by Jo Zebedee
“I did.” There was an edge of something in Phelps’ voice, not pride so much as resignation.
“You must have some regard for Baelan, to do so.”
Baelan held his breath, ears straining for the answer. It shouldn’t matter: Phelps was nothing to him except the stranger who’d visited through his childhood to keep tabs on his development.
It did matter. No one else had stood for Baelan. He’d celebrated his naming ceremony and had shared nightfire. If he didn’t matter to Phelps, who could he matter to?
“I like the boy,” said Phelps. “He’s smart. A survivor.” Baelan filled with pride. “He was also necessary for our plans.”
The pride vanished, quicker than it had come. He had been used, nothing more. A pain filled his chest, the pain of disappointment; of hurt. He wanted to lash out, to hurt Phelps, but couldn’t. Even if he’d been strong enough, he couldn’t admit to having heard this conversation.
“You could speak for him,” said Mother, her voice pleading, and anger curled in Baelan. She shouldn’t need to plead for anything from Phelps, who wasn’t even of the tribes. “You said he was a survivor – give him that opportunity. If we both demand his freedom, the Elders will have to agree.”
Baelan’s breath barely came. He had a chance here, one he’d never thought of having. Phelps had said he had some regard for him; let it be enough.
“I can’t.” The words were choked. “Even if I gave my promise – and part of me wants to – when I came back under my Lady’s attention, I wouldn’t see it through.”
“You’re weak,” said Mother. “You don’t hold your own mind.”
“I can do nothing to escape my Lady.” His voice seemed to come from a distance. “She has held me for years; she will hold me until I die.”
“You could leave.”
A harsh laugh escaped. “I can no more leave than a mouse escapes a cat. I – she touches my mind. I know her as no one else does.”
“You were lovers.” It was a statement.
“Once. Long ago.” A bitten-off curse. “Now – I… I cannot go against her.”
Baelan lay, his muscles tight and tense. A chance to live: that was all he wanted. To know he mattered enough for Phelps to keep his oath as a father. But he didn’t. Everything he’d done, everything he’d carried out for the Empress had been for nothing, and his real father wouldn’t come for him again. He’d said when he’d rescued Baelan that he could only do it once. To want his father to come for him again, after years of hating him, felt unreal – and yet he did.
Besides, when he learned that Baelan had left, and had taken Kerra with him, he’d disown him for sure. Assuming he was still alive and free. Baelan tightened his eyelids against a hot wash of tears. The deeper he was pulled into things, the harder it was to know his mind the way he had when he’d lived in the desert and everything had been simple.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The sprites had gathered, more than Lichio could count. When he’d been a boy, he’d thought Rjala’s description of them more gruesome than possible. He’d grossed out on it, adding details of slobbering jaws and wicked eyes. If she were in front of him, he’d tell her she hadn’t done them justice.
Small, with teeth that glinted. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he made out suckers attached to their skin, barely covered by thin fur. They pulsated in the faint glow from the lava pool. He stared at the suckers, imagining what they would do once attached to his skin, as his hands worked at the berries. He shivered and shuffled closer to the lava pool, its warmth the only thing cutting through the freezing air.
The night wore on, the hours stretching longer than they should. More sprites gathered, coming through the forest in troops, easily in their hundreds, coming and going, replenished incessantly.
At last, as he’d known it would, the store of berries by the pool ran out. He had to crawl to seek more, feeling the juice dry on his body, praying he’d make it in time. His skin tightened. His shivering turned to shuddering. The sprites came closer, braver, waiting their moment. He crawled forwards, not looking back, seeking, seeking.
The slightest heat on the ground made him stop. An old trunk stretched in front of him, reaching to the canopy, wreathed in the thornberry bush. He forced himself to his feet and ran forwards, reaching for it. His right hand closed around a bunch of berries. He pulled them, desperate. The rustling grew louder behind him; the sprites knew they had to act now. Something touched his leg, gripping his ankle, and he wrenched it away. Another touch, this one with sharp pain – the suckers attaching to his skin.
