“So you frightened everyone in order to pander to her pride?” Coram’s voice was cold, as heavy as rock. “Since when do we consider what a maenad, a killer, wants more than the feelings of our own people?”
Philos spoke across him, interrupting, angry suddenly that no matter how much he explained, they’d never understand. “She prayed. In the desert, after I’d taken her prisoner. She didn’t know I could hear. She prayed to the god to give her the madness back. She told him—” the memory came back to him, of her body, braced against tears, of the half-choked words: have him kill me, let me die, “—she didn’t care if she died afterwards, if the change itself killed her, or if I did. She offered it all, as a sacrifice, if he would only not let her die like a human, powerless. She—she sees it as something to be ashamed of, as something lesser, worthless. And I could not bear to let her be shamed again, in public.”
He heard the rawness of his voice, heard himself betraying far more than he’d ever wanted to, and stopped, swallowing, trying for distance. “It was wrong, I know it. I’m sorry for whatever panic I caused, whatever you, as leaders, are now going to have to deal with. But…”
“But you’re not sorry you saved her from humiliation,” said Aera.
“No. No, I’m not.”
She looked at him, her face steady. She’d learned to control herself in a harder school than the refugee camp, long ago. He’d never even seen her cry. Maybe she let her guard slip when she was with Coram. They’d come here, new lovers, five years ago, but even then it had been as though their bonds had been forged by something stronger than fire, made of a substance more lasting than the coldsteel, the one thing Aera could not destroy. But with everyone else, although she wasn’t cold, or—despite her legendary status—unapproachable, she never betrayed weakness.
“I understand that,” she said. “And she—the maenad—I cannot insist she must always be our enemy. Five years ago, I was the god’s weapon too. And the shock of stepping out of what you were always taught was his will…” She stopped. “Well, we all know what that’s like. But Philos, you’ve known her two days, she tried to kill you, and she’s your prisoner. And yet you feel like this, you act to protect her feelings before anyone else’s.” She took a breath, as if to brace herself for an unwelcome task. “Philos—”
He flung up a hand. “I know. I know what you’re going to say—”
“You have to let me ask. Philos, is it happening again?”
“Oh gods, Aera. Not everything I feel is born from what someone else wants—”
“I know that. But with her, with what she is… Philos, we can’t afford for you to start…identifying with, of all things, what a maenad wants and needs.”
“I’m not. If I were doing that I’d be halfway back to the city by now! Believe me, I’ve learned better in the last year.”
Her eyes left his. Her brow furrowed, just one line between her eyebrows. Then she sighed and looked at him. “It’s not as simple as that, though, is it? Last time—with Venli—”
The flare of anger, outrage, took him by surprise. “It’s nothing like that.”
“Oh come, Philos—”
“It’s nothing like that.”
She stared at him a moment, something in his voice or face catching her attention, deepening the line between her eyebrows. “All right. But that—what happened back then—it didn’t happen straight away, did it? It crept up on you over time, days and months—”
“Which I haven’t had with Maya.” He flung his arm out, wanting to make her see. “I haven’t had time—”
Coram spoke across him. “You’re saying you’ve blocked yourself entirely? You haven’t caught her emotions at all?”
Damn. They’d been doing this the whole time they’d led the refugees, one picking up from another, not letting you slip through. It was what made them leaders. Valuable, no doubt. But infuriating.
“All right. There’s danger, all right? I admit it. But I’ve been guarding myself. I know what a mess I made last time, how much worse this could be.”
“And identifying with her, with what she needs, above our people? That’s not a symptom that you’re already in over your head?”
Philos was on his feet before he realised. “Damn it, Coram, don’t normal people feel compassion? Why does it have to be a flaw, a weakness? She’s—look at her, look what they’ve done to her, she can’t be much older than Aera was when she escaped. She’s lived in a world of nothing but insanity, death and killing, and she’s sick with grief because she’s no longer insane and her ability to kill has gone. If I couldn’t feel pity for her—that would be a flaw.”
