Betrayal

by Lara Morgan

  She ran a finger over the letters as if by touching them she could also touch him. The serpents had gone, just like they had here. But Rorc was alive. She let out a long breath then carefully unrolled the second message. It was as brief as the first but her heart lifted as she read it and tears of relief came to her eyes.

  Assume you have landed. Tell Tuon Shaan alive and returned to city by clansman and brother, Tallis. Two serpents with them. Azoth has the Birthstone. Reply soon. Rorc.

  Shaan was alive! Tuon put her head in her hands for a moment. He had struggled to fit all the words on the paper but he had written, Tell Tuon. The messages were for Veila but that he had put that in for her, made her … but wait. She stilled and looked back at the message, read it again: returned to the city by clansman and brother, Tallis.

  Shaan had a brother?

  Where had he come from and when, how? And he was a clansman? The parchment hung limply between her fingers. It was good news, wonderful news, but strange. She carefully rolled up the messages once more. She had to get them to the Seer as soon as possible.

  The sun was almost set now and the water a dark blue mass. Going out to the deck, Tuon peered over the balcony but could see no sign of the attendants. A shadow under the trees near the house moved and skin glinted. They were there, watching her. Would they stop her if she tried to go back to Veila?

  Frustrated, she began to pace back and forth. Night fell and a sliver of moon rose pale and white in the sky. She leaned on the balustrade, staring out over the water.

  A trail of torches was winding far below her along the edge of the trees, the flames sometimes illuminating the figures that carried them. Was the Keeper among them?

  Wood creaked and she turned quickly, her back to the rail. Someone was ascending the steps, but it wasn’t Pasiphae.

  A barefoot man holding a lantern and a covered tray appeared. Not much taller than her, he was lightly built with skin almost as black as Pasiphae’s. Dark, glossy hair curled lightly against his neck and he looked at her with steady brown eyes.

  ‘I am Ivar, Pasiphae’s son,’ he said. ‘She has sent me to deliver you some food.’

  ‘You are Torg’s brother?’ Torg had never mentioned a brother, besides which they looked nothing alike. Torg had been an enormous man with an expressive face. This man had unremarkable features and had not much more muscle than her.

  ‘We have different fathers, as is the way in the Isles,’ Ivar said. ‘Come, eat.’ He hung the lantern on a hook and went into the house to put the tray down on the table.

  Tuon followed, watching as he laid out two small bowls, two spoons and another larger bowl filled with aromatic cooked meat and vegetables. His movements were precise and unhurried and when he was done he indicated she should sit on the couch beside him, then began to serve them both some food.

  Tuon hesitated. She wanted to ask him a hundred questions but experience made caution a habit, so instead she sat and followed his lead, picking up a bowl.

  Ivar said nothing as they ate, but it didn’t make her uncomfortable. She became aware of the wash of the ocean across the sand and beyond that the dim sound of a voice raised in a chant, echoing out in the windless night. The words were indistinct, perhaps spoken in a different tongue and then, sailing across the sky, she saw the dark bulk of a serpent gliding silently across the moon.

  ‘Asrith,’ Ivar said quietly. He put down his bowl. ‘The crest of the Hive that remained here.’

  ‘Crest?’

  ‘The leader. She is very old.’

  Tuon nodded, not quite sure what to say. There were so many questions, but before she could speak, Ivar had risen to his feet.

  ‘I must go now.’

  ‘Will Pasiphae return soon?’ Tuon asked, but he only gave a smile that made her revise her earlier opinion of his looks.

  ‘You’re tired, you should sleep. I will see you in the morning.’ He turned to walk away.

  ‘Wait …’ Tuon stood and he watched her with calm eyes. ‘Will you please take some messages to Veila for me?’

  He considered her for a moment and she added, ‘They are from Salmut; she needs to see them. It’s important. I’m sure Pasiphae would not mind.’

  He smiled. ‘I am sure my mother would mind,’ he said. ‘But she is Keeper of the Scrolls, not of my will. I will do this for you.’ He seemed amused she had asked him and Tuon almost hesitated then to fetch them, but he held out his hand. ‘I would not betray your trust,’ he said.