He burst one of the berries, ripping his fingers. He spun, spraying the juice behind him with a yell.
The sprite drew back, spitting. The juice spattered through the air, but the sprite stayed only a few feet back, waiting. Lichio popped another berry and smeared its juice on him, ignoring the stench, worse as each layer mixed with his cold sweat. The sprite drew back and watched him, its teeth bared.
Lichio drew his legs up close to his body, hunching over his stash of berries, a golem protecting its treasure. Even as one hand worked at the berries, the other reached through the bushes until he found another bunch. His fingers fumbled, too cold to work fast, and he barely kept hold of each bunch he pulled. He drew them into his pile; it was pitifully small, and each was taking longer to open. He wasn’t going to reach morning. Not at this speed. He tried using his mouth to pop one, but the thorns ripped his lips, and he had to stop.
At a rustling, he glanced up. The forest was still dark. He tried to guess how long he’d been here. Hours, anyway; the shivering told him that. How long did night last on Ferran? The long dusks and sunrises took up part of the day, the pure dark Sprites’-vigil, as the Ferrans called it, less. He squinted at the canopy, but there was no sign of lightening in the gloom. Too bloody long, that was how long it lasted.
A distant cry made him jump, a keening that brought the patter of more feet through the forest. They knew he was almost out of berries. They were surrounding him, ready to pounce. He scrunched into the bush, yelping as it cut into him. Another cry echoed and he burst a berry, not daring to check how many remained. At least he’d survived this long; when they took him, it wouldn’t be long until daybreak. It would be quick.
He kept his head down, concentrating on the berries, not letting himself think of what lay ahead. He could make out their colour, a deep red, not the black they’d appeared all night. He looked up, hardly daring to hope. The tree above him hung thick with sprites, but beyond them, in the upper canopy, the forest was lighter, he was sure of it.
A third cry came, different this time – more of a warning. The sprites retreated, hissing, their mouths drawn back, revealing rows of sharp teeth. With a rustle of closing branches they vanished, into the canopy, as quickly as they’d appeared the night before.
Lichio slumped forwards, dropped the last of his berries, and gave in to the scream he’d been holding back all night, muffled against his knee.
It was morning.
***
Sonly looked at the clock: four o’clock in the morning, Ferran-standard time. Ten minutes after she’d last looked and at least another hour before the search teams would go back into the forest.
The night had stretched, unbearably slow, filled with fear that she’d lost Kerra and Lichio, that Kare was driving himself to his death on Abendau for a dream that didn’t matter, not at the cost of everyone she loved. Grief surged, again, pushing past the coldness she’d tried to hold in place – had to hold in place, or she’d be no use to anyone. Grief and the knowledge, sickening her, that everything anchoring her life – their lives – had gone.
The sun rose over Marel City, glinting off the high towers. It was a sight on a million holo-vids, the great purple-tinged sky, the sleek transports that ferried between the Ferran planets. At the edge of the atmosphere the hub, lit up though the night so it was visible on the edge of planetary space, began to fade from view. Later, when it was full daylight, it w
ould appear again, a dim grey moon in the daytime sky.
Surely, by now, the sprites would have returned to their trees and ended their night’s torture. For once, she wished she followed a religion but the Banned had been made up of people so diverse that religions had merged with each other during her childhood, and she’d never fallen under the spell of any. It had left her a lingering sense of something out there, but no clear idea of who or what. She envied those with faith. Sam had faced hell and found a way past it, not least because of his belief.
There had to be something; too many believed for there not to be. She dropped to her knees, surprising herself, but it felt right. She closed her eyes and prayed, her thoughts formless and raw. She prayed for her daughter and brother in the dark forest, for her husband in the desert facing his nightmares. She prayed until she ran out of thoughts, and then she tried again, this time murmuring the word please over and over again. That was all she wanted: that please, something, somewhere, listened to her. Finally, drained, she opened her eyes and got to her feet. She had no idea if the prayer had made any difference but she felt lighter somehow, as if she had actually done something useful.
