Hidden Sun

by Jaine Fenn

“No,” said Sorne. “We’re going to wait.”

  “For what?”

  “For the regatta procession to pass and the crowds to leave. Then we’ll be able to manoeuvre without attracting attention.”

  “Ah.” Looked at objectively – and she was regaining such abilities – this was the logical course of action.

  The music grew louder, and the watchers at the end of the channel began to wave. Many of them had green branches in their hands.

  A barge appeared, as big as a skykin wagon, its deck so high that she had no trouble seeing it above the crowd’s heads. A small group centred round an elderly man sat under a rich awning. The boat’s rails and the awning’s poles were adorned with flowers. Everyone on the barge wore pure white robes and gold-coloured headdresses of varying height and complexity. The man waved regally as he passed; those with him smiled.

  Although she doubted anyone could have seen them even had they looked their way, Rhia sat low in the boat until the barge passed. Sorne did not even turn in his seat; Lekem’s eyes were closed and his lips moved silently.

  After the first barge came more, another six in all, carrying courtiers, musicians and various dignitaries. Lekem kept up his prayers.

  At last, the final boat passed. As the cheers faded Sorne looked Rhia in the face. “Now we need to remember what we’re meant to be.”

  It took her a moment to register what he meant; reason might have returned but she was damnably tired.

  Movement began at the end of the waterway. Most people went forward, out into the larger channel, but one, then a second, punt headed back towards their boat.

  The first punt had a family in, the mother and three youngsters chattering excitedly. The father spared a brief, bemused glance for their punt as they passed, leaving a wash of white petals in the water.

  The second punt had two young couples in. The man facing their way called out as they approached, “Did you miss it?”

  Rhia held her breath.

  Sorne answered, “We saw a bit.”

  “Not from there you wouldn’t!”

  The punt came alongside and one of those in it, a young woman with flowers in her hair, saw Etyan lying in the bottom of their punt. Her eyes widened, and she turned to her companions.

  “We were late,” said Rhia with an explosion of pent-up breath. She pointed at the unmoving body in the bottom of their boat. “He got blind drunk.”

  The couples, who from the smell of spirits were not entirely sober themselves, laughed at this. Then the boy said, “Goes out drinking in his nightclothes, does he?”

  “You wouldn’t believe what he gets up to,” said Rhia, with feeling.

  The other punt carried on. From the glance its boatman gave them as he passed, he did not hold a high opinion of foreigners and their odd habits.

  Finally, the way ahead was clear. Lekem pushed off.

  Rhia’s head sank onto her chest.

  Chapter 40

  Rhia came to with a start as the boat bumped land. They were in thick reeds. She looked round. The islets of Mirror were behind them; just ahead, through the reeds, was the causeway that circled the lake. Lekem used his pole to probe the water, then lifted it free and laid it down in the bottom of the punt, on the side away from Etyan.

  Sorne raised himself into a crouch. He stepped over the side of the punt, setting it rocking. The lake water came to just above his knees. He addressed Lekem. “You get everything ashore while I fetch the cart.” He sounded relaxed, and his face had settled back into its usual impassive but not unfriendly expression. She was comfortable around him. Except, not long ago, he had put a dagger through the head of one of his own men. Breen, who she had almost–

  She bent over the side of the boat, gripped the wooden rail, and threw up. When she straightened, Sorne was gone, the only sign of his passing a disturbance in the reeds.

  “Can you manage, m’lady?” Lekem looked concerned. “I can carry you, if you need–”

  “No. I’ll be fine.” A string of acrid drool trailed across her lips; she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

  “I’ll start with the luggage,” said Lekem.

  “Good. Yes.”

  Lekem lowered himself over the side and pulled the two smallest packs after him, balancing one on each shoulder.

  Rhia knelt beside Etyan and laid a hand on his forehead, half expecting him to be feverish. Like Father’s fever: the slow, awful decline.

  Etyan’s brow was cool. What she had taken for a rash looked more like burns, the skin raw and peeling.