  His openness was unsettling but his look sincere, so she handed him the precious rolls of parchment. ‘Thank you.’

  He smiled warmly at her as if she had done something which pleased him immensely, then with quiet steps he left the house, his feet making barely any vibration on the boards at all.

  ***

  The morning dawned hot and cloudy, and Tuon dressed as lightly as she could in a simple shift dress and stepped out onto the deck, looking at the remains of the settlement. Despite the devastation, the Isles still retained a rare wild beauty. Ruffle-topped palms and pines swayed in an early morning breeze that brought with it the scent of namoi spice and the salt of the sea, and the water of the bay ranged in hue from turquoise to azure then a deeper, darker blue as it swirled against the reefs.

  ‘It is a place of beauty, isn’t it?’ Pasiphae’s voice came and Tuon turned to see the Isles woman sitting on a stool in front of a small table set at the far end of the deck.

  ‘Despite the destruction,’ Tuon said.

  ‘Come, join me.’ The Keeper indicated a stool opposite her.

  On the table were wedges of fresh fruit and cups of hot kaf as well as sweet lupi-paste buns steamed in palm leaves. A young girl dressed in a wrap of fabric was serving the Keeper an egg.

  Tuon sat down, reaching for a cup. Pasiphae sipped from her own and looked out over the bay with a frown.

  ‘Last night you met my second son, Ivar. He will be your guide for the scrolls. I have other matters to attend to.’

  ‘May I see Torg’s burial site?’ Tuon asked.

  ‘Later. First Ivar will take you to Asrith.’

  Tuon looked at her in surprise. ‘Me?’

  ‘She wants to see you.’

  Carefully, Tuon put down her cup. ‘I cannot speak with the serpents, Keeper,’ she said.

  ‘Did I say I expected, or would allow, you to?’ Pasiphae wiped her hands on a cloth. ‘Ivar will commune with them.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Come, bring a bun with you, he is waiting on the beach.’

  Tuon drained her cup and followed the older woman down to the bay. Ivar was sitting on a fallen tree under the shade of a palm and turned to smile at them as they approached.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, but his mother did not smile back.

  ‘Ivar, take Tuon to Asrith and then later she may see the Seer for a short while.’

  ‘Wait,’ Tuon said. ‘May I see Veila first, I —’

  ‘No. You will go with Ivar.’

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I am only concerned I may not be able to answer any of the serpent’s questions.’

  ‘What does the Seer know that you do not?’

  ‘Many things, she —’

  ‘I am sure you will satisfy Asrith,’ Pasiphae cut her off. ‘It is unlikely she has a question for you anyway. There is little serpents can learn from humans; they live many lives longer than us. She seeks a representative of Salmut and you seem perfectly adequate. Rorc would not have sent you if he did not believe so.’

  Tuon didn’t know what to say to that and Ivar stepped toward her, holding out a thick green leaf as big as her hand. ‘Here, rub this over your arms. It will help keep away the insects that swarm over the mountain.’

  ‘How far are we going?’ Tuon did as he suggested grimacing at the pungent smell.

  ‘Asrith does not come to the beach,’ Pasiphae said. ‘You will have to go to her, up there.’ She pointed to the mountains behind the settlement. ‘That is where she keeps watch now the others have gone. I
var will take water and food for you. I will see you at sunset.’ She gave her son a hard look, then walked back toward her house.

  He smiled and glanced at Tuon’s dress. ‘You will need other clothes. Come.’ He turned to a narrow path that ran through the fallen trees. ‘I will find you something more suitable.’

  They stopped at a house that had only one corner of the roof destroyed and inside Ivar found her a pair of rough trousers, a light shirt with sleeves to her elbows and a square of oiled cloth with a hole cut in the middle.

  ‘They are mine so will be a little too large,’ he said, ‘but the overshawl will help when it rains.’

  Tuon changed quickly and they then struck away from the settlement toward the mountains. It was hard, rough going. The path they took wound through the destroyed vegetation of the flat settlement area then began to slowly climb upward through thick jungle. The air was dense and humid and the path barely discernible among the twisted tree roots.

