by Jaine Fenn
Another possible target, near the edge, small and scrawny, only hip-high. No, wait! Behind and alongside, covering the herd’s edge, one of the larger bulls, its armoured head lifting over the other beasts. If she tried for the runt she might distract the bull, and drive it towards the next channeller. Towards Cal.
Suddenly her priorities shifted. What Cal had done, the way he’d treated her…
There would be other hunts. There might only be one chance for vengeance.
She waved harder, shouted louder, and turned towards the bull.
Or tried to. Something stopped her motion, and killed her voice in her throat. For a moment her body was frozen between heartbeats. Then she asserted her will, and wobbled wildly, arms tracing a crazy loop, sticks clacking.
The bull broke free, along with two other members of the herd. Even as Dej shrieked in mingled triumph and terror, the bull pelted straight up the slope, while the smaller beasts headed towards the other channellers.
Dej sensed, but did not see, what happened next. Her arms got their rhythm back, keeping up enough motion to deflect the herd, but part of her attention moved to the scene behind her, where not one but two animals headed into the hunters’ circle; a great bounty if they could secure it, but a risk too, as they were still dealing with the first beast.
Afterwards, she worked out that the bull must’ve looped round upslope then, sensing herd members in danger, hurtled into the hunters from behind. At the time Dej only felt the shock when it careered into them.
She had to keep waving her arms and shouting, or she’d be trampled. Dust caught in her throat and she coughed, her voice cracking. Then she saw bare ground beyond the mass of brown bodies: the back of the herd. As soon as the last beast passed she lowered her arms and turned around.
There was no sign of the bull; one of the other separated beasts had also dodged back into the receding chakaka. The other was being set upon by hunters, led by Vas – Mar had let one of her boys come on the hunt, it was that important – who as Dej watched drove a spear taller than he was into the fallen beast. Several others, including Cal, were running over to a prone figure at the edge of the circle.
Dej knew, even before her eyes confirmed it, that the fallen clanless was Kir.
For the barley harvest the crèche had brought in local hired help with a strange contraption, wound by a crank, to thresh the crop. Dej had only glimpsed the man whose arm had got caught in this machine, but the sight of mangled flesh had stayed with her. This was worse. Kir must have sensed the danger, and started to turn; the chakaka’s armoured head had caught her in the side, where a huge dark bruise covered her flank. But that was nothing compared to her legs. The bull had dragged her along, trampling her as it did so; a white thigh-bone showed through torn flesh. Everything below both knees was bloody pulp.
Dej realized she was calling out: “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”
Cal, who had just reached Kir, turned and shouted, “Stop!”
Dej skidded to a halt, in surprise as much as anything, about a dozen paces from Kir’s body.
“Back off!” Cal gestured violently, shooing her away. “Now!”
Two more clanless were running up; one of them was Vay, who spared Dej a glance as she passed, and called, “Stay back unless you want to kill her.”
Dej stared at Kir and saw, impossibly, that her eyes were open, her chest rising and falling. She was still alive. Dej stood, dumbfounded, while the healers knelt beside the pathfinder. Cal said something to them. Then he stalked over to Dej. She made herself stand her ground and say nothing.
“Do you know what Kir’s abilities are?”
The question threw her, but she wasn’t going to keep staring like a dumb beast. “She’s a pathfinder.”
“Yes, and?”
“And what? She never mentioned anything else.”
“Well she fucking should have, given how you mooned after her. She’s a full empath. Do you know what that is?”
Dej shook her head.
“It means that what you feel, she feels. And right now, the guilt you rightly feel would be enough to finish her off. Now go and help the other hunters!”
Dej obeyed. The fallen chakaka had stopped moving and people were swapping spears for knives and falling on the corpses. The hunt had to come first. A few of the hunters looked up at Dej’s approach. She tensed, wondering if they knew what she’d done, but their looks were weary and indifferent.
The other three groups were finishing off their chakaka. The herd had gone, the dust settling. Dej stared at the far group, her mind blank, until one of the nearby clanless shouted at her to start wrapping the meat in the herb-soaked cloths they would use to transport it home. The Sun dipped below the mountains as she worked; she looked up at its last flash and saw Vay and Cal out the corner of her eye. They stood to one side of where Kir lay, arguing.
By the time the kills had been roughly jointed and packed away, it was dark. Dej still couldn’t bring herself to look at Kir. She jumped when Vay came over.
“How is she?” She had to ask.
“She’s strong, and her animus will try and heal her.”
“So she might be all right?’ Dej grasped at hope, trying not to think about Mar’s badly healed legs; even if Kir lived, she wouldn’t be leading anyone anywhere.
Vay shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”
“But can you help her? Is there something we can do, anything…”
Vay stared past Dej and said quietly, “Something you can do, you mean?”
“Yes. Is there? Because I never meant… yes, anything.”
“Wait here.” Vay walked off. Fires were being built, burning bones that would otherwise attract scavengers. Exhausted and wrung out, Dej sat down and hugged her knees. Vay returned with a horn beaker which steamed, giving off a bittersweet smell. “This is all we can do,” said Vay. “Will you give it to her?”