  She felt his skull for bumps and found nothing. Next she checked his hands. On the back of the left one, barely visible in the rough skin, was a line of three parallel scratches. They were recent, the blood barely crusted. She raised his hand to sniff it and caught a sour whiff.

  Lekem cleared his throat. When she looked at him he asked, “Can you help me get him over my shoulder, m’lady?”

  “Of course.” This turned out to be hard work. Etyan would wake with bruises, but for now he slept on, thanks to whatever drug had been applied through those scratches. When Lekem was gone Rhia checked the boat to ensure nothing had fallen from their packs. After he took the last load she dropped into the water in his wake. The lake was chill, and its soft, clinging mud engulfed her feet. She shuffled ashore, grasping the reed stems for support.

  Lekem had propped Etyan up against the packs piled at the edge of the causeway, as though he had just decided to sit down and take a nap. As Rhia hauled herself onto the causeway she heard hooves on the planking, and looked up to see a small cart approaching.

  She exhaled when she recognized the driver. Sorne had hired a compact carriage such as Rhia herself might have taken to visit the family estate, with a blue-painted canopy and fold-down steps. The benches down the sides were padded and had proper backrests. The horse between the traces was the healthiest animal she had seen since arriving in Zekt.

  Sorne and Lekem loaded the cart, carefully looking the other way while Rhia changed out of her wet breeches. They appeared content to remain damp. She unbelted the knife and returned it to Sorne.

  The soldiers laid Etyan along one bench, rolling the canopy down at the sides but leaving the front and back open. Sorne sat behind Lekem who, as usual, drove. It was fortunate Breen was not with them, as it would have been a bit of a squeeze. Then she caught herself, appalled. Had she really accepted Breen’s death that easily? The soldiers acted as though nothing had happened. Then again, what else could they do? But when she sat next to Sorne she kept as much distance between them as the seat would allow.

  With a flick of the reins and a “geeyup” from Lekem they set off at a brisk trot.

  “Water?”

  Sorne was holding out a canteen to her. She took it, glad to swill the taste of vomit from her mouth. She spat the water over the back of the cart. As she handed the canteen back to Sorne she said flatly, “You killed them.”

  At first she thought he hadn’t heard her over the clatter of the horse’s hooves on the causeway. Then he looked across and said, “I killed Breen, and one of the intruders. The other two should recover if they’re found and treated in time.”

  “Did you know he would…” she shut up as the cart turned; they had reached the crossroads where the lakeside causeway met the main road. As the carriage swung round onto the larger causeway, the guards on the archway came into sight. They were looking their way, though not with any particular interest. Etyan lay below the level of the carriage’s backboard, but his crooked knees peeked above it. That must look odd. They might see that and stop them. Rhia found herself wringing her skirt between her hands.

  She kept watching until the guards were too far away to make out their faces, and she was sure no one was coming along the causeway. Then she released her skirt and turned to Sorne.

  He nodded and said, “I understand your anger and confusion, m’lady. I apologize for keeping things from you.”

  “You apologize for not mentioning we
had a traitor in our midst?” A traitor I nearly slept with. “Just how much did you know?”

  “I knew nothing. I had suspicions. They were confirmed. I acted.”

  How simple it was to be a solider! “If you had your suspicions about Breen, why in the Last’s name was he with us?”

  “I had reason to believe he might not be loyal, but reason to believe is not reason to act. Until the attack in the market I hoped I was wrong.”

  “You think he was in league with the people who were watching us?”

  “Breen was a Zekti agent. I believe he tipped off the watchers, identifying himself as an ally and suggesting they make their move.”

  So rather than the incident in the market being a result of Breen spooking those tailing them, he had caused it. “You could have confronted him then. Why didn’t you?”

  “I could,” conceded Sorne, “but that would have alerted him, and any allies he had. Someone might have done something rash.”

  “Would they have attacked us in the guesthouse?”

  “That would have repercussions. Despite frosty relations, Zekt and Shen benefit from mutual trade. Openly assaulting each other’s citizens would be foolish. Besides, there are factions in Zekt. Breen just served one of them.”

