not care to live?’ Kai replied, but the strain in his voice was unmistakable. ‘Watch them die.’
Barrion looked back to the children as the twirling Maelstrom approached the young boy again. He must watch if he would live, but he could close his mind to their fate and deliberately unfocus his eyes, which he did. Familiar sounds came and went: clattering on the tiles, softer sounds of impact and then a squeal and the horrible hissing of the fire and stench of burned flesh.
Finally the clattering slowed and Barrion knew the ceremony had ended. The Maelstrom snatched up his cords in two huge handfuls and held them away from his body as he stilled. Into the sudden silence came the sound of Kai’s wife crying, loud heart-wrenching sobs.
The Northman leader released Barrion’s hair and stepped forward. ‘The Maelstrom will come,’ he shouted, without a tremor of emotion in his voice. ‘We will die and be again with our God on his homeworld of Haddash. These two who have gone before us will be waiting.’
The sobs from the corner hiccupped into silence so profound that it spread across the great hall as every Northman there, man, woman and child, stared at Kai expectantly.
‘Our God will be faithful to us,’ he shouted, ‘if we remain faithful to him.’
Behind and beside Barrion, one of Kai’s guard muttered softly, ‘Kraal ate our clansmen on Ennae. Why should he behave differently on Haddash?’
Barrion had heard the stories of how the Fire God had eaten his wounded worshipers when he could have taken the bodies of their enemies, and knew that Kai did not believe his prophecies of a loving reunion with Kraal. Yet he hadn’t realised that some of Kai’s clansmen were equally sceptical.
‘We of the north will be his favoured few,’ Kai continued. ‘Those of the south will suffer his wrath.’
Barrion looked around the hall and found several faces that were not smiling in rapture with the rest. He tried to remember details of their features to lock them into his mind, one with a missing earlobe, another too far away for detail but with hair extraordinarily long for a Northman, below the shoulders. Twelve in all, out of a room with several hundred, but nearly all men and some bearing spears which would indicate that they were active guards. Men who may be talked into allowing him to leave when the time was ripe.
Assuming an opportunity ever arose.
That thought brought Barrion’s gaze across to the fool who sat a few paces beyond Kai, watching with disinterest as his new master preached the prophecy of the end-times and their rapturous reunion with Kraal. After a time the fool must have sensed the attention and his mischievous gaze slid to Barrion and held there.
It was a ruse — the twinkle in his eye and the ready jest on his tongue. The fool was terrified of what Kai may do to him if he failed to amuse. He had watched them strip the skin from Barrion’s belly, his own eyes watering, yet when Kai had asked for a ditty to celebrate the torture, the fool had offered a verse that dripped wit and sarcasm. Barrion’s raw flesh had been compared to the rotting body of a dead maid the fool claimed to have mounted, and with self-deprecating wit the fool soon had the attending guards laughing as he described his gagging and contortions with various limbs falling from his hapless paramour’s body as he traversed secret corridors of the fortress looking for privacy.
Pain had blinded Barrion to everything but the imperative to keep his screams silent, but later he had remembered snippets of the fool’s rhyme and realised the japing dolt had been passing vital escape information to his countryman. Barrion had managed to suppress his pain on subsequent occasions by focusing on the fool’s words, even forcing a grimaced smile when the wit was particularly good, showing his captors that they had not broken his spirit.
Now the fool was smirking at Barrion and holding his hands apart as though to taunt him with the freedom he could not have. Barrion glared back, then transferred his gaze to Kai as the Northman leader finished his speech, for all the world as though he could not bear to look upon the fool a moment longer.
Kai cuffed the fool aside as he approached Barrion. ‘Did you see those children die?’ he asked, his chest puffed proudly beneath his jewel mesh cloak.
‘I was watching you,’ Barrion replied, keeping his attention on Kai even as the fool came to stand beside him.
‘They did not suffer,’ Kai continued. ‘But your sister suffered.’
Barrion simply looked at him, blanking emotion from his face.
‘Make him suffer,’ the fool demanded petulantly. ‘Tear the skin from his legs. I would sing for delight while, for mercy, he begs.’
Kai kept his gaze on Barrion. ‘Be silent if you would live, fool,’ he warned, then nodded at Barrion. ‘You know she died in pain. You know I tell the truth. I will not kill you yet while I can see that pain in your eyes. A knife only stings and the wounds heal too fast. I would rather the scald of guilt burn your soul’
‘As it burns yours.’
‘I sent my child willingly to my God,’ Kai said, and Barrion knew he was lying. ‘For there she will have a better life. But you sent your sister into torment and pain. There can be no escaping the guilt of your actions.’