“Yes. Of course.”
Vay looked hard at her, and Dej thought she was going to say something else. Then she handed the beaker over. Once Dej had taken it Vay said, “Remember the good, not the bad, when you go to her, yes? She doesn’t need you moping in her face right now.”
“I will.”
Dej recalled the journey to the clanless camp with Kir, the start of a friendship, all those possibilities. She didn’t think about any of her fuckups; certainly not this latest, most terrible one.
When she knelt next to the other girl she thought she was asleep until Kir opened her eyes. She focused on Dej and her lips kinked in what might have been a smile.
“Vay gave me something for you.”
“Did she, now?” Kir’s voice was a pained whisper. “Give it to me, then.”
Dej raised Kir’s head and held the beaker to her lips. Kir grimaced at the first taste, and a dribble of pale liquid ran from the corner of her mouth. “Is it too hot?” asked Dej.
Kir made a faint noise in her throat; Dej sensed as much as heard the answer no. She held the beaker while Kir drank it dry.
As Dej laid Kir’s head back the other girl said, “Do one thing… please. Promise me.”
“Anything, yes.”
“Forgive yourself.” Kir’s eyes closed. Dej waited to see if there was more, but Kir had slid into sleep, or unconsciousness.
“I promise,” Dej murmured, though she wasn’t sure the older girl heard her.
Kir died in the night.
Chapter 42
Rhia stared out the back of the cart, starting at every movement on the road, expecting to see horsemen gaining on them from behind. But she saw only peasants and fellow travellers. The reeds gave way to rice fields. She fell into a light doze, fears and unknown possibilities chasing through her head.
When the cart ran over a pothole she twitched awake in time to see Etyan’s head loll. He gave a startled grunt.
Rhia almost slid off her seat in her haste to kneel next to her brother.
“Etyan?” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”
> Etyan raised a hand, as though fending someone off.
Rhia bent over him. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”
He frowned, eyes still screwed shut. “Wha… where?” His voice was low and feverish.
“Calm now. Shh.” He went through a phase, after Father died, of having nightmares; sometimes he would flail and whimper. She used to hold both his hands, and sing to him, just tuneless humming, until he calmed down. She caught herself humming now.
“Ree?” he breathed, his eyes opening to slits.
“That’s right.”
“How can you be here?”
Captain Sorne was listening at her shoulder. “Don’t worry about anything,” she said soothingly. “You’ve been ill. Just rest now.”
“But I’m moving, where are–”
“Safe. You’re safe.” She leaned forward, hugging him. He tensed. He hadn’t let her hug him for years. Into his ear she whispered, “Please, you have to trust me. Go back to sleep.”
He said nothing, holding himself rigid as a board, but when she withdrew his eyes were closed. She hoped he had enough sense to realize the importance of keeping his own counsel.
Though Etyan remained asleep – or did a good impression of it – Rhia dared not sleep. She could not let Captain Sorne speak to Etyan alone until she had heard his side of the story.
Instead she made herself replay the events in the priory, though considering Breen’s death made her gorge rise. There could – there must – be another explanation for his treachery besides Alharet. There were many at court whose motivations were a mystery to her – too many, truth be told.
That assumed Breen had even been a Zekti agent; something else might be going on, something unknown to all of them. Who had those men at the priory been working for? And what had they wanted with Etyan?
Always questions, never answers.
When darkness fell she began to chew the inside of her cheek. If nothing else, it helped keep her awake.
When Lekem pulled over, Rhia looked around; despite herself she had been dozing. There were lights ahead – presumably the inn – beyond the corporal’s hunched shoulders. She looked back to Sorne, his face shadowed in the light of the lantern hanging from the carriage ceiling. “Just swapping drivers, m’lady,” he murmured.
When Sorne stood up, Etyan blinked and opened his eyes. Rhia wondered how long he had been awake for.
“Good to see you back with us, your lordship.”
Etyan gave a groan which might have been an acknowledgment of Sorne’s concern or a denial that he really was awake.
“Did you wish for a drink, m’lord?”
“Please.” Etyan’s voice was hoarse.
Rhia flushed. She should have offered him water when he first awoke. “Let me,” she said, and moved across to help Etyan sit up. The way he leaned on her did not feel like fakery. Sorne passed the waterskin and Rhia held it to Etyan’s lips.
When he had finished drinking and she returned the waterskin Sorne said, “I’m afraid we won’t be stopping at the inn.”
Etyan looked up, and she could see the question he wanted to ask – what inn? – so she cut him off. “I had assumed not, given the timing.”
“However, I have some consolation for his lordship, to make up for the lack of comfort and pleasure.”
Rhia was still puzzling over Sorne’s words when he reached past her with a smaller flask, of hardened leather. “And what is that?” she barked.
“Something, begging m’lady’s pardon, which we did not think to offer you.”
Rhia got a whiff of grain spirit from the flask. Etyan’s eyes were on it. He had recently discovered the joys of alcohol and had yet to develop the ability to resist it. Rhia helped him drink though she seethed as she did so, angry both at her brother’s weakness and at Sorne’s assumption that she did not drink. Which she did not, save the occasional fine wine, but she still resented the assumption.
