Betrayal

by Lara Morgan

  A hard, secretive smile curved Nilah’s lips. ‘Maybe I’ll tell you later — but then again, you did run and tell your daddy about the decision I made to go to war.’

  ‘It was a stupid decision,’ Shaan said sharply, irritated.

  Nilah shrugged. ‘I suppose so, although I don’t know that it makes a difference now.’

  ‘This isn’t a game, Nilah,’ said Shaan. ‘People have already died and many more will when Azoth comes.’

  ‘I know it’s not a game.’ There was an edge to Nilah’s voice. ‘My mother was murdered —’

  ‘And probably by her own council,’ Shaan interrupted.

  ‘I know that … now,’ Nilah lowered her tone, ‘and they won’t get away with it. Thank you for getting me out, Shaan. I thought he was going to kill me — just like Mother.’

  Shaan shook her head. ‘It wasn’t just me; you should thank Asrith and the men who died getting you out.’

  ‘I know.’ Nilah patted her hand on Asrith’s hide and Shaan felt the serpent shift in irritation.

  ‘Stop that,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t like it.’

  Nilah stopped and Shaan felt Tallis sending a command. ‘Hold on,’ she warned.

  Nilah clutched convulsively at Shaan’s shirt as Asrith suddenly crouched and flung herself up into the air, her wings snapping open, barely avoiding a collision with the serpent carrying Rorc and Veila. Both beasts banked in a graceful dance, Asrith emitting a short call to the other as she turned and beat her wings hard, following Mailun and Tallis on Marathin toward the north.

  They stopped at sundown to set up camp for the night in an empty field a few leagues from a small village called Galicia. There was a thick stand of trees at the foot of a bluff, and a narrow stream ran out of it, cutting through the field. The Hunters distributed rainproof woven muthu-hair tents in case of another downpour and Shaan and Tuon were pegging the tent they would share when the Seer came to see them.

  ‘Shaan.’ The Seer greeted her with the same sad smile she’d given her before. ‘Will you and Tuon come to my tent? I have some kaf warming.’

  Shaan looked at her in surprise. ‘Kaf?’

  ‘Yes,’ Veila said. ‘Nilah has gone to see Morfessa and I would talk to you about the Prophet’s scrolls.’

  ‘I thought you’d want to talk to Rorc and Morfessa about those,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, but first I would like to speak with you. Come.’ Veila turned back to her tent.

  Shaan sent Tuon a questioning look.

  ‘It’s all right,’ her friend said, but there was anxiety in her eye and a feeling of unease rose in Shaan as she followed the Seer.

  Inside on the hide floor there were already two bedrolls with a small oil stove between them. On top of the single burner a steaming pot of kaf was filling the tent with the liquid’s spicy sweet aroma.

  ‘Sit.’ Veila indicated one of the bedrolls and Shaan lowered herself onto the blankets. Tuon sat beside her while the Seer poured the kaf into three diminutive cups, adding a drizzle of honey from a stoppered phial. The low flame from the stove provided the only illumination and already shadows darkened the corners as the sun dropped quickly outside.

  ‘Drink it while it’s hot,’ Veila said, sipping from her cup.

  Shaan drank tentatively. The kaf was good quality, rich and sweet, but she found it hard to enjoy under the Seer’s watchful gaze.

  ‘Has Tuon told you about the Serpent Isles?’ Veila said.

  Shaan saw that Tuon looked uncomfortable, uneasy even. ‘Yes, some,’ Shaan answered.

  ‘About the scrolls?’

  ‘No.’ She glanced at Tuon but only got a tight smile in return as Veila put down her cup and lifted a scroll from a leather satchel by her knee, unrolling part of it across her lap.

  ‘This is a section we found. Tell me what you think,’ she said, and in a low, steady voice she read from the scroll. ‘When the old awake, the two must sunder. From her pain shall come the light and so into darkness go. Who will sing her home?’

  Chill bumps rose on Shaan’s skin.

  ‘You know the “her” referred to must be you, don’t you?’ Veila said.

  ‘Do I?’ Shaan said.

  Veila looked apologetic. ‘It is the only possibility, I fear. The two must sunder, can refer only to yourself and your brother, Tallis. We have seen other sections which allude to you. His bane, his beloved. The two with one face born of the sands.’ Fine lines around her eyes deepened. ‘That is but one section which talks of you both. Arak-si, Arak-ferish.’

