Vengeance ttr-1

by Ian Irvine

  Reaching between the brown toadstools in front of her, she found a red-and-yellow girr-grub by feel and crushed it, wincing as the sharp bristles pricked her fingers. After dropping the muck into her compost bucket she rinsed her hands under a wall spring. Last year she had sucked a sore finger covered in girr slime and spent the next three days throwing up the lining of her stomach.

  Mia was humming as she worked. At least she could still dream. Tali’s vow to hunt down her mother’s killers had never faltered, but in ten years she had learned nothing more about them and this morning’s revelation had extinguished all hope. This morning, her eighteenth birthday and coming-of-age day, Little Nan had given Tali the letter her father had written her mother only days before his own tragic death. The letter that made it clear Tali would be next to die.

  Her hand clenched on the stone tray. ‘It’s not right!’ she hissed.

  ‘What?’ said Mia.

  ‘Our servitude! Living in terror every day of our lives. Sleeping on stone beds. Being flogged for a scowl or a sideways look. Torn apart from our loved ones — ’

  ‘Don’t say such things,’ Mia whispered. ‘What if the guards hear?’

  Tali’s voice rose. ‘Worked to death in the heatstone mines, killed for no reason at all.’ The blood was pounding in her head. ‘We’ve got to throw off our chains and cast the enemy down.’

  ‘Shh!’ Mia slapped her hand over Tali’s mouth. ‘They’ll condemn you to the acidulators.’

  Tali yanked the hand away. ‘If they try,’ she said recklessly, ‘I’ll smash — ’

  Mia shook her head and backed away, her eyes wide and frightened.

  A ululating whistle sounded behind Tali and she sprang aside, too late. The chymical chuck-lash wrapped around her left shoulder and went off, crack-crack-crack.

  She staggered several steps, clutching her blistered, bloody shoulder, and through a drift of brown smoke saw Orlyk, the bandy-legged guard, scowling at her. A fringe of chuck-lashes swung from Orlyk’s belt like red bootlaces and she was raising another, ready to throw. Most of the guards were decent enough, but Orlyk was an embittered brute and she had been in a foul temper all day. And if she’d actually heard what Tali had said -

  ‘Lazy, Pale swine,’ Orlyk grunted, her blue-tattooed throat rising and falling like a calling toad. ‘Come the day when Khirrik-ai leads us to take back our land and we don’t need your kind any more. Oh, soon come the day!’

  Tali’s head gave another throb. She fantasised about tearing the chuck-lashes from Orlyk’s belt, driving her to the nearest effluxor with them and dumping her head-first into the filth.

  ‘Tali!’ Mia hissed.

  Lower your eyes and say, ‘Yes, Master’.

  Tali shivered at the hatred in Orlyk’s bulging eyes, then managed to regain control and forced out the sickening words, ‘Thank you for correcting me, Master.’

  She bowed lower than necessary. One day, Orlyk, one day! Tali knew how to defend herself, for she had practised the bare-handed art with Nurse Bet every week since her mother’s murder, but raising a hand against a guard was fatal.

  Orlyk snapped the tip of a chuck-lash at Tali’s left ear, crack-crack, grunted, ‘Work, slave,’ and headed after another victim.

  The pain was like a chisel hammered through Tali’s ear. She lost sight for a few seconds, the colours in her head swirled and danced, then her returning sight revealed Orlyk’s broad back as she approached the arch-way. Scalding blood was dripping from Tali’s ear onto her bare shoulder, and blood-drenched memory roused such fury that she snatched up a chunk of rock.

  ‘Tali, no!’ Mia hissed.

  As the guard passed the puffball trays, Tali hurled her rock twenty yards and struck a giant puffball at its base. It disgorged an orange torrent of flame-spores, but then the shockwave set off a hundred other puffballs and she watched in horror as the guard disappeared behind churning spore clouds. When they settled, Orlyk was convulsing on the floor, choking, her face and throat swelling monstrously.

  ‘Are you insane?’ hissed Mia. ‘If she dies …’

  ‘I didn’t mean that to happen,’ Tali whispered.

  ‘You never do.’

  ‘Sorry, Mia. I’m really sorry.’