  Sweat gathered in beads across her forehead and soaked her shirt and Tuon struggled to keep up as Ivar set a steady pace. Swinging a thick-bladed machete before him he climbed as if he were doing nothing more than strolling along the bay. After two hours, Tuon called out to him to halt.

  Smiling and without comment he stopped, leaning his knife against a tree and pulling a water skin from the bag he carried on his back. As she took a grateful sip, Tuon heard the faint sound of thunder. She looked up into the thick canopy, barely able to see the dark sky above.

  ‘It won’t rain for another hour or more yet,’ Ivar said.

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then we put on our overshawls and get wet.’

  She didn’t relish the thought. The trail was already slippery with the tree roots.

  ‘Will we have reached the top by then?’ she asked. ‘Is there shelter there?’

  He tilted his head to one side. ‘If we walk faster we might.’ And by that he meant if she walked faster, Tuon thought. ‘But the ledge Asrith waits on is exposed,’ he continued. ‘There’s more shelter under the trees than up there.’ He picked up his blade. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘In a moment.’ She took another sip of water. ‘Ivar, why is Veila, or any Seer, not welcome here?’

  The question didn’t seem to take him by surprise. He slapped the flat of the machete blade against his thigh.

  ‘It’s an old argument,’ he said, ‘an old wound.’

  ‘How old?’ Tuon frowned and then wondered at the look he gave her. ‘Don’t you agree with it?’

  He shrugged. ‘In some ways yes, in others no.’ He sighed and squatted down on the ground. ‘It is because it was a Seer of Salmut who caused the death of the Prophet’s children.’

  Tuon paused in the midst of taking a drink. ‘He had a family?’

  Ivar nodded. ‘He was an older man when he came, but had three children several years after settling here. When they were of age, sixteen and seventeen, he sent two of them to Salmut with a collection of prophecies. He sought to warn the city that Azoth could one day return.’

  ‘As he has now,’ Tuon said.

  ‘As he has,’ Ivar echoed. ‘But instead of speaking to the Faithful, which was then only newly formed, they went to the Seer of the city, thinking that as their father was a kind of Seer they would be better speaking to one of his kind. But that Seer was not like the Prophet. He believed any reference to Azoth could bring him back and would not listen to the Prophet’s children. He imprisoned and tortured them. Both died at his hand.’

  ‘And no Seer of Salmut has been welcome here since,’ Tuon said.

  Ivar nodded. ‘Five hundred years ago Veila would have been killed before her foot touched the sand.’

  ‘And there is still suspicion,’ Tuon said, ‘even after so many years?’

  ‘We are a small community and for a long time the Seers of Salmut have looked on us as … less than them.’

  ‘Veila doesn’t think that,’ Tuon said.

  Ivar smiled. ‘Perhaps things are changing. But it is not only that old wound that causes the rift; it is also because of the serpents.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He let out a long breath. ‘When the serpents leave to go to Salmut, it is like losing a friend. They are wild creatures, free beasts, and they go into servitude, even though they are willing.’ He shrugged. ‘I sometimes wonder how different it is for them from the days when Azoth was still their master.’

  ‘You would prefer it if there were no riders, no serpents in Salmut?’ Tuon said.

  Ivar shrugged, looking at the ground, at the blade of the machete. ‘Come.’ He stood up. ‘We still have a way to walk.’

  Tuon handed him back the water skin. ‘Lead on, then.’

  He grinned and turned back to hack at a creeper.

  It took them a further two hours to reach the ledge Ivar had mentioned, and by that time rain had started to fall in a steady stream. The overshawl helped but it only fell to her hips, so Tuon’s legs were soaked and muddy by the time they emerged from the shadow of the jungle. Pushing her wet hair out of her eyes she followed Ivar to a clearing of uneven black rock, which gave way to a massive slab jutting out from the jungle like a tongue from a mouth. Asrith was perched at the edge of the rock over the sheer drop, staring away through the rain to the invisible coast of the mainland.

  ‘Wait here.’ Ivar put a hand on Tuon’s wrist. She stopped, not needing to be told twice. Serpents had always made her uneasy. She watched as Ivar walked toward the massive beast.

