Eye of the Labyrinth

by Jennifer Fallon

  On her left, another man with a pockmarked face and the dull eyes of heavy sedation was being tied to the post on the pyre of the first sun. He was Stanislav Denov, a fisherman from Yerl who had murdered his pregnant young wife in a fit of jealous rage not long before Wallin died. She glanced at Rees in the crowd again. Had he condemned the man to death? She watched as her son took a sip from the little silver cup then handed it on to the next man. He was swaying on his feet.

  In fact, everyone was swaying now in time to the primal beat of the drums. She saw Ella walk to the center of the inner circle. She could see her lips move as she chanted a prayer to the Goddess, calling down her blessing on those present.

  Everyone but me, that is.

  Morna caught sight of Belagren as she moved away from the altar, clutching a flaming torch in her hand. The spectators cried out their encouragement.

  “Please, let it be over quickly,” she whispered to nobody in particular.

  Belagren danced toward the wicker sun, where the drugged Yerl fisherman slumped against the post. The crowd fell to their knees as the High Priestess cried out something Morna could not quite make out, then she touched the flaming torch to the dry kindling piled at the base of the sun. The wicker caught with a whoosh, the flames leaping upward. The smoke was heavy in Morna’s nostrils. She drank it in greedily. Perhaps the fumes from the first pyre would make her unconscious even before the flames of her own pyre reached her.

  Once Belagren was satisfied that the first sun was well and truly alight, she danced back to the second sun and hesitated for a moment, staring up at Morna.

  “There’ll be a reckoning for this,” Morna warned, meeting Belagren’s eye defiantly.

  “Not in your lifetime,” the High Priestess responded in a voice meant only for her.

  Then she smiled triumphantly and touched the torch to the pyre.

  Morna managed to keep her composure. She stared silently down at Belagren as the flames caught, breathing through her mouth, hoping the smoke would take her soon. She could hear the flames crackling beneath her; feel the heat on her bare feet as it built up momentum.

  Then the flavor of the smoke changed, and she realized her shift was smoldering. She fought down her panic, forcing herself to take great heaving gasps of the choking smoke. She coughed as her lungs rejected the poison she was trying to inhale; her eyes watered as the smoke billowed around her. Belagren stood watching her, waiting for her to crack.

  I won’t give you the satisfaction, you black-hearted bitch.

  The flames licked higher and Morna felt the first real pain as they reached the soles of her feet. She bit down on her bottom lip to stifle her screams as the smell of her own burning flesh mingled with the wood smoke. Then her dress stopped smoldering and burst into flame. The fire raced toward her face, her loose hair crackling around her with a sickening stench as it burned.

  She took another gasping breath of smoke but unconsciousness refused to save her. Her eyes were blurred with tears and pain. She glanced at Rees one last time. He had not moved, transfixed by the sight of his mother consumed by flames.

  Then for some reason, a movement on the slope toward the Keep caught her eye. There were two figures running toward the common. A couple of latecomers no doubt, hurrying to watch the Duchess of Elcast burn . . .

  Her feet were on fire, the flesh blackened, the smoke billowing as the moist flesh simmered and burned. She could taste blood in her mouth. She had bitten right through her bottom lip to stop herself from screaming.

  Morna closed her eyes, willing herself to bear the agony, willing herself to ignore it. But the flames had hold of her now and would not let her go. The heat seared her flesh even in places it had yet to touch.

  “I’m sorry, Johan!” she cried out silently, no longer able to contain her suffering, no longer caring that she wasn’t going to die well. “I tried to be strong . . .”

  And then she began to scream.

  Chapter 35

  Dirk and Tia were halfway down the slope when they heard the screams. Dirk began to run faster, streaking ahead of Tia.

  “Dirk! No!”

  She slipped her bow over her shoulder and put on an extra burst of speed, forcing her stiff, aching muscles to move. When she was within a few steps of him she threw herself at Dirk and tackled him to the ground. They rolled the rest of the way down the slope and came to a stop with Tia sitting astride him. Dirk struggled to get free of her, but she held him down, through sheer force of will as much as physical strength.