  Mia ran down the far side of the bench, picked the rock out of the puffball tray and tossed it out of sight. Reaching up to the clangours beside the archway, she struck the square healer’s bell with the ring-rod. The bell’s chime was picked up by trumpet-mouthed bell-pipes running across the ceiling, and shortly Tali made out an echo from outside. Mia came back, glaring at her.

  ‘I’m not taking it any longer,’ Tali said defensively. ‘If I have to die, I’m not going quietly.’

  ‘Leave me out of it,’ Mia snapped.

  Shortly a lean, austere Cythonian, the red, linked-oval cheek tattoos of a healer standing out on his grey skin, ran in. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Puffballs went off spontaneously,’ Mia lied.

  He inspected the tray of burst puffballs and the thick layer of orange spores surrounding Orlyk, then stared at Tali. She kept working, watching him from the corner of an eye. Her cheeks grew hot.

  ‘I tried really hard,’ Tali said under her breath once he had turned to Orlyk. ‘But when she hit me with the second chuck-lash — ’

  ‘I told you not to draw attention to yourself.’

  ‘Mama died because I didn’t act quickly enough, and I’m never — ’

  ‘Shh!’ said Mia.

  Several slaves appeared on the other side of the archway, pretending to work while looking in sideways.

  ‘You!’ called the healer to the nearest slave, a thin girl with stringy yellow hair and eyes that must have seen a nightmare. ‘Run to the spagyrium. Get a sachet of blast-balm and a large head bag, quick!’ He handed her a rectangular healer’s token made from shiny tin.

  ‘B-blast-balm and head bag, Master,’ she said, head dutifully lowered.

  ‘Large head bag.’

  ‘Master!’ She ran out, sweaty feet slap-slapping on the stone floor.

  The healer dragged Orlyk away from the spore-covered area, dampened a cloth and began to clean the spores out of her eyes, mouth, ears and nose. Orlyk’s face was scarlet, the swollen skin shiny and balloon-taut. Clotted sounds emerged from her throat as her lungs struggled to draw air.

  ‘Pray she’s all right,’ Mia said from the corner of her mouth. ‘If she dies — ’

  Tali could not meet her eyes. Why had she been so stupid?

  The slave reappeared, panting, and handed the healer a clear bag made from the intestines of an elephant eel. The healer pulled it over Orlyk’s head, inflated it with a small bellows, pulled the string on a pillow-like sachet of blast-balm, inserted it inside the bag and held the bag closed around Orlyk’s tattooed neck while he counted to five.

  A loud, wet flupp sounded, like gas bubbles bursting at the top of the squattery pits. Mustard-yellow vapour swirled inside the head bag then it shrank tightly against Orlyk’s head. After a minute the healer peeled the bag off, thumped Orlyk in the chest and she took a gurgling breath. Red blisters protruded through the coating of yellow balm but the swelling was already going down.

  As the healer and the slave girl carried Orlyk out to the Healery, her black eyes fixed on Tali and, with a convulsive snap of the wrist, Orlyk hurled another chuck-lash. Tali ducked, it soared over her head and struck Mia on her swollen belly, crack-crack-crack.

  Stifling a cry, Mia pressed both hands to her wildly quivering belly.

  Tali ran to her. ‘Are you all right?’

  Mia nodded and took her hands away to reveal a red and white welt as long as a finger. ‘Only the tip caught me. Lucky.’

  ‘Lucky,’ said Tali, guilt churning in her. ‘Let me heal — ’

  ‘Someone’s coming.’ Mia began to squash girr-grubs as though it was her sole delight.

  Tali did the same. A replacement guard came in, stared at her for several minutes then went into the next grotto. Through th
e archway, a toothless slave was scattering compost onto trays of mauve, curly-tipped Sprite Caps. One cap could cure the worst toothache within minutes; three caps would cure life almost as quickly. It was not unknown for desperate slaves to take that way out.

  ‘We got away with it.’

  Mia touched the welt on her belly and winced. She was paler than usual, and in evident pain. Her belly was churning, the muscles clenching and unclenching.

  Any other slave would have sworn at Tali, or slapped her. Tali wished Mia would do the same. Anything would be better than this sickening shame. But Mia was too nice, too gentle. She reminded Tali of her mother.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mia. I just snapped.’

