Blood of Heirs

by Alicia Wanstall-Burke

  ‘Oi, Liddy!’ Rick shouted from somewhere in the common behind the convoy. She pulled up and searched the crowd, his sandy brown hair weaving between the horses and riders to her side.

  ‘Here…’ he said breathlessly, holding up a belt with two fine leather holsters and garters stitched on the ends. ‘Yours… you’ll need them. And happy birthday.’

  Gleaming bone handles flashed in the morning light, a hint of the fine new blades hidden in the holsters. She took the belt with careful hands and strapped it across her hips, the garters at the ends of the sheaths wrapping around her thighs. They were a little awkward to fit while sitting in the saddle, but once she had them clasped, the leather and the knives sat perfectly against her legs.

  The ngaru knives. Her knives.

  Rick pointed at Loge. ‘Keep training her. No more staves.’

  Loge nodded as the forge master backed away from the press of riders moving through the gate and Lidan couldn’t help smiling broadly, pride swelling in her chest.

  She had her knives.

  With a click of his tongue, Loge moved his horse, Striker, into the convoy, drawing Theus and Lidan with him down into the valley.

  At the western apex of the valley, where the track led up into the bush and the foothills of the tablelands, Lidan glanced over her shoulder before the trees could envelop the view of her home. Far off now, standing against the blue of the sky and the pale green and brown of the land, the Caine watched them leave.

  She shivered. How many of them would live to see it again? She locked the image of the monolith in her mind and dread settled in her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The Southern Reaches, Orthia

  Spear fishing through shattered river ice required a talent Ran didn’t possess. After standing at the river’s edge for over an hour, stabbing at shadows and the slightest movement of waterweed, he gave up and left the task to Sasha’s deft hands. She already had two good-sized fish on the bank, gutted and skewered, while he remained empty handed and hungry.

  Her packed provisions only lasted them a week, rationed and eaten sparingly when they stopped to rest or avoid the weather. Their diet of dried meat and thick, hard bread, dry leaves brewed into a tea and some sort of oat biscuit, was only rarely interrupted by the addition of a rabbit or a small fox. He left the hunting to Sasha as well, happy that she could track and shoot the game faster than he. Outwardly he blamed an ache in his hands for his lack of hunting success, but the memory of the ghost and the rabbit still chilled his bones, and he dared not draw an arrow against a target for fear of inducing a similar reaction.

  Sasha didn’t seem to mind his avoidance of hunting. She gave him a wry smile and he wondered if she thought him incapable and soft—a weak little prince from the city with no woodland skills to hold to his name. While he wasn’t weak or little, compared to her, it was a wonder he’d survived on his own.

  The young woman’s spear shot down and flicked back up with another fish flapping frantically at the end. With cool efficiency, she yanked it free and cracked its head on a nearby tree root. Ran turned away and began collecting wood for the fire instead. He could build one of those well enough and use a little magic to light it without a flint.

  He practiced caution with his trick after it backfired at least once. He’d been distracted and the fire he was building burst into an explosive inferno, engulfing a tree and almost destroying their travelling packs. Sasha kept her distance when he lit the fire from then on, her eyes wide as she watched him each evening, as if she still couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

  Ran found a hollow up the bank from the river and set about making his fire and clearing a sheltered place for them to sleep. He tied a canvas sheet to a tree and pegged the corners to the ground, fashioning an awning to keep the snow at bay should it decide to fall in the night. By now, nearly three moons had passed since he escaped Usmein, and with Sasha’s help, they stayed well clear of roads and villages.

  Soon, the fire crackled happily in a ring of stones, warming the hollow, and Sasha returned from the river. Ran’s weary eyes stared vacantly into the flames until she crouched beside him and set the fish over the heat to roast.

  ‘I still don’t understand why you want to go to Isord,’ she murmured into the silence. They’d discussed his plans weeks ago and agreed to make for the Ruken mountains, then follow them west to Isord and the capital, Kotja.

  ‘My mother is from there. I can seek out her family and get some help.’

  ‘Help for what?’ she frowned.

  He spread his hands before him. ‘This.’

