A Voice That Thunders (Voice that Thunders #1)

by Cully Mack

  Sojin rubbed his cheek and scrambled into his coat. The inn was deserted. Now that the tobacco haze had evaporated he could see the inn wasn’t such a bad place. As with everywhere these days it had a black line of rat grease skirting where the walls met the floor but there was no evidence of lice in the crevices at least.

  He sniffed at the smell of baked oats wafting in from another room.

  ‘I’ve decided ya would be better off at the Scribehouse,’ Ammo declared.

  Sojin’s face paled. The Scribehouse stood in the northern quarter of the city. It was as old and dark as the mysteries it contained. Mysteries that the Clerics believed would one day defeat the Watchers and their horde of Nephilim. Ammo didn’t believe script on clay could defeat anything but for a hefty price Clerics would take in an Apprentice.

  He noted the dark etchings carved into the wooden table. They reminded him of twisting rivers outlined on his pigskin maps. Sojin sat there digging his fingernail into one of the rivers cascading off the table edge.

  Ammo took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘How many times have I told ya, we ain’t no low life thieves? We are Acquisitioners. We only steal what we get paid to steal.’

  Sojin raised his eyes and faced him. ‘I won’t stay. If you make me go, I won’t stay.’

  Ammo and Sojin stared at each other. It was the first time he’d seen Sojin attempting to make a stand. Finding it hard to keep a stern face, he let out a triumphant grin.

  ‘Had ya going there, didn’t I.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look, I just needed to get my point across.’ He reached around and unclipped his belt. ‘Take this.’

  Sojin’s eyes lit as he took the belt and its sheathed blade. He caressed his prize then strapped it on.

  ‘If ya gonna get yaself caught, ya at least need something to defend yaself with. But ya have to promise me, no more thieving unless I say. Right?’

  ‘I swear. I’ll never do it again.’

  ‘What did ya want the tokens for, anyway?’

  ‘No reason. I was, well, you know, practising.’

  ❊

  They spent the day on Ammo’s ship making preparations for departure. When sunset arrived, Ammo left and ventured out towards Tenby Market. The Town Square thrived with activity. Tinkers were selling their wares. Music jangled from carnivals and troupes competed for spectators’ attention. The odour of cooked food and the foul stench of stale beer and sweat clung in the air.

  The market was alive. Pickpockets threaded like veins through the crowds, mapping their routes towards narrowed alleys. It wasn’t hard for Ammo to mark the anomaly. In the chaos of the Town Square, stillness stuck out like a towering idol.

  And there she was a tall slender woman standing by a merchant’s tent filled with phony jewels. She pretended to study a bracelet, but she stared right through it, at him. Tightening her hood, she stepped away, moving with fluid grace through the human ravines. She quickened her pace enough not to draw attention and slipped into a darkened side alley.

  He suspected a trap as he followed and it didn’t surprise him to find an arrow protruding from a crossbow, now levelled at his eye.

  ‘Well this is interesting,’ Ammo said, as he stepped back and raised his arms in fake surrender.

  He scanned the alley for signs of others. It was empty and blocked off at the far end by a rickety wooden structure. She stood in a fighters’ stance. A short dark cloak came to her thighs, not a cumbersome burden in the midst of a fight, Ammo supposed.

  Dark tight pants, easy for movement and well worn soft leather boots made up her garments, no sack in sight to slow her down. Her lithe upper body pushed into steady legs. Not even a tremble in her crossbow arm. With one hand she pulled her dark hood back. Moonlight haloed over her long black hair, reflecting a spectrum of colours against a pale-skinned complexion. Her deep lavender eyes dilated.

  Alarmed, he reached for his blade only to remember he’d given it to Sojin.

  ‘Chashmal,’ he accused.

  She dipped her head to the side but didn’t answer.

  ‘Well, whatever, I ain’t got through life without adapting a few skills of me own.’

  Chashmalim or not he wouldn’t allow her into his head.

  ‘That won’t do you any good,’ she said. Her eyes raised from the emerald ring he’d been rubbing with his thumb. ‘I’m not who you think I am.’ She lowered her voice, ‘My name’s Bina and I have a message for you.’