  “It’s too late!” she cried, as she tossed the bow aside, relieved to see that she hadn’t broken it in her desperate lunge to stop Dirk from throwing his own life away.

  But the screams and the drums were all he could hear. There was a wild, feral look in his eyes. She doubted he heard a word she had said.

  “It’s too late,” she yelled at him again, slapping his face to reinforce her point. “You can’t save her!”

  The slap brought some semblance of sanity back into his eyes. “Let me up, Tia.”

  He sounded calm, but she wasn’t fooled.

  “You can’t do anything, Dirk.”

  The screams kept on relentlessly. Dear Goddess, why doesn’t she stop? Dirk tried to push Tia off him, but she had his arms pinned with her knees. She snatched up the bow and pushed it down across his throat until he was gasping for air.

  “It’s too late. There is nothing you can do,” she repeated slowly. “When I let you up we’re going to turn around and run like hell. Is that clear?”

  “Yes,” he agreed, far too meekly.

  “Let me put it another way, Dirk. You take one step in the direction of that pyre and I’ll put an arrow in your back.”

  He looked as if he believed her, but she wasn’t sure. The drums and his mother’s tormented screams as she was roasted alive were likely to have much more impact on him than Tia’s rational argument about the futility of a rescue attempt. But she had no choice. As they rode double toward Elcast Town, in a low voice that Dirk would not hear, Reithan had given her very specific instructions about what she must do if Dirk looked like he was going to be captured. If she was certain of anything at all, it was that the Lion of Senet and his henchmen were waiting for him down there on the common.

  She eased the bow a little and when he made no attempt to struggle, she warily climbed off him. He sat up, his face streaked with tears as Morna Provin’s screams tore through his soul. Tia stood up, nocked an arrow, drew the string back against her cheek and pointed it straight at him.

  “Get up.”

  Dirk did as she ordered, but moved no further. He could clearly see the pyre from where they were standing. There was perhaps a hundred yards of open space between where they had fallen and the edge of the crowd. The wicker suns were well alight, both figures tied to them swathed in flames.

  “End it, Tia,” he said in a dull voice.

  “What?”

  The screams intensified, as if the flames had tightened their grip on the duchess.

  “End it. Don’t let her suffer. If we can’t save her, let’s do that much at least.”

  Dirk was looking not at her, but at her bow and the arrow she had drawn. Tia realized what he was asking of her as the unremitting screams tore through the red night.

  Horrified by what he wanted, she relaxed the string and offered him the bow. “You do it.”

  He shook his head. “You’re the better shot. And the moment that arrow hits they’ll know we’re here. We’ve one chance at this, that’s all.”

  She hesitated, appalled by what he had suggested. Morna’s screams were drowning out all reason.

  Why hadn’t they drugged her, like they did the other victims of Landfall?

  “For pity’s sake, Tia!” he cried urgently. “That’s my mother down there! You said it yourself! Nobody deserves to die like that! End it! Please.”

  The screams were unbearable. Dirk’s eyes were haunted. Tia took a deep breath and drew the arrow back again, p
ointing it at Dirk. Then without allowing herself time to question what she was about to do, she swung the bow around and took aim on the burning pyre. She let out the breath slowly, unconsciously judging the distance, then, between one breath and the next, she released the string. The arrow arched over the common and hit the pyre.

  It struck Morna Provin in the eye, instantly cutting off the dreadful sound.

  The silence was a relief, but the other things Tia felt were too confused, too difficult to confront. To kill in cold blood ... to quite deliberately take a life, even for a humane purpose ...

  Tia shook herself and glanced down at the crowd. All hell was breaking loose as the soldiers hidden in the crowd realized what the arrow meant. They had already been spotted, and several guards were running across the open ground toward them.

  “That’s torn it,” she remarked. It was odd, but she felt nothing. The doubt, the recrimination, the guilt—they would come later, she guessed, when she let herself think about it.