He stopped, breathing heavily, resisting the impulse to say it again, make them hear him, make them understand. If they’d seen her, if they’d felt for themselves the weight of grief she carried…
And that’s why they’re worried. That’s why they should be worried. And so should I.
“Ah gods.” He felt his shoulders slump in defeat and lowered himself back to sitting. “All right. It’s not like Venli, I swear. But yes, there’s danger. She’s in pain, and I felt it. The pull…it’s something to resist, all the time, I know that. And I know it can still go wrong, I still make mistakes. Your new shifter—you have him because I couldn’t bear his fear, and I took a risk I shouldn’t. It brought him to us, all right, but it almost got me killed.
“But with the girl… Look, I know the danger. I’ve been with her for two days, I’ve felt what she’s feeling, I’ve been—almost—nursed by her after the spider bit me, and yet I’ve brought her here, to us, to be our prisoner. I’m not safe from making bad, spur-of-the-moment decisions, but I am safe from what I did with Venli. It’s not going to creep up on me—not without me seeing it coming.”
Wanting to touch her, all that strength suddenly pliant in my arms, wanting to run my hand behind her head, tilt her face to mine…
He jerked his mind from the thoughts. Whatever they were, wherever they’d come from, they couldn’t be linked to his gift. His gift picked up emotions from other people. Whatever she was feeling in those moments on the cliff edge, it wasn’t that.
They watched him, neither speaking, the furrow in Aera’s brow not lessening, Coram’s eyes dark with continuing concern.
“Look. It’s different, I swear. Back two years ago, I was…less aware of what this could do to me. And I was…I was lonely.” Gods, so lonely. Even now, the memory had the power to catch at his throat, make him feel shrunken and cold.
Coram bowed his head in a nod, the beginning of capitulation. But Aera’s gaze stayed on him, intent, unwavering, seeing too much.
“So you’re not lonely now?” she asked.
Philos swallowed. “Not as.” He looked away, not wanting to meet her eyes. They’d escaped together, she and Coram, fled to the mountains as a couple. They had no idea what it was like to leave with nothing, to run to nothing. Whatever had gone wrong with their escape, if they’d found no one else, if they’d faced being nothing but refugees forever, they would still, always, have had each other.
And their gifts…
Coram’s gift, an abomination in the temple-ruled city, here made him nothing more than another shifter. Stronger than some and, with his ability to fly, more useful than many. But just another of them, automatic member of the outcasts, easy to understand and accept.
And Aera… Philos remembered how she’d arrived, pale, filthy, stinking of smoke and sulphur. At first hardly noticeable, especially next to Coram’s height and obvious strength. Then she’d spoken, the unmistakable voice of a trained priestess, and everyone had fallen silent in disbelief that had turned to awe when she put out her hands and showed them the living lava of her gift.
She was an outlaw too, a renegade, foresworn priestess-no-longer. Yet each of them had grown up thinking of the fire-priestess as the closest thing to the god on earth. Although she’d left that behind, although the priests had stripped her of her bracelets and shut her in the labyrinth to die, she b
rought with her, like a fragrance, the thought that maybe, after all, it was only the priests who hated them, not the god himself.
Amongst the ragtag of refugees with their jumble of outcast, unholy powers, Aera came like a shining star, promise of a redemption they hadn’t known they needed.
But for Philos, even after years, his particular combination of gifts brought him neither easy acceptance nor awe. Maya’s eyes weren’t the first in which panic had flared, and all but a handful of the refugees still skirted around him in a way they did not even around the wildcat- or snake-shifters, Iphrael, who could breathe out darkness, Nelita of the poison-fangs. It was not the ability to camouflage, of course, but the other gift, the power—whether he used it or not—over people’s thoughts.
They could not understand what that was like either, to live for ten years among people who never met your eyes for too long, who always chose to sit one seat away from you. To see relationships form, lovers chosen, and to never be part of it.