A freighter descended from the hub to the planetary port, the first in hours. She should have already been out of Marel and on Ferran-V, ready for the daylight. She was no use to anyone. She couldn’t even get off the planet without a ship and a pilot. The freighter swooped towards the port, heavy and graceless, the opposite of the Roamer freighters she’d grown used to.
The Roamers. She could have pounded her hand off the glassine at missing something so obvious. They might not care who she was outside of her connection with Kare, but they cared about Kerra. She was a Roamer princess. They’d understand why she shouldn’t be left cold in the forest, waiting for a stranger to claim the body. She gathered her jacket and left the room, ignoring the guards standing at either side of the door. She made her way to the transport stands and climbed into a planet-hopper.
“The port, please.” She smiled. The port, where the Roamers waited their King’s return. She wanted to contact him and beg him not to face his mother, to come back to Syllte and leave the fight for someone else. She’d tell him she was done, that she could risk nothing more. The transport flew over the streets of Marel, already filling with early commuters. She gave a thin smile at herself in the window. She could tell him whatever she liked – whether he’d listen was another matter altogether.
***
Get up, Lichio ordered himself. He had to get help: Kare needed to know that Phelps had the kids before the assault. And Sonly needed to know; she’d be out of her mind with worry. And Josef needed him to come out of this alive, and do whatever deal was needed.
He managed to stand, and yelled, properly yelled, as the thorns scraped his skin. The noise felt good in a perverse way, as if he was reclaiming the forest for himself.
He stumbled to the clearing. Last night, crawling, it had felt like a mile; today it took moments to reach. He found his clothes and pulled on his shirt, but even its soft fabric made him cry out. His trousers, dragged over ripped skin, brought a sharp hiss. Reaching with swollen fingers, he checked his belt. His equipment-cache was gone, including his comms unit and emergency supplies. Damn, he needed it. A quick search confirmed it wasn’t lying anywhere obvious, and he didn’t have time to spread out further. For all he knew, it was in the canopy with the little sprite bastards. He’d have to manage without.
A wave of dizziness passed over him. His shirt was already stained red, and he didn’t know how much of it was blood and how much juice. If it was blood, he’d lost more than he’d thought – and certainly more than was ideal.
He pushed his hair back from his forehead and took a deep breath. The dizziness eased, letting him think straight. There was nothing else for it, he’d have to walk. The thought of pulling his boots on was beyond him, so he stepped barefoot into the centre of the forest clearing and paused, trying to get his bearings. He could be anywhere. He started to walk in the direction he thought he’d come from yesterday, but there was no noise around him or sign of a search. He needed to find a path, any path. If he did, he’d be on the tourist trail, and someone would pick him up. Either that, or he’d reach a station and raise the alarm from there.
The sun reached its zenith and started to crawl towards evening. Thoughts moved lazily across his mind as he walked, plans to get to the palace and the cells, plans to use his agents to break Josef out, memories of what happened in the hidden depths of Abendau, quickly quashed only to return a moment later, circling for chinks to attack through. Transports droned overhead; searchers, he supposed. He stopped, too tired to go on. He wouldn’t survive another night, he knew that. And this time he didn’t have the option of his blaster; it had been lost long ago, buried somewhere in the thickets of thorns.
He sank to his knees. The ground whirled beneath him and he fell forwards, pitching onto the earth. He closed his eyes, not caring if he ever moved again or if the sprites did come for him.
Faces swam in front of him, from his past. His father, Eevan, Rjala, all gone. His mother, who he thought of rarely – he’d been so young when she died, it seemed a different life to the one he led. Her hand reached for him, but he didn’t reach back: he hadn’t been clever enough to get out of the forest, or to get her to safety during the raid that had killed her.