  “The same faction who tried to abduct my brother from the priory?”

  “Possibly, though they looked as surprised to see us as we were them. Perhaps there was a communication failure.”

  “I still don’t understand how a possible Zekti agent got on this mission in the first place.”

  “I believe that is a matter of politics, m’lady. There are foreign influences at court–”

  “Are you saying there are Zekti agents in the palace?” An unthinkable possibility presented itself; but a number of unthinkable things had happened today.

  Sorne looked uncomfortable – a rare sight. “I’m saying that there is… someone at court whose interests lie with Zekt and not Shen. This person has been known to recruit weak-minded or easily bought individuals. The duke knows this.”

  “Yet he let Breen come!”

  ‘Forgive me for saying this, m’lady, but the duke is a complicated man, well versed in subterfuge. For His Grace to block Breen’s assignment to the mission would show he knew Breen had been turned. Instead, he pretended ignorance.”

  “So he merely warned you that you might have to thwart a traitor? He must trust you highly.”

  “I am honoured by the trust His Grace places in me, m’lady.”

  What had Sorne said when he was taunting Breen at the priory, buying time for Lekem to arrive and save them? So did she sleep with you?

  “M’lady, are you all right?”

  Much as Rhia wished otherwise, there was one obvious “foreign influence” at court. “Is the duchess a traitor, Captain?”

  Sorne’s mouth twitched, and he kept his gaze forward as he replied, “There is reason to believe so, yes.”

  Not Alharet. Not her confidant, her best friend, the fellow outsider who made court life bearable. But the duchess was the sister of Zekt’s power-hungry prince. And whatever else today had taught her, it was a reminder that sometimes she misjudged people.

  Chapter 41

  Vay fetched the water the day after Dej’s beating, sighing and giving Dej a look as if to say, You can’t do it, so I guess I’ll have to.

  The following morning, Dej was back on water duty. Up at the pool, she removed the last piece of stolen fruit from its hiding place and flung it away, up into the high rocks.

  Restday was unbearable. Everyone in the same space, together but separate, and with nothing to fill the time, no mindless activity to distract her from the emptiness inside.

  Fight practice for the next few days was less intense, though whether this was allowing for her wounds or acknowledging she was making progress Dej had no idea. She didn’t ask.

  Life settled into a numb rhythm. No one mentioned her crime, though the punishment was plain to see on her back. The clanless had done their worst and she was still alive. Out here just surviving was an achievement.

  Another expedition set out a few days later. Dej heard Vay and Lih talking about going on “the uplands hunt” but had no idea she was going too until Vay told her the night before. She had become invisible to everyone, including herself, nothing but an empty space, yet still somehow alive.

  From the number of clanless gathered in the grey pre-dawn outside the big hunt, it appeared most of them were going though there was no sign of the clan’s rhinobeast. Ryt and Vas distributed weapons. Dej was unsurprised to be issued with the same knife she’d used on the first hunt, its stone tip broken by her clumsy stab at the rockslither. Some of the hunters carried heavy spears, or odd bundles of short, pale sticks. Everyone got a deep wicker basket. When Dej saw people strapping them on their backs she braced herself for pain. But her cuts had almost healed, a reminder rather than a torment when the rough basket rested on them.

  Kir strode up to Dej as she was tightening the straps and said, “This isn’t a circular trip, it’s there and back. I’ll lead out, you’ll lead on the return journey.” Dej nodded, her face blank. This was the most Kir had said to her in a week.

  They headed northwest, and were soon scrambling up a ravine the rhinobeast would never have managed. From there it was up and down, bog and slope.

  Dej followed a step behind Kir. She stopped when Kir did, listened when Kir talked, spoke only when spoken to. The pattern of the land settled on her as she moved through it. Her sense of direction was broadening into a more complex feel for the terrain, an awareness of the nature of the rock beneath her feet.