  Shaan’s heart thumped hard at the sound of the names the serpents called them.

  ‘So what are you saying?’ she said.

  Veila took a delicate sip of kaf. ‘That much of what is in the scrolls is about you both. Here —’ she tapped the parchment, ‘— the old awakening means the gods — specifically the Four Lost ones — walking again across these lands. Didn’t you tell us of a woman in the Wild Lands who told you to seek them?’

  ‘She thought they may be able to defeat Azoth,’ Shaan said. ‘But she didn’t know for sure they were even alive.’

  ‘And you don’t … feel them, like you did Azoth?’ Veila asked very softly.

  Shaan’s mouth dried at the mention of his name. ‘No.’

  Veila read again from the scroll. ‘From her pain shall come the light and so into darkness go. Do you know what that might mean?’

  ‘How could I?’

  ‘Well, it could be talking of the pain you have already suffered bringing the Birthstone back into the world, or it could talk of more pain yet to come.’

  ‘And does the Prophet say anything about avoiding this pain?’ Shaan said, irritation rising.

  ‘You don’t believe in the Prophet’s writings?’ Veila’s expression was calm despite Shaan’s annoyed tone.

  ‘Would you want to?’

  ‘Perhaps not, but that doesn’t stop them from existing. You need to be prepared for what must come, Shaan. It seems quite clear that you must face difficult times.’

  ‘I can’t prepare for something I don’t understand.’

  ‘I think the time is coming when you will understand, though,’ Veila said. ‘We found two more passages that may help, that may even provide hope.’ She lifted the top sheet of parchment off the scroll to reveal another beneath. Gently she smoothed the edges. ‘This one was written not long before his death.’ She looked at Shaan closely for a moment then began to read from the scroll.

  The deadlands whisper. Water drips in darkness in their realm, nurturing one ignorant of his name. They were here before, they will be here for all time, singing the dust to their will. Singing the blood home. Seek the truth among the dead where paths laid are forgotten, where the stone eye stares blindly, where breath began.

  Shaan put down her cup, a hollow feeling in her gut at the mention of the eye.

  ‘The deadlands, the desert,’ Veila said. ‘It seems no coincidence you are headed there now.’

  ‘You think I’m supposed to find some answers there?’ Shaan was surprised her voice sounded so steady. The stone eye. The desert. Something cold had formed inside her and she thought about what Tallis had said, about the Guides of the Clans perhaps being behind it. And now this prophet had written about it.

  ‘What could the desert have to do with defeating Azoth?’ she said. ‘He can’t go there.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Veila said. ‘And we always thought it was because there was enmity between him and his siblings and the Guides who rule there, but I wonder if it is something more.’ She frowned. ‘The Prophet seems to hint that there is, but he is not clear.’

  ‘No, he isn’t clear on anything,’ Shaan said. ‘There’s just a lot of fancy words jumbled together. None of it makes sense.’

  ‘Visions and Void dreaming are often very obtuse,’ Veila said, unmoved by her agitation. ‘But I believe when he says the old awake, he truly does mean the lost Four, and that their coming shall bring you pain and us all some hope, but that
also there is darkness to come — a darkness perhaps you must come back to change.’

  ‘Come back from where?’ Shaan demanded. ‘You talk as if I’m going somewhere. Where am I supposed to go?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Veila answered. ‘But there is another passage that Tuon and Ivar found.’ She pulled another scroll from the satchel.

  ‘It might be a way to defeat Azoth,’ Tuon said, but she sounded as if she wished she hadn’t found it. She looked afraid.

  ‘Here.’ Veila unrolled the scroll, the parchment cracking beneath her hands. ‘The stone once broken, opens the way to salvation,’ she recited, ‘Sing through the darkness, sing her home.’

  The words chilled Shaan further and she said, ‘But what does that mean?’

  ‘The Stone,’ Veila said. ‘The Birthstone. We are sure it means if the Stone is broken Azoth will be defeated, although the darkness, sing her home…’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I haven’t been able to decipher what that means for you.’

