by Julia Gray
'We have no more need of these workers,' Yahn stated. 'Do with them as you will.'
As he spoke, one of the pitiful band stumbled and fell, only to be prodded to his feet by a guard's spear.
'If you treat them like this,' Kerin said, 'no one will be willing to work for you.' Although he spoke quietly, those who knew him could hear the suppressed rage in his voice.
'I don't think that's likely,' the janizar replied patronizingly. 'To my mind it should be an incentive for the miners to take greater care of themselves, and remain fit for work. Accidents are a sign of incompetence. Am I supposed to pay the king's wages to men who can no longer carry out their duties?'
Kerin did not respond, knowing it would be pointless.
The discarded miners continued down the slope, towards an uncertain welcome from the villagers. Most of them were strangers, but two were former inhabitants of Fenduca who had been desperate enough to accept the king's wages - something many of those they'd left behind had regarded as a betrayal.
Now they would not be able to support themselves, and knew they were unlikely to find much pity or charity among those who had few resources to spare.
'Let's see if you treat them any better than I would,' Yahn said, a malicious grin on his face.
'What else?' Farazin asked.
'The perimeter fence is to be moved,' the janizar replied. 'The section of the river above a line drawn from the base of Leaven Scree to the point of Raven's Crag is now to be considered part of the military compound.'
There were some groans from the crowd at this, not least because the area described included the Demon's Cauldron, a deep pool in which silt and other debris collected. Several good finds had been made there recently by those willing to risk diving within the swirling waters, and it was obvious that this was the main reason for the change in the boundary.
'What right have you to do this?' a voice cried out. 'Why—'
'What right?' Yahn roared. 'The right of law! The word of King Ekuban himself.
Would you challenge that? You are scavengers, feeding off the crumbs from my table. It is you who have no rights. You're lucky I let you stay here at all.
A less charitable man would've got rid of you long ago. This mountain is mine!
And I will take all of it if necessary.'
His tirade silenced the onlookers' protests. The janizar looked around, challenging any of them to make so much as a sound, but their token resistance was over. At one point Yahn saw a face he did not recognize - a crippled boy whose eyes looked odd and whose pale face was frozen in shock. One more hopeless misfit, he thought dismiss-ively and passed on, his gaze finally coming to rest on Kerin. Even he had nothing to say.
'It has been noted that two of your dwellings . . .' Yahn pronounced the word as if he thought the villagers' homes hardly deserved such a name, '. . . are in the prohibited zone. You have until sunrise tomorrow to remove your belongings and any other material. The rest of the area is out of bounds as of this moment, and the removal of anything else will be considered theft of royal property. You all know the punishment for such a crime.'
He paused to let that point sink in. As expected, no further objections were voiced aloud.
Yahn knew all about the Demon's Cauldron. He had been furious when he'd discovered that several significant finds had been made there, because it meant that his own miners' checks and filters higher up the river were not working properly. But he was calm now, knowing that whatever treasures lay within its turbulent depths would come back to him. He'd have the entire thing drained if necessary.
The fact that the value of the produce from the mining operation had increased every year since he'd been given command of the black mountain garrison was a source of great pride to the janizar. At the time he'd seen the appointment as a double-edged sword, but his subsequent success had made him more ambitious than at any time
in his career. He was determined that when he eventually returned to court it would be to a hero's welcome, and for that he knew he had to keep up the flow of riches for some time to come. Last year's tally, compiled from the meticulous records of each heavily guarded convoy sent to Talazoria, Macul's royal capital, was only slightly up on the year before, and well below the self-imposed quota Yahn had desired. In the early days the mining had been easy - little more than a matter of picking up various valuable stones and ores from the ground. Now the process involved much more intensive labour and, while he and the engineers who organized the actual excavations had made sure that their operation was more efficient than ever before, there was a chance that output might begin to fall soon. Yahn was determined to do everything in his power to prevent that happening.
'Finally,' he went on, 'I can offer employment, at the usual terms, to any able-bodied men who want it. This gate will remain open until dusk, and my deputies will process any volunteers.'
Some of those in the crowd had evidently been expecting this announcement and, amid dark mutterings and the exchange of a few poisonous glances, three men walked forward after only a slight hesitation.
'So much for your theory, Kerin,' the janizar remarked with a smile.
For the rest of that afternoon the people of Fenduca made the best of the new situation. Some of the villagers helped the two families who were being forced to move, carrying their meagre possessions to new locations, and salvaging as much of the material of the huts as they could. Others made arrangements for the injured miners. Even though they were not exactly welcome additions to the population, they would not be allowed to starve if it could be helped. At the same time, several more men collected their belongings and made their way, shame or defiance on their faces, towards the soldiers' domain.
Terrel, who had been appalled both by the janizar's callous actions and by the villagers' meek acceptance of them, spent much of the time with Ysatel. The lines of her face were drawn tight, concealing emotions he could not begin to fathom, and when he expressed his disbelief at the injustices of the day, he was taken aback by her exasperated response.
'That's just the way it is, Terrel,' she snapped.