  A little spark shot between his fingers and Sasha raised a brow.

  ‘Ran, they can’t help you with that.’

  ‘Well, maybe they can help me negotiate with my father.’ Ran poked the fire with a stick and the smell of the roasting fish set his stomach to growling, a sound so loud he worried it might shake the snow from the mountain at his back. His mouth watered as Sasha passed him a skewer.

  Their fingers touched in the exchange. His skin prickled with goosebumps, but Sasha flinched away as if stung and Ran’s heart raced with panic. Had he hurt her with his magic?

  She shuffled back and dropped her gaze, busying herself with skinning her fish and fussing over the embers. He might have whispered an apology but his throat tightened and the words evaporated. She reacted the same way whenever their bare skin touched, as rare and fleeting as the moments were. When covered head to toe with coats, gloves, and boots, she had no problem taking his hand to help him climb a ridge or curling up beside him to conserve warmth when they slept. It was as if the feeling of his skin revolted her, despite weeks spent tending his wounds and cleaning his body.

  Did she fear the magic, or him?

  Perhaps, even though she vowed to help him, he repulsed her, as with every other Orthian. The magic made him disgusting and untouchable and more besides—it made him dangerous. No wonder she recoiled.

  ‘Best get some rest…’ He tossed the used skewer into the flames and crawled under the awning to his thin mat and blanket. Sasha remained silent beside the fire. By the time Ran’s eyes closed and sleep claimed him, she hadn’t moved a muscle.

  *

  A cold hand on his chest woke Ran with a start, his heart pounding, his limbs paralysed. The ghost leaned over him, the awning flapping in the wind above her head.

  ‘What the—’ His protest ended when her finger pressed to her lips, commanding silence.

  You’re still asleep… she spoke to his mind, her mouth unmoved. Her eyes searched his face and her hands spread across his chest like fans. He felt his muscles relax under the pressure of her touch and she sat back on her heels, drawing her icy fingers into her lap.

  What’s going on? What’s wrong?

  Nothing. She stared at him for a while, her expression unreadable in the faint light from the fire. Have you opened the scroll?

  For fuck’s sake—no, I haven’t opened it! In case you didn’t notice, I’m busy running for my life!

  Her lips pressed into a line and she let out a frustrated huff. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you…

  Warn me about what? Ran tried to sit up but the ghost vanished before he could call his limbs to action. He closed his eyes and pushed her face from his mind, her words lingering like an echo in a long empty chamber. Whatever obsession the ghost girl had with the scroll, he was not about to indulge her. Perhaps she was going mad, or perhaps he was the one losing his mind, driven from sanity by the endless white and ice. In any case, he would have plenty of time to read the stupid scroll when he was safely in a tavern in Kotja.

  *

  A blizzard howled down from the north two nights later. Their little awning collapsed and he and Sasha huddled together under a tree, hoping the worst would pass by morning. If they were lucky, it would be the final snowstorm of the season, but it was impossible to tell in the wilds of the mountains. When the sky finally did lighten in the east, it hardly looked like
much of a dawn. Thick cloud roiled in the sky, blocking most of the day’s light and all its warmth, boding ill for the coming day.

  ‘We need to get out of this or we’ll freeze to death.’ Ran’s teeth chattered around his words, his body shivering uncontrollably despite Sasha’s warmth and the blanket and canvas covering their heads.

  ‘I know,’ she replied, her hands curled in tight, shaking fists, her breath fogging like smoke. ‘I saw a road to the west… should be a farm house…’

  ‘Not ideal,’ he muttered.

  ‘They have a shed we can hide in.’

  That sounded safer. He didn’t fancy knocking on a farmer’s door in a foul blizzard and facing their awkward looks and barely hidden suspicion. No one travelled at this time of year unless it was extremely urgent—a matter of life or death.

  ‘Hope so. Don’t feel like explaining myself to anyone.’ He heaved the canvas cover off, dislodging the built-up snow, and dragged Sasha to her feet. ‘Hasn’t worked out so well in the past.’

  Sasha nodded, or she shivered so hard her head moved involuntarily. ‘Aye,’ she whispered.