‘Then I am guilty,’ Barrion said quietly, knowing he must not give Kai an excuse to kill him. He must not die until he had the truth of who was responsible for the child she
had borne, and though that might be a God, Barrion was determined that the villain would die.
CHAPTER FORTY
Hush hung back in the secret tunnel while Mooraz stood five paces away on the Plains. His hair was at shoulder length now and long enough to whip into his eyes as a fierce wind thinned the Plain’s mist to threads. There appeared to be no danger in the near area.
A new day had recently broken and they must make good use of it, covering a good distance before nightfall forced them to stop. He had heard rumours that Plainsmen still lived despite The Dark’s pogrom, and he would not be caught by them before he had even discovered whether Lae was alive.
‘You have made me wait all this time before you would lead me here,’ he called softly. ‘Your people are gone,’ Mooraz knew not where, only that he had woken this morning to find the thousands of ordinary Cliffdwellers he had lived with in the tunnels under Castle Be’uccdha gone. Had they sensed some impending disaster? Hush — the only communicative Cliff-dweller he had met — would not be drawn on the subject. ‘Do you wish to return to your empty caves? Come with me and find Lae.’
Hush poked her head past the thickly woven barrier to the tunnel and shook her head violently, the bushy hair banging her cheeks even as she squinted against the unexpected dust storm.
‘Come with me to the Volcastle.’ He put his sword back in its sheath and held out his hand, determined not to leave her behind. ‘We will find your friend. Don’t you care to help her?’
Hush narrowed her eyes further. It was an obvious ploy but Mooraz hoped it would work.
‘She would come to save you,’ he said, ‘if she knew you were in danger.’ Actually, he wasn’t absolutely sure that this was true. However, Hush appeared to think nothing ill of her friend so he was probably on safe ground. ‘Why, even now she may be in pain, calling for us. Calling for you.’
Hush looked at him a moment longer then made a flickering movement of fingers down from her mouth. Vomit. He was making her sick. Mooraz had to smile.
‘Come.’ He held out his hand again. ‘Please.’ Lae was currently being held at the Volcastle, he knew that from Hush’s dreams, but what if she was moved? Without Hush’s visions he would have no way of finding her.
Hush frowned, then looked first right then left before pushing back the woven barrier and stepping out onto the Plain, a hand thrown up over her eyes. Her hard nub feet made no sound on the thick dust that swirled below them.
‘We head north-east,’ Mooraz told her and pointed, then set off himself, hoping she would follow his example.
‘She will be pleased to see us,’ he said when Hush came alongside him, her hands both shielding her large golden eyes.
She favoured him with a measuring glance, lingering pointedly on the stub where his arm should be.
Hush was seldom impolite so Mooraz found this blatant reminder of his inadequacy sharply painful. He frowned and looked away, not wanting to confront his own thoughts. Imaginings had come to him in quiet moments of how his reunion with Lae would be enacted. He had pictured her throwing herself onto his chest, even kissing him in gratitude for coming to rescue her, for continuing to Champion her despite his injury.
Yet in reality Mooraz had never known gratitude from Lae. When she had helped The Light to escape from her father’s Hightower, Mooraz had snuck her back in and covered her involvement at great risk to himself. For his trouble, Lae had thanked him with insults. It was true, she may have matured. Indeed, she may even kiss his cheek in thanks. But Mooraz wanted more than the gratitude of his lady. He wanted the return of his love. And what woman would love a man with one arm?
Hush appeared to note his disquiet and stepped in front of him, began walking backwards, keeping pace with his advance. Her hand gestures were quick and her frown intent.
You. Hurt. Save. Her.
‘I did not save her,’ Mooraz corrected, looking away from Hush, unable to still the memory of Lae’s horrified eyes as Sh’hale had struck off his arm.
Hush waved in front of his eyes and when she had his attention again she wound her hands together and pulled on her fingers.
Try.
Mooraz shook his head. ‘She was captured by Sh’hale. She will not thank me for that.’
Hush slapped her hands together in front of his face and the sound of it startled Mooraz. He halted in his tracks and stared at her, too shocked to be affronted. She had never done that before and appeared not to be angry now, simply watching him curiously to gauge his reaction. Wind swirled around them as they stared at each other, then Hush’s hands moved. She pointed to her heart and then clasped her hands together, pulling the fingers.
‘Try to love?’ Mooraz did not understand.
Hush shook her head. She pointed at Mooraz, at his heart, and then in the direction they were headed.
You. Love. Lae.
How had she known? By the tone of his voice when he spoke of his young lady? There was no point hiding it. Hush would see it on his face the moment he laid eyes on Lae. ‘I do not need to try,’ he admitted.