'But—' He had never seen Ysatel so angry before.
'Who are we to argue?' she went on. 'The janizar was right. We are living on their scraps - and there are going to be fewer than ever now. Yet we stay on, hoping for a miracle that never comes. And why? Because we're obsessed. We all think that one day - perhaps tomorrow - we'll find that perfect stone or a nugget big enough to make our fortune, something that would allow us to leave here on our own terms. It'll never happen, of course. The only way we'll leave here will be when Yahn decides to drive us away altogether.'
Terrel had stood, paralyzed by shock as her bitterness spewed out, unable to think of any response. There was something hard in Ysatel's voice, something compressed. Her eyes were dry, as if she was beyond tears, but Terrel knew that her feelings were coming close to crushing her heart, her spirit. And that was a prospect he could not bear.
'Why don't you—' he began hesitantly.
'Talk to Kerin?' she said, completing his question for him. 'What good would that do? He's more obsessed than the rest of us. This is his mountain, remember? It'll be the death of him. And me too, I shouldn't wonder.'
She was crying now, her hard-won control deserting her. When Terrel hesitantly reached out a hand towards her, she took it gratefully. He put his good arm around her shoulders, and held her until her weeping slowly subsided.
At last she drew back, wiped her face with her sleeve, and gave him a wan smile.
'I'm sorry, Terrel.'
'What for?'
'These aren't your problems,' she told him. 'At least you know where you want to go when you leave here.'
During the night, one of Fenduca's problems partially solved itself - although in a way that gave no one any pleasure. Two of the ex-miners died of their injuries, and several others - those whose legs were not too badly damaged -
left of their own accord to try their fortunes elsewher
e. Of the three men that remained, two were permanently crippled and were not likely to live much longer, and the third - the one who had been blinded -was wandering in a dream-world of his own, refusing to even touch the food he was offered. He talked aloud much of the time, addressing an invisible audience, but he made little sense, and did not respond if anyone spoke to him. Terrel spent part of the next morning listening to the man's ramblings, which resembled his own feverish delirium - but with one terrible difference. When this nightmare ended, its victim would wake to the horror of a world he could not see. Terrel was about to turn away, knowing that there was nothing he could do, when the man said something that made him hesitate.
'Why is the palace so dark? All the rooms. All the rooms. Dark.'
Anyone else hearing this would have dismissed it as mere nonsense - the miner had obviously never been inside a real palace in his life - but to Terrel it sounded so much like something Alyssa might have said that he was immediately intrigued. He waited, listening with renewed interest, but the man was silent for a while, and when he did speak again his words meant nothing.
For a few moments Terrel had wondered if, rather than taking the form of an animal, Alyssa had tried to take a human body, choosing one whose apparent madness matched her own. But the more he thought about this, the more ludicrous the idea seemed. It had been a coincidence, nothing more.
Chapter Twelve
'Ready?' Olandis asked.
'I think so.' Terrel looked down at himself, realizing for the first time that he had grown taller since leaving Havenmoon. His clothes, made up of some of his old things and others that Ysatel had altered to fit him, felt strange, and his boots were beginning to feel tight. He would need new ones soon, but he had no idea where to get them from.
'You'll do,' Ysatel said approvingly, then turned to Olandis. 'Have you got everything?'
'Yes.'
'You'd better be off then.' She was trying to sound bright and cheerful, but her underlying anxiety was obvious.
'Don't worry, Ysy,' Olandis said, kissing his stepmother's cheek. 'We'll be back before you know it. And Terrel's going to be fine, aren't you?'
Terrel nodded.
'We're going to catch lots of fish,' he declared.
'That's the spirit,' Olandis said, laughing as he hoisted his pack and settled the straps on his shoulders.
However, before Terrel could lift his own, much smaller bag, a voice sounded from outside the hut.
'Ysatel, are you there? Is the boy there?'
Ysatel went to the door, followed by the others, to discover a young woman standing outside, a heavily wrapped bundle in her arms.
'Hello, Tisa. Do you want me for something?'
Whatever impulse had brought Tisa there seemed to have deserted her now, and she opened and closed her mouth several times before answering.
'Him,' she said, nodding at Terrel. 'I thought—' The bundle coughed, then began to wail and the woman fell silent, looking down at her baby.
'You thought?' Ysatel prompted eventually.
'It's little Jessett. She can't seem to lose this fever. I've tried everything I know.' Tisa glanced up, her eyes bright with tears. 'I thought he might help her.'
'Terrel?'
Their visitor nodded eagerly.
'He helped all those animals.'
Ysatel glanced at the boy, and saw the horrified expression on his face.
'Do you want to try?'
Terrel said nothing, his reluctance clear. It was one thing to try to restore the health of an animal, but a child was something altogether different. He did not feel ready for such a responsibility, and wished the woman would go away.
'Please . . . Terrel.' Tisa evidently had to force herself to use his name, and he realized how much courage it must have taken for her to come this far.
'I probably won't be able to help,' he said.
'I know that.' Hope sprang into Tisa's eyes nonetheless. 'But could you try?