  They shouldered their bags and tied the rope between their belts. In a howler like this, they risked losing each other as easily as if it were moonless and midnight. For what seemed like hours their path took them along the face of a steep incline, the ground falling away to their left as they picked their way between trees and through thick drifts of snow.

  Sasha slipped and the rope snapped taught, pulling Ran savagely off his feet. They slid down the icy hillside, picking up speed until a tree flashed between them and snagged the rope. The force of the jolt was like a punch to the guts as the rope yanked hard on Ran’s belt and it tightened around his belly. On the other side of the tree, Sasha groaned and swore.

  ‘You all right?’ Ran shouted into the wind.

  ‘I think—’ she sucked a breath through clenched teeth and he saw her hand reach for her leg. ‘Twisted my knee a bit.’

  Ran climbed to his feet and staggered across the snow, releasing the rope from the tree and then kneeling by Sasha as she struggled to stand.

  ‘Here,’ he croaked and hooked his arm around her waist. ‘Let’s get onto some flatter ground, hey?’

  She nodded and accepted his help. Together they found their feet, and Sasha looped an arm over Ran’s shoulder before they began to shuffle down the hillside to the valley below. The going was hard and slow, with Sasha grinding her teeth beside Ran’s ear for most of the journey into the valley and along a frozen river.

  ‘We can rest here,’ he shouted through the wind and snow.

  Sasha shook her head and rubbed at the top of her knee. ‘We stay here, we die. It’s not far.’

  ‘How can you know?’

  ‘I came this way when I was training to be a healer. We stopped at the farm. We can rest there.’

  ‘Only if you’re sure? We can find a cave or something…’ He glanced around at the forest, but Sasha shook her head. ‘Right then. You tell me the way.’

  *

  A barn loomed from the falling snow, at first an ominous shadow, then growing clearer as they staggered closer and finally fell against the door. Ran couldn’t see the lights of a farmhouse, nor hear any dogs or animals. Perhaps the farmers Sasha remembered had moved on, or were caught in town by the storm. Either would suit him. He needed somewhere safe and warm, but most of all hidden so they could recover their strength without risking discovery.

  He put his shoulder against the door and heaved it open. They shuffled inside, shaking snow from their clothes and stamping their boots. Ran glanced up, expecting to find the place brimming with livestock and the warm, earthy scent of manure, but every stall stood empty.

  He balked at that. Shouldn’t the farmer’s animals be locked up safe and warm in weather like this? He threw a glance out the door, scanning the foul weather outside to see if anyone or anything stood beyond the protection of the barn, but nothing moved.

  Still as a graveyard… The ghost’s voice slipped through his mind and he shuddered, shoving his shoulder into the timber of the door and ramming it shut against the snow. At the far end of the barn, a hayloft stood above more stalls, all of them as empty as those to his left and right. He tried to ignore the strangeness of the place and helped Sasha towards a stall under the loft.

  She lowered herself onto a milking stool and a frown creased her brow as she glanced around. ‘Where are the cattle?’

  Ran swallowed his apprehension. ‘Maybe the farmer moved on? Crops failed, or something?’

  He dumped their bags on the ground and went to rifle through the stalls. He found a few horse rugs and another canvas sheet—not exactly luxuries but enough to keep them warm and spare them the icy coffin that was waiting outside.

  ‘No, I don’t think so…’ Sasha murmured as Ran dragged a few bales of hay into their stall and spread a decent thickness of straw over the ground. He helped Sasha lay back on the loosely piled hay and she gladly accepted the rugs Ran folded around her, grimacing when he lifted her injured leg up onto a bale. He turned to search the other stalls, but Sasha caught his sleeve. ‘In my bag… there are some leaves.’

  He nodded and searched her belongings, coming out with a handful of small cloth bags. Sasha picked one from the selection, took a dark green leaf from the bag and put it in her mouth. She handed the bag to Ran and pointed. ‘For pain and swelling in the joints. You should take one too, or your ankle will be useless in the morning.’

  With a raised brow, he sniffed the bag and gagged. The scent was something between acid and rotting potatoes. Sasha gave him a stern look and a pointed finger, so he shrugged, took one, and began to chew.

