by Mary Corran
‘Asher!’ he said urgently. ‘Get back under cover. Quickly.’
She looked at him blankly. He gestured upward.
‘Firestorm!’ The colour drained from her face. In Venture, on the coast, such storms were rare and she had forgotten the ferocity of what had once been a familiar fear.
‘Stay under the leaning rock, it’s our only chance. It’s too late to make a run for it.’ He was pulling her back as he spoke, the first cracklings overhead warning of the imminence of the storm. The rock at their back was broad enough to shelter them both, at least partially; there was nowhere else to go.
The prisoners in the quarry were beginning to scurry up the ladders, urged on by the guards, but they had left it too late and the first sparks began to descend to the sparse undergrowth, rapidly extinguished as they fell on damp scrub. Wisps of smoke appeared as more and more sparks rained down, catching prisoners on exposed faces and hands. Some of the hounds began to yelp their own protests.
The first bright sparks fell randomly, most extinguished as they met only dust on landing; but as the fall thickened, the odds on survival improved as droplets of burning gas — heavier than air — met dead twigs, last year’s leaves, and even green shoots and moss. The air thickened, dotted with scarlet, blown on the wind, the sparks drifting remorselessly down to find skin, hair, clothing — nothing was immune. The grey men stood their ground, alert to their duty, but they wore gloves and had scarves drawn across their faces, unlike their prisoners. Mallory heard a woman scream.
‘What was that?’ Asher asked, trying to peer through the scorching rain.
Mallory shook his head, using the telescope to watch events round the quarry. The last man had exited the pit and the party began the ascent towards the prison; scent-hounds were barking furiously, driven wild by sparks falling on their fur. The descent grew thicker, and the first real flames showed through the deluge as trees caught fire and scrub ignited; smoke billowed up until it was hard to see anything at all.
‘Look!’ Asher was pointing wildly to a running figure heading not for the camp but downhill, toward their hiding place.
It was plain from her height it was the Saff girl, making use of the unexpected storm in her bid for escape. The guards had not yet seen her; there was no outcry, no pursuit, as the drifting smoke covered her traces. He wished her well, but saw at once the danger to themselves. Her escape would soon be noticed, and her scent would lead the guard straight to them. He scanned uphill for any possibility of retreat, but the storm was now directly overhead and there was no interval in the rain of falling fire; their only safety lay in remaining where they were.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked Asher, seeing her struggling to remove her boots.
‘I’m going to give them to the Saff girl. It should confuse her scent for the hounds,’ she said flatly.
His first reaction was to tell her not to be a fool; with bare feet, she could hardly hope to walk across the burning ground. His second was a more reluctant admiration that she had so quickly seen what was needed; with not one but three separate scents to follow, the hounds would be befuddled, not knowing which one was their quarry.
‘We can’t stay here much longer,’ he advised, beginning to cough as smoke from scrub burning nearby reached his lungs.
‘She’s coming.’
It was true; the Saff girl had already reached the gully and was starting the climb to their hiding place. Mallory risked a look at the work-party, and saw there was still no pursuit; presumably that would come when the guard counted their prisoners back inside the walls of the camp.
‘Oh!’
He turned to find himself staring into the face of the Saff girl, and it was difficult to say which of the two was the more astonished. Asher, however, beckoned the girl to join them in their makeshift shelter, holding out the boots.
‘Put these on.’ She did not bother with introductions, taking a quick look at the other girl’s feet. ‘They should fit.’
‘Thank you.’ The Saff took the boots and sat to pull them on; as Asher had surmised, they were a good fit, for she had much larger feet than herself. ‘My name is Rhia.’
There was still no sign of pursuit. Rhia peered at the fall of fire, evidently bracing herself to make her run.
‘Have you been in the camp long?’ Mallory asked.
‘Since the riots in Chance — four years, I think.’ A pulse beat at her left temple, the only visible sign of emotion in her pale face; the Saff girl’s expression was otherwise calm. ‘What are you doing here?’ She looked at Asher.