  He didn’t trust her but her lavender eyes, even in the darkness revealed a subtle ambient light that would never exist in a Chashmalim. Whoever she was, she looked exquisite. A mystery which appealed to his senses.

  ‘What’s the crossbow for then?’

  ‘I assumed you might be,’ she paused as if trying to find the right word, ‘difficult.’

  ‘So ya heard of me?’

  ‘No, not exactly.’

  Ammo chuckled to himself. ‘Well, that’s a first. Ya must have come a long way.’

  She lowered the crossbow. ‘Can we go somewhere, not so exposed?’

  ❊

  Several men sitting on the other side of the Fertile Crescent gave occasional glances in Ammo’s direction.

  ‘Do you know those men?’ Bina asked, without even raising an eye towards them.

  ‘No, but they know me, or at least they think they do.’

  The redhead from last night busied herself preparing leather drinking vessels, focusing everywhere but in their direction. After a while, she scooted around the inn’s tables with a beer in each hand. Placing one in front of Bina she turned towards Ammo. The vessel slipped from her hand, hit the edge of the table and fell into his lap.

  He jumped out of his seat. ‘Damn it, woman. These are my best silks.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, pulling a rag from her pocket and wiping the table. ‘The beer slipped out of my hand.’ Her smug smile revealed she was far from sorry. She leaned towards Bina. ‘Don’t let those long blonde locks or his generous physique fool you.’ Then bending lower she whispered, ‘I wouldn’t bother yourself. He’s a fast mover.’ She turned tail and walked back towards the bar.

  Bina smiled. ‘You know some people, at least.’

  ‘What she said, she didn’t mean—’ Ammo pulled the silk now stuck to his nether region from his skin. ‘Well ya know.’ Before his reputation slipped out the door on the whispering winds, he sat and decided to change the subject. ‘Anyway ya said, ya have a message for me? Well, here I am.’

  ‘This filthy inn is not very private, maybe we should—’

  ‘Go up to my room?’

  Her eyes dilated, and she stared into an empty space. Ammo doubted she was reading the minds of people in the inn. He knew Chashmalim could transcend limits of space and time to communicate their thoughts with another. No, she was reading with someone else.

  He slapped his hand on the table. ‘Anyone in there?’

  ‘Oh sorry,’ she replied. ‘I was admiring your ring. Tell me how you came to wear it?’

  He dropped his hand under the table. ‘No ya weren’t.’

  Her head tilted and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she saw his chamber of imprisoned thoughts. It had been so long since he’d delved inside he couldn’t remember everything in there but figured she at least wouldn’t run away screaming.

  ‘All right,’ she confessed. ‘I had to ensure you are who I thought you were.’

  ‘And to do that ya were reading with someone else? Someone who knows me? Who? What did ya tell him?’

  ‘I told him you think you’re a legend in your own lifetime, dress like a peacock, and that you desire to mate with me.’

  ‘Well, I can’t argue with the last one. Who were ya talking to?’

  ‘Meciel. He sent me here to collect you. He said, it’s time.’

  ❊　13　❊

  Mirah drifted in and out of sleep for two days before she arose and made her way to the courtyard. When she arrived Neviah and Zeev were sparring. She saw
no sign of Nate.

  Zeev looked up. ‘Ah, glad you could join us.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Neviah asked. ‘They said you were ill. I would have visited but—’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Mirah cut over her. ‘Where’s Nate?’

  ‘He’s away. But don’t worry. He’s left me in charge of your training.’

  Zeev grinned and Neviah groaned.

  ‘Do one lap around the courtyard whilst I find his replacement.’ Zeev jogged off towards the barracks.

  She set off to the edge of the courtyard, surprised to find Neviah running by her side.

  ‘I’m sorry Mirah. I’ve been a fool. I didn’t mean what I said on the veranda.’

  ‘Can we talk about it later?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Do you know where Nate has gone?’

  ‘No. When I came down, Zeev said he was away and that you’d be joining later.’