Hush nodded and smiled. You. Want. Love.
Mooraz thought about that. Once it had been enough merely to protect Lae and stand in her presence, but he was no longer the servant of her House. He was a man who wanted the love of a woman. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I want to share love.’ Adoration was no longer enough.
Hush smiled a secretive smile. She nodded as though she had a plan and Mooraz wondered if she would ‘speak’ to Lae on his behalf.
Embarrassment and excited anticipation came and were quickly stifled by his warrior reasoning. Lae had to be rescued from Sh’hale first. If he was successful, he would think of his heart, not before.
We. Go. Love. Hush pointed in the wrong direction.
Mooraz frowned. He was unused to his heart being laid bare. ‘No. This way.’ He set off again and Hush fell into step beside him. They walked for many hours, going deeper into Plainsman territory, and all the while the strength of the wind intensified. Mooraz wound a cloth around his head, leaving only his eyes exposed, and showed Hush how to do likewise. But the fine Plains dust filled his nose and mouth and clogged his breathing. He began to cough and couldn’t stop. Despite the howl of the swirling winds he feared Plainsmen would hear him so he struggled to keep moving.
Hush, who showed no such discomfort, took the satchel from his chest and handed him a flask. He drank deeply and yet coughed more before he could still the spasm. She recapped the flask and returned it to the satchel, then grabbed his arm and tugged forwards, urging him on. Mooraz staggered after her, barely noting their direction or the height of the sun which could scarcely be discerned, so thick was the pall of dust around them.
Hours passed and despite numerous stops to drink, Mooraz could not still the coughing spasms that racked him. At last, when he thought he would choke, Hush led him into a cave, past the swirling dust of the entrance into the furthest regions where the cool air soothed his throat and his streaming eyes began to clear.
Beside him, Hush’s hooves clattered on the stone floor and then were still. A second later Mooraz felt the edge of a blade against his throat.
‘Be still, Be’uccdha,’ said a crone who materialised out of the darkness before him. ‘Our leader has your life beneath her blade, and not only will your own throat be slit, your companion will die also if you do not obey.’ Stillness settled over Mooraz. Hush had rescued him from the dungeons, he would not cause her death. ‘And trust me,’ the wispy-haired head loomed in close, ‘if we were not desperate for breeding males, your blood would already be shed.’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
‘What are you going to do about Philippe?’ Sarah asked, her attention on the blonding cream she was mixing.
‘I will refuse his invitation as I have done in the past,’ Glimmer replied from the bathroom door.
‘But you’re sixteen. You should go out and have fun.’ Sarah looked up and smiled encouragingly.
Glimmer merely gazed back, not needi
ng to read her Magorian mother’s thoughts to know she was trying to socialise her, to engage her in Magorian mating rituals. ‘Could we speak of this later?’ she asked. It was nearly time. The closer Glimmer came to the slip the more crucial each second became.
‘Sure. You have fun making the bonfire.’ Sarah went back to her concoction. ‘Just don’t let Vandal near it with matches. You know what a pest he can be.’
Glimmer turned away. Pest was an inaccurate description. Vandal was actively malicious, but selectively so.
‘You have fun …’
She heard the mocking voice to her side as she stepped into the kitchen. She kept walking.
‘How come you get to make the bonfire?’ Vandal followed her out onto the verandah.
‘I am unlikely to burn the surrounding lands,’ she replied.
‘Prissy, stuck-up bitch,’ Vandal spat, loping down the stairs behind her. ‘That was an accident last time, and you know it.’
Glimmer stopped and turned at the bottom.
Vandal almost ran into her. He backed off a pace and eyed her warily. ‘Touch me and you’ll get it,’ he warned, although Glimmer had never struck him in her life.
‘Your jealousy will no longer be valid,’ she said.
He frowned at her and backed off another pace. ‘Jealous of you? What crap is that? You’re not even part of our family,’ he said. A familiar taunt.
Yet Vandal had been told that she was his half-sister. Pagan’s daughter.
‘Why don’t you burn yourself at the stake like the witch that you are,’ he said. ‘Weirdo witch,’ repeating the insult Glimmer had heard often in the schoolyard.
‘Farewell, brother,’ she said and walked away across the vibrant Magorian grass, the argument already disappearing into her past as she moved towards the future, towards the time of the slip.
*
Talis and Khatrene gazed around themselves in shock. A blinding white light had come and gone and now around them lay hundreds, perhaps thousands of Cliffdwellers, their eyes closed, bodies still as though in slumber or death. Even as Talis watched, the bodies melted into the misty surface of Atheyre and disappeared.
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