‘We came looking for someone who might be inside the camp: a girl, your own age, but dark, a Darrianite?’
Rhia shook her head, frowning. ‘I know no one like that. Most of the women inside are much older than I, although there are a few children, perhaps eleven or twelve.’
‘You’re sure?’ Mallory asked urgently.
‘Oh, yes, I’m sure.’ The Saff girl’s expression hardened. ‘Ensor, the cousin of your Dominus, and his friends, have an interest in all the young girls in the camp, and boys, too.’
Mallory could think of nothing to say; Asher, too, was mute. All three turned to watch the progress of the storm, for such attacks, though fierce, were normally of short duration.
‘This place must attract fire,’ Rhia observed more naturally.
‘Each spring I have been here there have been four or five such storms.’
Asher looked down at her feet, now clad in drab woollen socks. ‘Do you know where you’re going from here?’
Rhia nodded. ‘I know the way home.’
‘When you reach a village called Coverdon, about two days’ south of the border, you’ll see a cottage on the outskirts with green shutters. The people there will help you.’ Rhia nodded her understanding. ‘And if you need to ask your way at any point, ask the old — they’re less likely to give you away, although I think most people would hide you.’
‘Do you?’ Rhia had both boots on and was breathing more easily. There were burn marks on her face and hands, and her tunic was scorched, but her long, pale face looked almost relaxed as she readied herself. ‘But you have my thanks, friend.’ She looked into Asher’s face, apparently troubled by what she saw. ‘If you should need to, come north to us. There would be a place for you among us. And now I must go.’ She moved to a crouching position, peering at the gully below. ‘You also, they will come soon. Go safely.’
With that she was gone, out into the rain of fire. Mallory, who had listened to the exchange in some bewilderment, was not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. He felt curiously and uncomfortably excluded, an eavesdropper in some affair that was none of his concern.
‘They’re coming, Mallory.’ Asher pointed towards the quarry.
He pulled himself together. ‘Come on, then. How many?’
‘Two. And two hounds.’
‘Then we’d better run for it.’
*
The wind was getting up, blowing the clouds away toward the west; unfortunately, it also had the effect of spreading the fire more rapidly than Asher had hoped.
‘What about the goats?’ she asked suddenly.
Mallory cast up his eyes. ‘They can run a lot faster than we can!’ Now, move!’ He slipped out of their shelter, pulling her after him.
She had no way of guessing how long it would be before the guards lit on their hiding place, nor which trail they would follow. With their longer legs, the advantages were all with the Kamiri, especially since she no longer had any boots. The ground was hard and uneven, loose pebbles bruising the soles of her feet and burning scrub singeing her socks, but Asher made no complaint; it had been her own decision. Or not a decision, more a reflex action; it surprised her Mallory had made no protest.
Who knows? Our lives touched hers for a brief, perhaps a vital, moment. Perhaps this, too, was foreseen by the Oracle. But it was hardly the place to consider the Saff girl’s words as she followed Mallory, disoriented by the drifting
smoke billowing in every direction. They had to go up, then down again toward the river, but it was hard to see anything at all.
‘Oh!’ She gasped as a nearby tree burst suddenly into flames, showering her with a mass of sparks.
‘Put something over your face — cover your eyes and mouth,’ Mallory shouted over the crackle of flames. ‘Don’t breathe too deeply.’ He coughed, as if to emphasize the point.
She held on to his hand, not daring to let go in case she lost him, for the smoke was as bad as a heavy mist, clear in patches, but in others quite opaque. They reached the crest of the hill and spared a moment to look down in both directions; neither offered any comfort or refuge. Behind them, the Kamiri were approaching the rocks where they had sheltered; ahead, the downward slope, more heavily wooded, was a mass of flame. There was no sight of Rhia, and Asher could only hope she had managed to get away safely.
‘What about the cave — do you think we should take shelter there?’ Mallory shouted in her ear.