It was why Venli had got under his skin, confused him enough that he’d ended up thinking what he felt for her was real. It was—partly—why he’d volunteered to return, yet again, to the task of getting others out of the city. It had seemed, back then, that if he must be lonely, it would be easier to be lonely amongst enemies than amongst friends.
He dragged himself back from the memories, took a breath and looked at Aera.
“I am lonely.” He had to force the words out, had to force himself to hold her gaze, a feeling like shame blazing through his face. “With my gift…I’ll always be lonely, and I’ll always be in danger of what happened with Venli. But at least I know now, and I’m being careful, I swear.” He put out his arm, the talon-marks ragged and vivid along it. “Maya did that to me. I’m never going to forget the danger she is.”
Finally Aera nodded, and her eyes left his face. “Very well. You should rest today, other people can take the task of looking after her. After that, if we’re to persuade her of what we know to be true… You said you’d felt what she was feeling?”
He was halfway through a nod when he realised what she was asking him. “You’re asking me to tell you, when she doesn’t know I know?”
For the first time Aera’s eyes sparked real anger at him. “What do you think you’ve just been doing? If you can betray the privacy of her mind to make us feel pity for her, you can do it to inform us how much of a danger she is. Does she hate us? Is she thinking about killing us? If you’re likely to have to resist what she wants, I’m sure you can see why we might need to hear exactly how murderous she’s feeling.”
Philos’s teeth were so tightly clenched that for a moment he couldn’t open his mouth. He took a long breath through his nose, forcing the unreasonable anger down, willing himself to calmness.
“She hates most of us. She…I don’t think she wants to kill us. I don’t get her thoughts, remember—it’s just feelings, and it’s not always clear what they’re about. She does feel murderous, but it’s not a—a present thing.”
“And you?”
“Me?”
“What does she feel towards you?”
The memory of the morning came to him. Maya picking up her pack, looking at him one last time before she left. He swallowed. “Anger. Contempt.” Then Venli’s words appeared in his mind. “But—this isn’t me, this is what Venli says—”
“What?”
“She—Maya—trusts me. Venli said she thinks she trusts me. Despite everything. And…she did save my life, when I was the only thing standing between her and freedom.”
“That makes a bond,” said Coram quietly. “Apart from everything else, that’s a real bond.”
Aera nodded. “All right. We need her on our side. Aside from hating to keep her prisoner—and what we’ll do with her during our invasion I cannot think—she is as much a victim of the priests as any of us were. I’ll see her tomorrow. But if she hates us all, and trusts—so far—only you, you will be the best person to talk to her, to try to get her to understand.”
“I can talk to her, then?”
“Yes. Give yourself this afternoon to rest, though. If you’re exhausted, your mind weakened by fatigue, surely that must be when you’re in most danger of having your own thoughts overridden. And, Philos, if you feel your judgement blurring, if you suspect you’re being driven by feelings other than your own, you must tell us.”
It was fair that she asked, but he had to answer her through gritted teeth. “I’ll tell you.”
“All right.” She smiled, finally, her shoulders relaxing. “We missed you, Philos. Welcome home.”
Chapter Eleven
It was chains now, not ropes. Chains locked onto Maya’s wrists and ankles, fastening her to the wall of the cave. She could get out onto the shelf just outside the cave, or retreat to the blankets they’d laid out for her, but that was all. She was fully a prisoner once again.
Bound. Controlled. When Philos had first done that to her, less than two days ago, it had been the worst thing in the world. And now it should feel even worse. She had even less chance of escaping, she was farther from home and help, she missed her power, desperately, horribly, like an ache all through her. It should feel worse. And yet it didn’t.
The change in her feelings frightened her. Less than two days ago, the only thing she’d wanted was to get back, to return to her calling, to what the god wanted for her. But when she’d left Philos, when she’d set her feet back on the path to the city and the temple…she could recreate it, the cold weight on her body, the way every movement had seemed to take twice as much effort as before. She hadn’t wanted to return. She didn’t want to now.