Think of others – think of the living. Of Kerra, on her way to Abendau; Kare already there. Sonly, who must know he and Kerra were missing. Josef. He focused on Josef, imagining the kink of his hair, the determined curl on the nape of his neck, just big enough to twist around his little finger. He’d never get the chance to find the words he should have said. He’d never be able to admit he’d been an idiot who hadn’t taken the chance to put his past behind him, to open up to the risk of love. If he could go back to his office, and face Josef again, would he still stay silent? He didn’t believe he would.
How many sprites were in the canopy, waiting for him? Would they track him from above and know where he was as soon as darkness fell? Of course they would; they’d want to keep their prey close. Just like the Empress. He licked his dry lips. He hoped Kare didn’t find out about Kerra and the boy. He shouldn’t be distracted by them, or anything. He wished he could get a message to him. He’d tell Kare to take his mother out, however he could. Once the head of the snake was dead he could get to the others.
Useless thoughts, nothing more. Lichio closed his eyes and lay, exhausted, waiting for the night to fall and the sprites to finish their business with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Kare stepped into the living area of the safe house, which had been turned into a makeshift dorm, with sleeping rolls laid out in neat rows. He claimed an empty one a little away from the door, glad he hadn’t been offered the single bedroom which had been turned into an impromptu armoury. Sleeping in the midst of an arsenal didn’t appeal but, more importantly, it would be good for the squad to see he was equal and no more in this raid – not even that, the most junior of this squad had more experience than he had. If the raid went wrong he’d be just as dead, after all. He’d see to that, if nothing else.
He dropped onto the mat and pulled off his boots. His toes relaxed, and he stretched before lying on the surprisingly soft mat. Things had improved since he’d been a squaddie, it seemed. He pulled the blanket – standard issue, thin but warm – over his fatigues.
The sound of quiet breathing surrounded him, broken by the occasional rustle of people turning over to get comfortable. It took him back to his early days at the Banned, sharing a barracks with fifteen other recruits. He’d been so scared then, not knowing what the future held and if it would be as horrific as his father’s visions. At least he knew that answer now.
He closed his eyes. Sleep played with the corners of his mind, not quite taking him. Images flickered, of Sonly, of the kids, of Syllte – familiar images that should soothe, but added a trickle of worry instead. He took a deep breath and tigh
tened and relaxed his muscles one by one. It was no wonder he was stressed: coming back to Abendau was enough to make anyone tense. Sleep finally embraced his tired body as it drew him under.
The floor became harder and colder; the quiet breaths were replaced by silence, broken only by the drip of water, a drip he’d listened to for months, counting pain by it. It wasn’t going to be a good dream. He tried to rouse himself but was too deeply under.
Footsteps echoed. He had to get out; they’d hurt him again. His hands throbbed; his stomach ached, empty and hungry. He whimpered. The steps became clearer: sharp steps, not the heavy boots of Beck. Sweat broke as fear washed through him. He tried to sit up, pushing his hands against the cold ground.
He stared at his hands. They weren’t his. They were too young, no more than a child’s.
The cold deepened. The steps were close now, and he knew whose they were. He wanted his power back. The thought came to him, raw with anger, immature in its simplicity. If he had his power, he’d hurt the Empress like she’d never been hurt before. She couldn’t do this to someone from the tribes. It wasn’t right.
The cell door opened. He tried to back away but was too weak. It wasn’t just the Empress silhouetted in the doorway: there were others with her, soldiers on either side. If they were going to take him, she was finished with him.
The first soldier took hold of his arm, but he kicked out, ignoring a jarring pain in his leg. “Get away from me!”
“Sir, are you all right?”
Who was the sir? He kicked out again, but the Empress turned her attention to him, making him yell at the familiar pain wrenching through him. He pulled at his manacles, not caring that it hurt his wrists.
“Kare, wake up!”
The voice was insistent, and it made no sense; Kare was his father.