‘No.’ The word sprang from instinct, not considered thought. She was certain, without any remnant of doubt, that if they went into the cave they would be trapped and taken by the guard; even the prospect of breasting the flames was less terrifying than that.
‘Then we have to risk the flames. Hold on tight.’
She had no real hope of outrunning the Kamiri; their best chance was if they managed to reach the river, where they could wade or swim to disguise their scent. If they did not, at best they would be imprisoned, for they could have no conceivable reason for being discovered so close to the camp, especially at the time of an escape. Mallory’s position as councillor of Venture would work against, not for, him; it would be assumed he had come to rescue Ensor. Her mind told her the facts as she ran, trying to ignore the agony of her burned feet. For herself ... but she did not wish to contemplate her own fate.
Mallory stumbled and almost brought her down; the air was hot and thick, choking them. Asher began to cough, almost strangling herself in an effort to stop as she heard the baying of hounds not far behind.
‘They’re coming closer,’ she shouted unnecessarily.
‘Come on.’
The Kamiri were gaining with every step. Asher grasped the near-inevitability of capture, her legs feeling weak and boneless. Lewes had once threatened to set his dogs on her, two immense beasts made savage by constant hunger, and for a moment she was back in the past as she listened to the hounds baying on their trail.
‘Asher — hurry!’
Mallory’s voice broke the spell and she jumped as a line of fire ran from behind, passing between her legs and scorching her borrowed clothes as the grasses ignited. For a moment the smoke lifted and they could see ahead quite clearly, the river still too distant for comfort.
‘This way.’ Mallory drew to an abrupt halt as they were suddenly confronted by a sheet of flame. A thick patch of scrub was ablaze and had set fire to three trees that stood in a row, creating an impenetrable barrier of flame. Exhausted, Mallory tugged Asher sideways, looking for a way through, but this time she held back.
‘Mallory, stop!’
‘We can’t.’ He was impatient.
‘We haven’t time to go round. They’re too close.’
‘If you don’t come, I’ll knock you out and carry you!’
‘Listen!’ she shouted. ‘We have to go through. It’s our only chance. The fire will kill our scent.’
‘And we’ll burn to death!’
Indeed, as she looked at the roaring flames, it did look as if she were proposing a bizarre form of suicide; but Asher was sure she was right. She pulled herself free.
‘If you won’t, I will,’ she shouted, nerving herself for the run.
He hesitated only a moment. The hounds were very close; they could not see but could hear them, perhaps only fifty yards away.
‘Damn you — then I’ll carry you!’ Cover your face!’ he yelled at her, picking her up before she could protest. Taking a deep breath, he ran straight into the thick of the flames.
The wall of fire was the most terrifying sight Asher had ever imagined; the heat was so intense she did not think she could bear it. Her hair began to smoulder at once. She shut her eyes, then opened them again. Their progress seemed to take forever, although in distance it could have been no more than fifteen feet or less. It seemed impossible to survive, but a freak wind divided the flames for a scant instant, and in that instant Mallory had passed through, and they were on the far side, their clothes licked by tiny flames, and Mallory was putting her down and beating them out before seeing to his own. The smell of burning was all around her.
‘Get up. We’ve got to run,’ he coughed. ‘They may still be able to see us.’
Asher tried to stand, but could not. The pain was excruciating, and when she lifted her feet she understood why; her socks had been burned away, and in the process removed at least one layer of skin.
‘I’m sorry, Mallory. I can’t walk.’ She was surprised her voice sounded so calm. She looked at him, taking in the scorch-marks on his face, the singed brows and hands, and saw he was bracing himself to lift her again. She guessed he, too, was almost at the end of his strength, exhausted by inhaling so much smoke.
‘I’ll carry you.’ He bent to pick her up, and she tried to help, clasping her hands around his back and neck.
He staggered as he walked, each step an effort, and his breathing was laboured; he smelled strongly of sour smoke and burnt cloth and singed hair. Looking back over his shoulder, Asher could see nothing except the wall of fire; there was no sign of the guard, nor the hounds.