At midday they brought her water—to drink and to wash in—and food, a familiar mixture of grains, seeds and spices. She watched the way they edged around her, far more cautious than they needed to be, and was glad that that, at least, had not changed.
But then they left, and she was alone on the sun-baked shelf. Alone with thoughts she no longer understood.
She could see into most of the valley, see the people moving back and forth, feeding fires, fetching water. And throughout the day, right into the evening, more kept joining them, band after band of people coming from the mountains, carrying long daggers, spears, crossbows slung on their backs.
She wasn’t stupid, she knew an army when she saw one. And this, this was an army of outlaws, of illegal gifts—their intent could be nothing but to attack the city, the temple, attack her people. Somewhere inside her, fear and outrage flared, but muted, like flames, vivid in the darkness but washed into invisibility by the rising sun.
Is it him? The thought she’d been trying not to think rose into her mind. Is it because of him that everything’s changed, that I no longer want to return? That being imprisoned…it’s almost a relief, knowing I cannot return even if I tried.
And if it is him, does it mean that he, despite his oath, used his powers on me?
No. She might be foolish to trust his word, but that oath—and the way he’d looked when he said it… She believed him.
But then what is it? Not wanting to leave, when I’ve lost everything that matters? Is it, after all, nothing to do with gifts or powers? Is it just him? Him, with the kindness he didn’t need to give me, kindness even when he was afraid. Kindness I’ve never met before and didn’t know I wanted. Do I want to stay with him?
But that was a thought too far. Her mind jerked back from it, panic closing round her throat, the metal on her wrists and ankles weighing heavy on her skin. I’m not free to think like that. I knew what I gave up when I gave myself to the ritual. I’m a maenad, a maenad, not an ordinary, silly girl.
As the heat of the day cooled, as the shadow of the mountain slid through the camp, two of the outlaw men brought her an evening meal. Meat soup, something like the broth she’d made for herself and Philos, and flat bread, warm from the baking stones. She ate it hungrily, but without really tasting it, distracted, fighting off thoughts that did not belong in her mind, t
houghts she must keep at bay.
The camp activity was slackening to a nighttime pace. People were bedding down near the fires or climbing to other shelters in the rocks. No one came near the cave where Maya sat. They didn’t need to, of course. With all these chains, she hardly needed guarding. They hadn’t been cruel—she had plenty of blankets as protection against the chill of the desert night—and no one would want to sleep near a maenad.
She’d never slept alone before. Even before the years of moving everywhere surrounded by her pack, her home had been poor, very small, and the whole family had slept in the one room.
The light faded from the sky. Down across the valley, the fires died to a flicker, a glow, then nothing but a muted red wash against the blackness. In Maya’s cave, darkness slid all around her like black water, cold against her throat and eyes, making her feel she’d gone blind.
From the camp below, the last scraps of voices rose. The trickle of water being poured, a slithery rasp of steel as someone, left on guard, drew their dagger. Then silence fell.
All around her, the darkness stretched, empty, silent as death. It was as if there were no one in the whole world apart from her. She curled herself up as best she could, hampered by the chains, pulled the blankets over her head to try to shut out the silence, but it crept under the blankets with her, filling her ears, pressing against her skin. Silence, emptiness, aloneness.
Her heart thumped against her ribs, buzzing in her ears. Her breathing took on an irregular rhythm, making her feel as if she had to fight to breathe, as if the dark, the silence were actually pressing on her chest, forcing her lungs to take nothing but tiny, hiccuppy gasps of air.
Beneath her, the floor of the cave seemed to slope, as if it were tilting, ready to slide her out into more emptiness, where she would fall and fall into dark that lasted forever…
Blood of the Volcano: Sequel to Heart of the Volcano Page 11