I'd be very grateful.'
'All right.'
'Come inside,' Ysatel said.
Terrel sat on one of the pallets, and Tisa gently laid the baby on his lap so that he could cradle her in his good arm. Like most boys of his age, Terrel found infants both embarrassing and disgusting. All he could see of Jessett was her face and the top of her head, but she smelt revolting. She was still wailing, but faintly now - as if she was too weak to make much of an effort -
and she coughed intermittently. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, and beneath the wispy strands of hair, her scalp was mottled. Her face was red too, her lips almost purple, and heat radiated from her skin.
'She's too hot,' he muttered, wondering why her mother hadn't had the common sense to see that for herself. He tried to loosen the baby's clothing but his right hand was too clumsy, and he had to let Ysatel do it for him. The sweet, sickly smell grew more powerful.
Uncomfortably aware of his expectant audience, Terrel hesitated, then made himself act. Using his right hand, he laid the tips of his crooked fingers on the baby's forehead. Hoping that some hidden instinct would take over, as it had done with the animals, he tried to relax and waited to fall into a waking dream — but he remained alert and aware of his surroundings. He felt a wave of heat flow through his body, but that could just have been because he now felt utterly foolish. The baby stopped crying. Flashes of pain that seemed to come from all Terrel's bones in turn made him wince, and this was followed by an unexpected sense of peace, but all the changes were inside him. He felt sure he hadn't affected the outside world. Jessett began coughing again, then wailed even louder than before. Her illness was still discolouring her skin, and when she opened her eyes the fever still burned in their depths.
Terrel looked up, sensing the disappointment all around him.
'I'm sorry.'
Tisa nodded briefly.
'Thank you for trying,' she whispered, then all but snatched up the baby and fled from the hut, so anxious was she to be gone. Terrel thought that she was probably wishing now that she had never come. His failure, even though he had really expected nothing else, made him feel wretched.
'Are you all right?' Ysatel asked.
'Yes.' The fact that he wasn't tired was further evidence that he had not achieved anything.
'Let's go fishing then,' Olandis said.
The first part of their journey was on foot, because the upper stretch of the river was too shallow and rough to take even the smallest craft. Terrel was aware that he was slowing Olandis down, and was glad when - after an arduous trek - they reached the place where the canoes were hidden in thick undergrowth. They were to take only one boat - Terrel wouldn't be able to handle one on his own - so the packing away of their stores while still leaving enough space for themselves and the fish they hoped to catch was an exacting task. When all was ready, Terrel clambered into the canoe, then Olandis pushed it out into the river and jumped in himself. Being on water again brought back some unpleasant memories, but under Olandis's guidance the boy soon felt secure enough.
At first they moved swiftly, pushed along by a strong current. Terrel began to feel nauseous and unaccountably weary, but by the time they reached the main river, where the water moved more sluggishly, he felt better and was able to join Olandis in wielding one of the short oars. He found he could only paddle effectively on the left side, and so did not try to do anything else. His partner took care of the steering, switching his own oar from side to side to balance out Terrel's efforts. They had little time or breath for talking until, soon after midday, they reached a spot where Olandis thought there might be some fish. After showing Terrel how to bait the hooks and trail the lines from the stern of the boat without getting them tangled, as well as testing the tension of the lines with his fingers, Olandis began to move the canoe slowly back and forth across the wide expanse of calm water. After their earlier frenetic activity, the whole process seemed remarkably peaceful.
'What should I do?' Terrel asked.
'Nothing. Just l
et me know when you get a bite. The silvertails run in shoals here, so if we get one we should get a lot more.'
They drifted on for a while, each lost in his own thoughts.
'Anything?' Olandis asked, as they completed another crossing and he began to turn the boat around.
Terrel shook his head.
'I don't suppose you can make them appear?' Olandis said with a grin.
'Charm them, you mean,' Terrel replied, recalling Aylen's comment. 'No. I need to touch a creature to make any sort of connection with it, and even then I don't actually know what I'm doing. And fish are just too strange anyway.'
'All right. One more traverse, then we'll try somewhere else.' Olandis began to paddle steadily again. 'Was there no connection with the baby at all?'
The question took Terrel by surprise, and it was a few moments before he answered.
'No, not really,' he said, peering down into the sun-sparkled water.
'Pity. We could do with a healer right now.'
'It's not something I can control,' Terrel confessed. Being reminded of his failure had made him feel defensive.
'You did your best. That's all anyone can ask. Dreams have their own ways.'
Terrel was about to ask what Olandis meant when he was distracted by a flash of silver beneath the boat. Moments later he felt a tug on one of the lines, quickly-followed by a similar pull on the other.
'We've got a bite! Lots of them!'
'Great. Just hang on. I'll come and help.' Olandis stowed his paddle, moved carefully to Terrel's side, and felt the tension in the lines for himself.
'This one first,' he decided.
The bottom of the canoe was soon covered with a mass of silver-scaled fish, their tails flapping and their mouths uselessly open to the air. Terrel had felt nothing when