Etyan took a long slug. Rhia eased the flask away when he coughed and liquor dribbled down his chin. She returned the flask to Sorne before Etyan could ask for more, and lowered him back down to rest.
They fell silent as they passed the inn. Rhia wondered whether Sorne would douse the lantern, but a darkened cart would raise more suspicions than one which merely chose not to stop.
As they emerged onto the open road again, Etyan started to snore. Lekem was nodding, and when his head drooped onto his chest Rhia considered trying to rouse Etyan. But Sorne, up front, would still be listening and from the sound of it her brother wasn’t feigning sleep. She settled back in her seat and closed her eyes.
She awoke to heat and fuss. The cart had stopped. Lekem was stirring and Etyan’s eyes were open, his face drawn. Sorne’s voice came from outside, claiming, in his good-natured way, that the offer in question was insulting. They must be at the waystation.
“Etyan, don’t worry,” hissed Rhia. As he looked her way Sorne stuck his head through the door flap. “Well, we’ve been ripped off again, but I expected as much. Give us a hand with the luggage, would you, Lekem?”
The other solider stood. Rhia held Sorne’s gaze and said, “I’ll stay here.”
As soon as they were alone she took Etyan’s hand.
He stared at her, wide-eyed. “What happened? Where am I?”
“Men came and took you from the priory infirmary–”
“What men?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Where’s Kefat?”
“Was he looking after you there?”
“He was a healer, yes.”
“I’m sorry, but I think the men who took you killed him.”
“Oh. That’s…” Etyan swallowed. “What’s going on, Ree?”
“We followed your abductors and rescued you.”
“Why am I in a cart?”
“We’re taking you home.”
“To Shen? No!”
“Is there a problem here?”
Sorne was all smiles. Rhia clamped her mouth shut. “Who are you?” asked Etyan.
“I came with your sister to make sure she stayed safe, your lordship. Which she is now, and so are you.”
Rhia was not convinced of this, but Sorne continued, “Begging your pardon, but you’ll need to change.”
“Change?” Etyan looked down at himself. “Oh. Yes.”
Rhia said, “I have some of Father’s old clothes. Pass that pack please, Sorne.” Although there was no one nearby she didn’t address Sorne by his rank. She was reluctant to tip Etyan off that these were militiamen, at least until they had had a proper talk. Etyan eyed up the well-worn clothes she extracted from the pack, then his gaze went to Rhia’s rough skirt and shirt. Rhia said, “We’re travelling incognito.”
Etyan nodded slowly, perhaps remembering his experiences on the way to Mirror-of-the-Sky.
He set his mouth, then let his sister help him dress. Sorne and Lekem were in and out ferrying packs, making conversation impossible even if he had been up to it. Outside, the hubbub grew.
When Sorne came back for the final time he held out the flask again. “A drink, m’lord?”
“I had some of this last night, yes?”
“You did, m’lord.”
“It’s a little early for that, isn’t it?” asked Rhia.
“Not as early as you think, m’lady; we had to stop and rest the horse or it’d never have got us here. The caravan will leave soon.”
“Then we’d better get on it.”
Lekem and Sorne supported Etyan between them, drawing curious glances from the other travellers which Rhia returned with a fierce glare. Mella was nowhere to be seen. Rhia glimpsed Yrif across the camp.
Etyan had accepted Sorne’s offer of a drink, and by the time the soldiers settled him in a corner of the passenger wagon he was barely conscious.
“May I have a word outside?” asked Sorne.
“Indeed you may.” She had words to say to him. Either her brother was more unwell than he appeared or that flask contained mo
re than spirit.
Sorne grabbed a pack before they left the wagon; Rhia wondered if it contained something else he had kept hidden until now. He led her to the edge of the camp, beyond the awning. The sky was overcast but bright, the light drizzle at odds with the air’s silvery glow. “M’lady, there’s no way to break this to you gently, so I will just say it. I’m leaving now.”
“You’re what?!”
“You’re all but home, and Lekem will look after you and the young lord the rest of the way.”
“Where in the Last’s name are you going?”
“I have further work I must do for my duke.”
“What work?”
“I cannot say. Such are my orders.”
“And you knew about this all along? You always planned to abandon us?”
“I knew there would be a parting.” He gave a wry smile, “I knew it wouldn’t please you.”
“It does not!” For a moment she wanted to strike him. But that wouldn’t change his mind. “What are your orders?”
“I can’t say, the duke–”
“No, not… whatever it is you’re about to do.” She knew he would never share that; but if he was leaving she had nothing to lose by asking the question which had been eating at her since she accosted the mission to Zekt. “What were your orders regarding my brother?”
“To bring him home.”
“And that’s all?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking, m’lady.”
“If he had refused to come, if he’d resisted when you tried to make him: what then?”
Sorne pursed his lips. “The duke instructed us that, should we be unable to bring him home for any reason, we should ensure he could never be used as a hostage against Shen.”
His words sent a chill through her. “Even if that meant killing him?”