  ‘What is it with you? You’ve been acting strangely all day.’

  ‘You know what happened to Mama?’

  ‘You’ve told me at least fifty times,’ said Mia. ‘You never stop talking about it.’

  Tali hadn’t realised. ‘Well, according to Father’s letter, Mama’s mother, grandmother and great-grandmother were also killed the same way, and now I’ve come of age I’m marked to be next. Every time someone looks at me, every time I see a stranger pass by, I think they’re the one. I can’t take it any more. I’ve got to — ’

  ‘Shh!’ Mia jerked her head towards the archway.

  Tali glanced at the old slave. ‘Suba’s no harm. She’s simple.’

  ‘I think she’s a kwissler.’ An informer.

  Tali moved out of Suba’s sight and pressed her hand against the welt on Mia’s belly, beginning the charm Nurse Bet had taught her when she was little. Most Cythonians turned a blind eye to healing charms, since they weren’t real magery, though a vengeful guard might still chuck-lash you for using one.

  Healing charms were all Tali could do. She had practised her mother’s gentle magery every night since her death, but it never worked. Tali’s own gift had only come a handful of times, always when she was furious, though it was neither gentle nor controllable. It exploded out of her, wreaking unintended ruin, then vanished for years. Was that because she was so afraid of it?

  To save herself and beat the enemy her mama had spoken of, the one that had fluttered in her nightmares like a wrythen, Tali had to find her buried magery and learn to control it. She had to find it fast, but who could she ask?

  Trust no one.

  CHAPTER 6

  Tali pressed her back against the oozing wall. She always felt vulnerable with an open space behind her. Could Mia know magery? Tali had seen no evidence of any, though those few who had the gift hid it.

  ‘We’ve got to escape,’ said Tali.

  Another spasm shook Mia’s small frame and she bit back a cry. ‘Leave me out of it. I’ll soon have a baby to look after.’

  ‘All right, I’ve got to escape, and there’s only one way. Mia, I don’t suppose — ’

  ‘I hope you’re not asking what I think you’re asking.’ There was no warmth in Mia’s voice now.

  ‘Mia, please.’

  Mia checked over her shoulder. ‘I could be flogged for saying the word. And anyone who does say it is watched thereafter.’

  Sweat trickled down Tali’s bare chest to soak her threadbare loincloth. ‘If I don’t get away, I’m going to be killed.’

  Mia avoided her eyes. Maybe she did know magery.

  ‘Mia, I’m desperate.’

  ‘I don’t have the … the gift,’ she muttered. ‘And I don’t know anyone who does.’

  Tali felt sure she was lying. ‘If you were my friend, you’d help me.’

  ‘If you were my friend, you wouldn’t ask,’ said Mia, deeply hurt. ‘Haven’t you done enough to me today?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Tali put her arms around Mia. ‘I am a terrible friend, I know.’

  ‘You’re a wonderful friend,’ said Mia, pulling free. ‘You just — you push too hard.’

  She staggered, catching at the bench as a spasm twisted her soft face. Everything about her was soft and sweet. Save for the matter of her belly she would have been the perfect slave.

  ‘It’s not your time yet, is it?’ said Tali, holding her up.

  The spasm passed and Mia resumed her work. ‘It’s not due for two months.’

  ‘How did you get pregnant, anyway?’

  She smiled. ‘The usual way.’

  But Pale boys were taken away at the age of ten to slave in Cython’s mines, comminuteries, segregators, calciners and foundries, where most were worked to death before the age of thirty. The adult women only saw their partners on monthly mating nights, though, Tali had been told, some men were so weak that they weren’t up to it. Besides, she had never seen Mia with a man. There weren’t enough to go around.

  Tali’s stomach rumbled. Food production in the grotto farms, eeleries and poultyards was higher than ever, yet rations had been reduced again last week. Did slaves no longer matter? Why not?

  They continued down the outside, steadily filling their buckets with girr-grubs. Mia kept well ahead, avoiding her, and Tali did not raise the topic again. She worked absently, making plan after plan, but all foundered on the same obstacle. No slave had ever escaped Cython, so how could she hope to? Many times she had sought the tunnels Tinyhead had led them along that terrible day, but she had never found them.

  As they reached the end of the grotto, Mia gasped and doubled over.