  Steam rose in misty tendrils from the dense green canopy below and blew from the serpent’s nostrils as she turned to look at him. It gave Tuon a chill to see her almost twist her head all the way around, her neck undulating elegantly, the dark green of her hide repelling the rainwater so it slid away in great drops to puddle on the rock about her.

  Ivar stood beside her for some minutes, just staring up at her. Tuon heard nothing, saw nothing, but some communication must have passed between them for after a while he beckoned her forward.

  The rain had plastered the dark curls to his head and the whiteness of his teeth against the dark of his skin and eyes seemed to shine out in the dimness of the afternoon. Apprehensive, she stood beside him and Asrith gazed down at her sidelong with one startlingly green eye. A dry heat emanated from her body. She towered over them, their heads reaching only to her shoulder joint, her body sheltering them from some of the rain.

  Ivar smiled and leaned toward Tuon. ‘Asrith is pleased that you fear her; she doesn’t like it when the azim, as she calls us, get above themselves.’

  Tuon wondered what she would think of Shaan. ‘Why did she want to see me?’ she asked.

  ‘She says she has felt the other Hives leaving your city.’ He stood close, talking quietly into her ear as if anything else would offend the serpent. ‘She says she felt Arak — Azoth — calling them. She wants to know if your people would like her aid now your Hives have gone.’

  Tuon felt the rain strike her face and Ivar’s breath in her ear and wondered what to do. Is that what Rorc would want? An offer of aid, especially now the serpents of Salmut had deserted them, would be valuable. But could they trust the serpents to help them? What if they turned on them? What if it was a trick? Her heart hammered as she felt Asrith regarding her. She licked her lips.

  ‘Ask her how we would know she was with us and not Azoth,’ she said.

  Ivar’s expression didn’t change. ‘Are you sure?’ he said. ‘This is a bold question.’

  Tuon swallowed. ‘Yes.’ What else could she do?

  Ivar related her question to the serpent, his gaze becoming vague as though he were slipping out of focus for a moment. Then he suddenly put a hand on Tuon’s arm and pulled her back sharply.

  ‘Move!’ He dragged her a few steps and pushed her down as Asrith suddenly rose. Her wings burst open and her talons scraped on rock as she sprang into the air. Hovering above the pair she thrust her head down toward them, and Tuon saw the razor gle
am of her teeth and felt a moment of terror as they snapped just above her. Then the serpent’s tail writhed behind her and she plummeted down, and with one powerful beat of her wings she was gone, soaring away through the rain.

  Tuon stared at a crack in the rock by her face, before she felt a hand on her arm. ‘Get up now, it’s all right.’ Ivar helped her to her feet and she stood unsteadily, staring at him and the open, rainy sky.

  ‘She’s gone,’ he said, and picked up the pack that had come off his back, shrugging it onto his shoulders. ‘It’s all right,’ he repeated.

  ‘Did I offend her?’

  ‘Yes, but not enough for her to kill us.’

  ‘Why did you let me ask her?’ she cried. ‘She could have killed us.’

  ‘Yes. But Asrith does not kill lightly. Few serpents do.’

  ‘Then why?’

  ‘Because it made her think that perhaps to be your ally would be a good thing.’

  ‘What?’ Tuon stared at him uncomprehendingly.

  ‘Serpents appreciate courage. Asking her that question was offensive but courageous. And it showed that you do not accept everything at face value.’ Ivar smiled. ‘I think you impressed her. She will go to her Hive and speak with the other serpents.’

  ‘So they may come back with us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But if they go to Salmut the Isles will be left unprotected.’

  Ivar shrugged. ‘If Salmut is not defended, Azoth will come here anyway and we have no army. At least in your city there are men who can fight as well.’

  She supposed he was right. ‘Come.’ He put a hand in the small of her back. ‘We can go down now. She will answer when she is ready.’

  Still dazed, Tuon nodded and followed him back into the trees.

  Chapter 6

  Tallis stepped out into the open at the top of the Dome. It had rained overnight and the air was sharp with the smell of wet earth and salt. Water lay in puddles on the stone and splashed up his trouser legs as he walked toward Attar, who was saddling Haraka on the far side of the rooftop.

  Attar glanced up as he approached. ‘Clansman, ready to ride?’