  But Shaan’s attention had stopped on her mention of the Birthstone. ‘Break the Birthstone?’ she said. ‘It’s so powerful it almost killed me, and you think it should be broken?’ Her left hand tingled as if in response. ‘I’ve felt its power.’ She leaned toward the Seer. ‘I don’t know how that could even be possible. Besides, Azoth has it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Veila said. ‘But the Prophet says the two must sunder — a separation. Perhaps you will find it again; you called it to you once before. Perhaps you will be able to destroy it.’

  ‘Me?’ Shaan wanted to laugh, but the look in the Seer’s eye was too certain, too sad.

  ‘Your brother has gifts,’ Veila said. ‘I think you do also.’

  ‘And what about Tallis?’ Shaan said, ignoring the Seer’s implication. ‘Where is he in all this? There doesn’t seem much mention of him.’

  ‘We haven’t had time to get through all the scrolls yet.’

  Shaan stood up suddenly, filled with the need to escape. ‘Even if you do, I don’t see how it can make a difference,’ she said. ‘It’s all a tangle of words.’

  ‘Shaan,’ Tuon said, putting up a hand to her, ‘please, some of what the Prophet wrote has already come true. Azoth’s return, you and Tallis —’ She broke off as Shaan pulled her hand from her grasp.

  ‘No, Tuon, I’d rather make my own choices than be guided by the words of a dead man.’ Feeling exhausted and full of a weighted fear that seemed to have sunk into her bones, she walked out of the tent.

  Chapter 24

  Paretim stood on the cliff edge, looking down at the small collection of roughly made buildings below. They numbered no more than nine — four dwellings on each side of a narrow track and a squat-looking storehouse built hard against the foot of the cliff, a badly tended orchard nearby. The glimmer of a few orange-hued lights shone through the cracks in the walls. It called itself a village but in his time this would have barely been a camp. He smiled as he thought about what he’d just considered. His time would be coming again.

  ‘Brother.’ Epherin sprang up beside him to balance on the blackened stump of a dead tree. ‘What have you found — pickings?’ He smiled mischievously and Paretim looked at him with fondness. They had found him several days before. Paretim had forgotten how much he had missed him.

  ‘No pickings tonight, brother,’ he said. ‘You must be satisfied with the small inn I let you work your will over yesterday.’

  Epherin stood on one foot and pushed back the fine white-blond hair that flopped over his forehead. Tall and leanly muscular, his balance was perfect, not a waver as he shifted from one foot to the other, hanging the free foot in the air as if he was stepping on something only he could see.

  ‘But I haven’t visited this one yet,’ he complained. ‘It’s been so long, too long, those few folk weren’t enough.’ His eyes darkened to black pools. ‘You know how I get when you deny me.’

  Paretim’s humour vanished. ‘I said no.’ He began to walk back down the incline to the shadow of the trees, Epherin following.

  ‘Fortuse will be unhappy,’ he said slyly.

  Paretim stopped. ‘Have you forgotten about who sent us away, brother?’ he said.

  Epherin halted. ‘Have you?’

  ‘He is still stronger than us,’ Paretim said. ‘We must move quietly through the land or he will sense us, seek us out. Already we’ve been … imprudent. We must all be together if we are to challenge him.’ He began walking again. ‘Come,’ he threw over his shoulder, ‘our sister is hungry.’

  Epherin didn’t follow. He leaned against a tree trunk, moonlight reflecting off his hair. ‘But brother,’ he whispered softly, ‘he has sensed us already. Can’t you feel it? The Stone knows we are here and so does he.’

  With a hiss of anger, Paretim swept a fist at him. Epherin leaped sideways and back in a somersault, landing like a cat on the wet ground. The tree trunk split beneath Paretim’s strike, the wet wood creaking under the impact. Crouching on the ground, Epherin watched him, predatory, grinning.

  ‘Careful, brother,’ he said. ‘Sister loves my perfect face.’

  Paretim drew himself up, mastering his anger. ‘As have many,’ he said, and took a long breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them again he was fully in control. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘she is waiting. Tomorrow she thinks we will find Vail.’

  ‘I have missed him,’ Epherin said, standing and brushing the wet earth from his hands. ‘He always liked my jokes.’

  Paretim laughed. ‘He only pretended to like your jokes. It encouraged you to leave him be if he humoured you.’