  Dirk muttered something that sounded like a curse and grabbed her hand. He dragged her up the slope back toward the Keep. The postern gate seemed to be a lifetime away. They would never make it. As they neared the looming bulk of the Keep, Tia could hear the labored breathing of the soldiers who pursued them. They scrambled up the steps cut into the last part of the slope, when suddenly the gate opened for them and slammed shut as soon as they were through, the locking bar dropping into place behind them.

  Panting heavily, her heart pounding, Tia turned to discover their benefactor was the old man they had met earlier in the Keep.

  “Quickly,” he urged as the guards started pounding on the postern gate. It was only a matter of minutes before they would be at the front gate as well.

  Dirk and Tia followed him across the courtyard, where there were two fresh horses saddled and waiting for them, held by two young grooms. Tia ran to the nearest mount and jumped into the saddle. She turned, expecting Dirk to follow, but he had stopped to talk to the old man.

  “Come with us, Helgin.”

  “My days of running and hiding are over, Dirk,” the man replied with a rueful shrug. “Save yourselves. Don’t worry about me.”

  Dirk muttered a curse and turned to Tia. “Get down.”

  She dismounted, wondering what he was up to now. Dirk turned to the grooms. “Mount up. Ride toward the Yerl turnoff and then cut across country. Let them get a good look at you. As soon they look like catching you, surrender to them. Tell them I threatened to kill you if you didn’t do as I bid.”

  The boys followed Dirk’s orders without question. Tia watched their fresh horses galloping out of the Keep with despair. “Send our only means of escape off with the grooms! Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Shut up, Tia,” he ordered, before turning back to the old man. “You’re coming with us, Helgin.”

  “No, Dirk, I must—”

  “What? Stay here and give Antonov someone to vent his wrath on? Don’t be an idiot.”

  “I’d slow you down ...” the old man objected.

  “No, you won’t. We haven’t got that far to go.”

  In the distance, Tia heard a shout, as the guards closing in on the main gates caught sight of the two figures on horseback galloping away from the Keep.

  “Which way?” Tia asked, deciding that maybe sending the grooms off as a decoy wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  Dirk pushed the old man ahead of him toward the gate. “Follow me.”

  A few paces from the main gates to the Keep, Dirk led them onto a faint track that wound down through the brush toward the beach. He led the way in silence, stopping occasionally as the sound of shouted commands and galloping horses on the cobbled road above them drifted down. Helgin kept up pretty well, and Tia started to wonder who he was. She did not object to his presence, though. The old man had aided them enough that she was satisfied he was on their side, but if they collected any more exiles from this damn island, they would have rename Mil New Elcast.

  They hurried through the red night, past a small waterfall and a clear pool that steamed faintly with a whiff of sulfur, until they broke out of the woods and reached the beach. Not far from where they emerged, the longboat was waiting. Tia recognized Kurt and, with some relief, Reithan, standing on the beach, their swords drawn. Two archers stood either side of him. An arrow thunked into a tree near Tia’s head as the pirates caught sight of them.

  “Hey! It’s us!” Dirk cried in a loud whisper.

  The archers lowered their weapons. Kurt and Reithan hurried forward to meet them.

  “Who’s that?” Kurt demanded suspiciously when he spied Helgin.

  “A friend,” Dirk replied shortly, before turning to Reithan. “How did it go?”

  “Fine. Let’s get the hell out of here.” He glanced at Tia then looked over her shoulder, as if he expected someone else. “You weren’t able to ...”

  “No,” Tia told him flatly.

  Reithan looked at her for a moment, and then decided not to pursue the matter. “Come on. I don’t know how long we’ve got before my diversion isn’t a diversion any longer.”

  Tia helped Helgin into the boat and took a seat in the bow as the sailors stowed their weapons and picked up the oars. Dirk helped Reithan and Kurt run the boat into the water before jumping aboard. Reithan and Kurt took up the other pair of oars, and the longboat cut swiftly through the water toward the heads, leaving the small beach behind them. Dirk clambered forward and came to sit beside her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked cautiously.