  ‘Ugh, do I have to swallow?’ he choked around the leaf and tried not to lose his stomach.

  Sasha shook her head and lay back on the hay, her eyes closing with a peaceful sigh. ‘Just chew and suck.’

  Then the wave hit him, joyous numbness flowing from his chest through his hips to his feet. It circled there, warming and pulsing, spreading along his aching limbs, settling in the bones and easing the muscles. Ran sat on the hay beside Sasha as the juice of the leaf sought out his injuries.

  He had planned to sit up and keep watch, to light a fire and mull over his plans. He had thought the fall on the hillside had left him unharmed, but as he twisted to lie down, his waist and hips ached and burned. There were bruises under the layers of clothing protecting him from the cold. He couldn’t see them, but they were scored through his flesh; a painful reminder of how dangerous his journey was and how often he walked the fine line between life and death.

  Chapter Thirty

  The Southern Reaches, Orthia

  The sound of shuffling in the hay woke him and he sat up fast. The wind had eased and he realised he must have slept. It was impossible to tell the time of day, or night, by the light seeping into the barn, the roof as well as the fields outside were layered with several feet of fresh snow. Ran glanced around and saw Sasha sitting up, rummaging through her bag.

  He groaned and flopped back down, relieved it was only her and not some armed invader.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, rubbing his hands over his face to dispel the numbness. The leaves were gone from his mouth, so perhaps he’d swallowed them after all. His ankle and waist didn’t ache as badly as they had the night before, and he circled his foot to test its range.

  ‘Better. Just a little bruised,’ Sasha croaked, handing him a water bladder. ‘Drink this. We can melt snow to refill it. You don’t want to get a headache.’

  He took the bladder and drank deeply, the cold water flooding him and drawing his body back to consciousness as the chill spread through his belly. ‘What was that stuff?’

  ‘Caya leaf.’ She handed him a biscuit and took the bladder. ‘It’s not easy to find so we use it sparingly. If cattle find it they’ll eat the whole bush until they’re laid out in the field, moaning and completely mad. They love it.’

  ‘Bloody heck,�
�� Ran wondered at the idea—a few dozen cows lolling around in a field as drunk as ten men at midsummer.

  ‘And speaking of cows…’ Sasha turned to the empty barn. ‘We need to find out where they’ve gone.’

  ‘Farmers probably left—’

  ‘There’s no way the Parrys would leave.’ She shook her head. ‘They’ve worked this farm for five generations, maybe more.’

  ‘How far is the farmhouse?’ Ran came to his feet and brushed hay from his coat as he opened the stall door.

  ‘Just across the field,’ Sasha replied with a raised brow. ‘Where are you going?’

  He was two steps from the barn door. ‘The house will tell us for sure if they’ve gone and for how long. We need to figure out how long it’s safe to stay. We need food as well.’

  ‘And if someone sees us?’ she asked. She clambered to her feet and limped after him, helping to pull on the barn door and open a space wide enough for them to squeeze through, the threshold barred by drifts of snow.

  ‘You said you came here when you were training?’

  Sasha nodded as Ran scanned the snowy fields outside.

  ‘If they recognise you, we can make up a story about you travelling to see another healer.’

  ‘How do I explain you?’ She folded her arms, challenging a plan she rightly thought he was making up as he went along.

  ‘I brought you the message and I’m taking you back to the sender.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. Come on, it’s this way.’

  Ran helped Sasha through the snow, around to the left and along the length of the barn. At the end, under the hayloft, they paused and watched the grey day and flurries of snow for any signs of life. There was no smell of burning firewood or the wafting scents of breakfast, no animals or human noises. For a few hundred feet in all directions, all they could see were snowy paddocks and fences. Directly ahead, a dark shadow stood at the edge of visibility.

  ‘Over there, in the yard with tall pines at the back of the garden.’ Sasha moved cautiously into the snow, her feet sinking past her ankles and dragging long lines in the drifts. They waded on, fighting the white just to move a few feet closer to the shadow. ‘What I’d give for snow shoes…’ she growled under her breath, stumbling and staggering in a battle to remain upright.