  ‘What is it?’ Tali cried, holding her up.

  Pink fluid was flooding down her friend’s legs and puddling on the stone floor. Her waters had broken.

  ‘Tali,’ wailed Mia, ‘it’s too early!’

  It must be coming because of the chuck-lash. Curse Orlyk! But Tali knew it was her own stupid fault. Mia had warned her, and yet again she had allowed her anger to control her. What a lousy friend she was.

  Tali helped Mia to the floor, lifted the loincloth and her hands clenched involuntarily.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Mia grabbed Tali’s wrist.

  Tali shivered. Let it be stillborn. If it’s born dead, we can hide the body and she might get away with it.

  ‘Tali?’ whispered Mia. ‘My baby is all right, isn’t it?’

  What to say? Tali looked again, but there was no doubt at all.

  ‘It’s small,’ she said, standing up to check on the guard in the next grotto. For bearing a Cythonian’s baby Mia would be scourged, and Tali too, for witnessing the crime. ‘It’ll come quickly.’

  ‘Babies can live at seven months, can’t they?’ Mia’s tone was pleading.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Is it good and pink?’

  Of course it’s not pink, Tali wanted to scream, but then the slate-grey baby slipped out. Surely it couldn’t live at seven months. What was she supposed to do? Scourging meant a life of agony that no healing charm could repair. There had to be a solution. But what, what, what? She could not think. Her mind had gone numb. ‘It’s a boy, but …’

  ‘My beautiful boy!’ sighed Mia.

  ‘I don’t think he’s breathing.’

  ‘Doesn’t have to ’til the cord is cut. Give him here.’

  Tali cut the cord with her harvesting knife and knotted the end, carefully, respectfully. She picked the tiny baby up, feeling his lungs struggling as she embraced him with her hands and gave him to Mia. If he died, they might escape punishment — no, what sort of a monster was she, wishing that on a helpless infant?

  He took a faint breath. ‘You’ve got to hide him, Mia. Hurry! I’ll say you’ve gone to the squattery to pee.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Mia said dreamily. ‘I’ve just had a baby.’

  Tali wanted to slap her. ‘A Cythonian baby! And you know the penalty.’

  ‘They wouldn’t hurt my baby.’ Mia cradled the infant in her arms.

  It was like standing beneath a toppling wall. ‘Come on!’ Tali tried to lift her. ‘If you’re quick, you can still get away with it.’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ wailed Mia. ‘You’re spoiling everything.’ She looked down and her face cracked. ‘Tali,
he’s not breathing. Do something.’

  The baby’s lips were turning blue. Tali put her hands around his tiny body. Heal, heal! But saving a life was far beyond her skill. He gave a little shudder and lay still. Tears welled in Tali’s eyes. The poor little thing hadn’t had a chance.

  As she stood there, not knowing what to do, a rumbling voice echoed through the archway from the next grotto. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch. What was Overseer Banj doing here today? Investigating what had happened to Orlyk, of course.

  Guilt rose up in her throat like vomit. She crouched in front of Mia, pressing the baby into her arms. ‘It’s Banj, checking up. Hide it, quick!’

  ‘Banj won’t hurt me,’ said Mia. ‘Not when I show him my beautiful baby.’

  ‘Your son is gone,’ Tali said gently.

  ‘No, he’s not!’

  ‘Mia, he’s dead. Please — ’

  Mia’s face crumpled. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

  Banj was kindly, as slave masters went, but he could not overlook a grey baby. ‘He’ll have both of us scourged.’

  ‘Run away, then,’ said Mia, kicking Tali in the knee. ‘It’s your fault my little boy is dead.’

  That hurt all the more because it was true. It was her fault Banj was here, too, and if ever there was a time for risking her mother’s subtle magery it was now. Tali closed her eyes, whispered the words and made the gestures exactly as she had been taught, then focused her will to cast a concealing glamour over the baby. Mist churned in her inner eye and her scar tingled, but when she opened her eyes the baby was still visible.

  It was too late to try again. ‘Put it in my bucket,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll cover it up and carry it out to the composter.’

  The compost buckets were often checked in case the slaves were stealing food, and if she were caught the consequences would be dire, but Tali had to make up for the disaster she had caused.