‘Stop here,’ she said, pointing to a patch of bare ground further down the slope where there was no scrub. ‘You can’t go much further, Mallory.’
He did not reply, but when he reached the spot he laid her down without argument, as if too wearied for speech.
‘If it didn’t work, it’s too late anyway,’ she said softly. ‘Rest.’
He nodded. Distant yelps could still be heard, but further away than they had been. The wind had changed direction again, blowing the flames back up the hill. It was still appallingly hot, and sweat dripped from Asher’s forehead into her eyes.
‘We may have thrown them off,’ Mallory gasped.
‘I can’t see them.’ Asher looked back again, but there was only fire and smoke.
‘What made you want to take the risk?’
She shrugged. ‘The fire seemed the only chance we had.’ It was a part of the truth.
‘I can go on now.’ Mallory heaved himself to his feet. ‘It’s not far to the river.’
Asher had closed her eyes briefly; she opened them in wonderment. ‘They’ve gone,’ she said in astonishment.
‘How do you know?’ Mallory demanded.
She shook her head impatiently. ‘I don’t know. But they have.’ She could offer no tangible proof, but she was sure she was right. Woman’s intuition, perhaps? she asked herself mockingly. Whatever that was. Essa always said it was a defence mechanism, born of an unconscious observance of small details. It sounded good enough as an explanation, but Asher remained sceptical, remembering occasions when her nerves had given her warnings that proved baseless.
‘Let’s hope you’re right!’ Mallory heaved her up again and began to walk down the slope, where most of the timber near the baseline had already been removed by local farmers, and the scrub had burned down to smouldering. The worst of the fire had passed on and up.
At the base of the hill, Mallory stumbled the last few paces to the river bank. The Esperance was no swiftly flowing river but a mere tributary, barely a dozen feet across and with a sluggish current, but no less welcome for that. Asher fell into the water, gloriously cool against her hot skin and sore feet, floating on her back, glad to rid herself of the worst of the smell of burning.
‘We survived.’ Mallory sounded incredulous as he joined her, ducking his head under the water with a sigh of pleasure.
‘It is extraordinary, isn’
t it?’ Although they were still too close to the camp for comfort, Asher felt no sense of menace near them; she wondered where the Saff girl was, and whether she, too, was safe. ‘I wonder what happened to the goats?’
‘They’ll be back at Loder’s smallholding by now.’ He gestured in the general direction of the buildings on the far side of the river, which had escaped the fire. ‘Perhaps you’re right after all. Perhaps the Oracle does protect us,’ Mallory mused. ‘I wouldn’t have thought this possible.’
Asher stared up at the burning slope, still smoking defiantly, thinking about Mallory’s comment. What was it someone had once said to her: fixed fate, free will? She could no longer agree, her feelings altered so that the answer no longer looked as obvious as she had once believed. Was Fate decided by choice, not by an arbitrary hand? If so, how was it possible to divine the future? Both concepts could not be true, for they were contradictory. And why had the Saff girl seemed to invite her, particularly, to go north, to Saffra? What had Rhia seen in her face, that she should have felt so compelled to make such an offer on such brief acquaintance?
‘Do you know, Mallory, we could swim some of the way from here,’ she said idly, unwilling to speak of her thoughts. ‘So you wouldn’t have to carry me.’
‘That is one of your better ideas. But if you don’t mind, I’ll walk. You can swim. I’ll go ahead and fetch the horses.’
‘All right.’ She was as much startled by his assent as by the suggestion. Not long ago, he would never have agreed to leave her alone in such surroundings. Is he saying he trusts me, and treats me like an equal? It seemed he was. ‘Mallory, I’m sorry. That I brought you here.’
He pulled himself out on to the bank, looking quizzically down at her. ‘I chose to come, you didn’t bring me.’
‘Yes, I did,’ she contradicted. ‘It was my fault, no matter what you say. If we’d been killed, that would have been my fault, too.’