  ‘Huh.’ Epherin fell into step beside him. ‘He humoured us all. Vail always preferred the company of his creations to us.’

  ‘That he did,’ Paretim said. ‘That he did.’

  ***

  Alterin sat on the soft cushions and stared at the sky. Bruises ached on her wrists, twin circles where his hands had held her down. They were beginning to heal now; it had been several days and he had shown no interest in her at all. Perhaps he was growing tired of her — but she did not like to hope for that. She had overheard that part of his army had been sent south already. Falmor, she formed the unfamiliar name of the village. The first test. Serpents had flown his warriors there. Perhaps they had already attacked, the village now nothing more than memory. She put her head in her hands briefly, then forced herself to sit up straight again. She must have hope. Without hope there was no life.

  Jared, or the Alhanti who had taken him over, stood with his back to her on the open stone patio looking down at Azoth’s training yard. The sound of the grunts and thuds of fighters practising was in the air. The day before, Azoth had finally let him out of the cage. He had stopped beating against the wall, stopped watching Azoth violate her. Azoth had made him her guard; he followed her about the palace, his brown eyes vacant of any knowledge of who she was, his hand hard when it touched her.

  Perhaps what was left of Jared the clansman was truly gone. But Alterin could not give up; she had seen that spark of humanity in his eyes before, had felt it, and she had to believe it was there still — beneath the hard gaze of what he had become.

  There was a sound behind her and she jumped as Azoth’s hand curled around the back of her neck.

  ‘Still watching?’ he whispered in her ear. She didn’t answer, her heart beating fast.

  He laughed. ‘Always so very hopeful.’ He tipped her back, her weight balanced on his palm. ‘Uriel.’ His mouth twisted in disdain as he traced the forefinger of his other hand down her chin and under the thin fabric of her dress. He cupped a breast, squeezing so she flinched. ‘Always the witness,’ he said, ‘it’s time again for you to watch out for me.’ His thumb grazed her nipple and he kissed her gently on the lips. ‘If you do well, you shall be rewarded.’

  Alterin repressed a shudder. ‘I cannot guarantee I can find them,’ she said, ‘they are very good at veiling themselves.’

  ‘Oh, but you must.’ He looked at Jared. ‘His continued existence
depends upon it.’

  Closing her eyes so she would not have to look at him, Alterin remained silent. After all, it mattered not what she said anymore; he would have his way.

  ‘Come.’ Azoth lifted her back up to sitting. ‘Take my hand.’

  She put her hand in his, unable to muster the energy to resist, feeling already the coiling of his essence around hers like a miasma, a snake.

  ‘Good.’ His voice was soft. She knew he had the Stone in his hand.

  There was a breath, a movement and sudden white light seared her vision. She arched back as he channelled the power of the Stone into her. She dimly heard herself crying out as she was rushed into the Place Between.

  Cold.

  Silence.

  Every time she came here now, she sensed the changing. Gods walked the waking land again and the shock of it affected everything. She felt the disapproval of spirits unseen, of ancient forces displeased. But she could not appease them, as she could not defy Azoth’s commands.

  He pushed her forward and she obeyed, drifting through the vaporous ways. Every so often a wraith shot across before her, a soundless scream issuing from its gaping mouth, gone as quickly as it appeared. She didn’t know what they were; memories of people who had died horrible deaths, or perhaps the manifestation of spirits seeking to warn her? She kept going until she felt it: a keen sense of others like him, a taste like rancid sugar cane. A sudden vision of strange trees, trunks narrow and leaves dusted green, came tumbling toward her. A line of sharp, rocky peaks and the shadowed perception of three forms gathered together, human-like in shape but not in feel. Heat beat from them, fire hot, steam scalded, and Alterin could not resist reaching for the closest figure despite her fear. Run from me, she wanted to say. One turned and a furious green-blue eye looked back. It screeched, then Alterin felt wrenching pain and suddenly everything was black.

  ‘I said look, don’t reach for them!’ Azoth’s voice was ragged with fury in her ear. She opened her eyes and saw the pale cream ceiling far above, and black-indigo eyes feral with wrath. He hit her, a sharp stinging slap to her face, and threw her across the floor. She bounced over cold stone and lay still, drawing breath in and out with a whimpering sound. Heavy footsteps came in from the patio.