  “Leave me alone.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re trembling.”

  She shook him off impatiently. “I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”

  “Tia ...”

  “What?” she snapped.

  Dirk stared at her for a moment. “Thank you.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. The fear of capture, the adrenaline rush of their escape, had kept the full impact of what she had done at bay. Dirk was right. She was trembling. And she wanted to cry.

  “Look,” he said gently.

  “At what?” she muttered, hanging her head so that he wouldn’t see her tears.

  “Reithan’s diversion.”

  Tia looked up, wiping her eyes. He was pointing around the bay at the wharf where the Calliope was tied.

  The Lion of Senet’s magnificent ship; his pride and joy, with its golden gunwale, proud masts and sleek lines, was furiously ablaze.

  “Was that your idea?”

  He nodded. “Seems like justice, don’t you think? Now Antonov and I have both lost something we loved tonight.”

  A sob she could not stifle rocked her suddenly. Dirk put his arm around her and held her while she cried, as the longboat slipped silently though the heads toward the waiting Makuan, the night lit brightly by the red sun and the roaring flames of the Calliope as she burned.

  PART THREE

  NEW FRIENDS, OLD ENEMIES

  Chapter 36

  The days following Landfall were strange for Dirk. The grief he felt for his mother was tempered by the knowledge that Antonov had not gone unpunished. The sight of the Calliope going up in flames had a cathartic effect on him. He could remember Wallin Provin telling him when he was a small child that vengeance served no purpose, but Dirk was inclined to disagree. Now that he had tried it, he decided vengeance tasted just fine.

  Stooping to avoid hitting his head on the low beams of the Makuan’s companionway, Dirk made his way aft through the gloom to the mate’s cabin, where Tia was quartered. He had hardly seen her since they had left Elcast, and was fairly certain she was avoiding him.

  Dirk felt more than a little guilty about what he had asked of her, although he was not sorry he’d been able to end his mother’s torment. He regretted that he’d had to ask Tia to do it. It was his decision, his responsibility, and he should have been the one who’d carried it out, but he was no marksman. A shot like the one Tia had made was far beyond his ski
ll. But now he had burdened Tia with the guilt of taking another human life, and for that he was genuinely sorry.

  Dirk knocked on the cabin door and waited for a moment, then knocked again when he received no answer.

  “Who is it?” came the muffled reply.

  Dirk said nothing, certain that if he identified himself, she would refuse to open the door. He knocked again and heard her moving about inside the cabin, followed by the lock turning. Tia jerked the door open and made to slam it in his face as soon as she realized who it was.

  Dirk pushed his hand against the door to stop her closing it.

  “Go away.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t need to talk to you. Leave me alone.”

  He pushed the door open a little farther, and she threw her hands up in defeat, taking a step backward.

  “Say what you have to say and go.”

  He closed the door behind him and leaned on it, looking at her with concern. “You look terrible.”

  “Thanks. Did you come here to tell me that? Fine. Now you can leave.” She turned her back on him and pretended to straighten the bedding on the narrow bunk.

  “I am leaving, Tia. That’s what I came to tell you.”

  She turned to stare at him suspiciously. “What do you mean, you’re leaving?”

  “I’m going to Omaxin.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve had enough. I’ve spent the last two years pretending that if I kept my head down, Antonov would forget about me. Maybe I hoped it would all just go away. But it won’t. Not now. I risked everyone trying to save my mother, and all I’ve achieved is hurting you and provoking Antonov.”

  “Nice of you to figure that out after the fact.”

  “He was looking for me before, Tia. Now he’s going to be actively hunting me. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life hiding from him.”

  “So you’re going to run away to Senet? That makes sense. Go and hide right under his nose. You really are the clever one, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, Senet is probably the last place he’ll look for me, but that’s not why I’m going. I want to end this, Tia. I want to bring him and Belagren and their whole twisted, sick religion down so badly that I can taste it like ashes on my tongue.”