  That night they slept close and kept a fire burning, with half a dozen clanless awake and on watch. Halfway through the night Dej woke when a screech froze the breath in her chest. She lay paralyzed as it came again, more distant this time. People shifted and woke around her, but the sound died away and the night grew still again. She knew, even without the mutters of those trying to get back to sleep, that it had been a nightwing.

  The next day Kir thawed towards Dej, talking more freely, describing how the hunt would progress. Dej concentrated on listening and obeying. But when Kir commented that their prey were dumber than Mar’s boys and uglier than Mar herself, Dej felt herself start to smile. Kir returned the smile, and loosened up further. What was going on? One moment Kir was cold and distant, the next she was friendly and open.

  They camped early, amongst rocks and shallow caves overlooking the widest valley Dej had ever seen. This was their destination. Now they must wait.

  Guards were posted, both against nightwings, and to watch for the annual migration they were taking advantage of. Chakaka were herd beasts the size of large dogs, with a weaker version of the joint mind the pichons shared. They passed this way at this time every rain year, heading towards their birthing grounds in the east. The exact timing varied by a few days, so the clanless had to be camped and ready. Kir said this was the biggest hunt of the year; enough, if successful, to keep them in meat for months.

  Late the following day the spotter at the head of the valley gave a short barking cry, and the clanless ran to get into place. Dej grabbed two sticks from the pile kept ready. When she was in position she took out a clump of the stinking moss the healers had provided and rubbed it over her bare skin, concentrating on groin and armpits; it smelled like a mixture of beeswax and old shit. She hunkered down and waited, stock-still, behind a small rock. Chakaka had poor eyesight for anything not moving, but a good sense of smell; if the wind carried the scent of the clanless to them, or if anyone moved, they’d spook.

  The clanless had divided into four groups, two on each side of the flat central path through the valley; she was one of four “channellers” in this group. Cal was another, positioned behind and upslope from her. As the distant thunder of the approaching herd grew he called across, “Remember the instructions. And concentrate! Don’t screw this up.” She ignored him.

  She suspected that
her position, as the channeller at the front, reflected how little the clanless cared for her fate. But she wouldn’t show fear.

  The chakaka were in sight now, a mass of pale brown heads and thick legs half obscured by the dust they kicked up. The ground shook.

  Though her legs quivered, Dej stayed down, waiting for the lead animals to reach the shoulder-high marker cairn, built by hunters untold generations ago and added to with a new stone on every successive hunt. As the first beasts flowed round the cairn Dej leapt up, arms wide, holding a pair of white-painted sticks. She waved her arms, giving a formless fierce shout to back up the motion. She looked past her waving arms for the right animal; a little smaller, or weaker, or younger; one of those to the side though not one of the fierce bulls on the edge. But all she saw was a waist-high mass of hair and scale and flesh bearing down on her.

  That one! A random choice, but better than dithering. She pivoted, ready to channel the animal left, to force it upslope and parallel to the rest of the herd. Once it broke free, Cal and the other channellers would divert it farther up the valley side, driving it into the waiting semicircle of hunters armed with bolas, spears and knives.

  The front of the herd saw her, jinking to avoid this strange obstacle. Her chosen beast swerved hard – to the right. It tripped and crashed down, into the path of the beasts farther in. The herd rolled over it.

  For the first time in days she felt something beyond numb emptiness. Not fear exactly, more a slight lifting of her spirits, the realization she was still alive. She could sense the herd, the way they moved. Just as she knew how the land was folded and raised around her, just as she could locate every nearby clanless even though they were all behind her, she could feel the herd. Maybe that was why she got the lead role: not because no one would care if she went under the chakaka’s tough-horned feet, but because her abilities meant she could read these animals as she read the land. Could Kir do that? Maybe, but Kir wasn’t out here.

  Still, she needed to concentrate, just as Cal, damn him, had said. She focused ahead. Animals rushed past on either side, the disruption to the flow caused by the fallen beast subsiding as it was ground into the dust. Cal and the other channellers had forced one of the herd into the killing circle, but they needed at least a dozen beasts between the four groups of hunters to assure the supply of meat and hides. She had to prove herself. She had to bring in her own kill.