  Neviah gave her the once over, scanning for signs of what ailed her. ‘I was worried when you didn’t show for days. Are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, Nev.’

  Zeev returned with a mousy brown haired man. His serious chiseled face focused on them as he crossed the courtyard carrying two long wooden staffs.

  ‘This is Eliah.’ Zeev said. ‘He’ll be training you until Nate returns.’

  Eliah weighed her up, assessing her medium height, the reach of her arms and the strength of her slender frame.

  ‘Shall we begin?’ he asked, handing her a staff. ‘I thought we could start with these?’

  Mirah took the staff and Eliah showed her how to grip it in the palms of her hands. His staff crashing against hers sent shock waves up through her arms. He was strong and ruthless, full of lean muscle but nowhere near as toned as Nate. With each clash of wood against wood, she considered how much Nate had been holding back.

  ‘Good. Don’t forget to duck when the staff swings for your head.’

  She ducked and blocked and soon fell into a rhythm. The staff felt like something she could handle with practice and training. A weapon, though not as deadly as a dagger or a sword where she could defend against an attacker and at least give her time to escape.

  Mirah watched Eliah as he swung his staff towards her and noticed how he dropped his guard now and then. She defended his blows and waited, then when he dropped his guard she swept her staff wide aiming for his right side. She’d been wrong. The strike took her off balance. Eliah pivoted bringing his staff across her left arm. The blow sent waves of pain ricocheting though her shoulder.

  ‘Never underestimate your opponent,’ Eliah said, his face stern and serious. ‘I think we’ll leave training there for today.’ He bowed and strode off to the barracks.

  Mirah rubbed the back of her neck as she walked to the fountain. Her arm throbbed, and she knew she’d have a nasty bruise. If Eliah had taught her one thing, it was to never assume weakness in a rival.

  ‘He’s a good fighter,’ Zeev said, arriving at the fountain. ‘He’ll do his best to get you as prepared as he can by the time Nate returns.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘I don’t know. A month maybe more.’

  Mirah reeled inside. She ached to ask Zeev where Nate had gone but decided to wait and ask Galia.

  As though she’d heard her name on the wind, Galia strolled out of the chasm.

  ‘Glad you’re finally up and awake,’ she said, breezing towards them. ‘I thought we’d try something different today.’

  Galia smiled at Zeev who responded with a grin of his own. If Mirah didn’t know better, she’d have suspected in Nate’s absence they were conspiring against her.

  Neviah muttered, ‘I have to go. I’ll catch up with you later.’

  ‘What you’re not even going to give me a wave goodbye?’ Zeev called after her.

  Neviah raised her hand but instead of a wave, she opted for a rude gesture.

  ‘I’m in love,’ Zeev said.

  ‘You’re always in love,’ Galia mocked, and without waiting for a reply she slipped her arm under Mirah’s. ‘Come, I want to show you something.’

  They passed through the city until they came to prodigious stone steps descending towards a small circular arena.

  ‘It’s a Diatheatre. We’re early because I wanted to get the best seats.’

  ‘What happens here?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  They sat at the front in the centre and soon crowds of beautifully adorned women filed down over the steps. When they were all seated a man with a countenance as regal as his purple robes walked out onto the arena. Around benevolent hazel eyes, his skin creased and each crooked line on his face hid a multitude of mysteries which begged to spill forth their wisdom.

  Silence swayed through the crowd and when it reached the centre of the arena, the man sang. His voice caused a symphony of immeasurable yearning as sorrow and joy wound its way amongst the crowd. Each note awakening visions of beauty and harmony; the splattering of rain on dry ground, floating pollen caught up in the air, new life, offering glimpses of who they could be. Memories both sharp and delightful, once hidden, now surfacing, revealing the shapings of their destinies.

  Light filled Mirah’s mind, her hand gripped the stone seating. It was the only reminder that she wasn’t actually flying. She felt herself drifting into a realm where words have no meaning. A place where only expression exists. A place where dreams and despair collide and you gain understanding, for the briefest of moments before it releases you.

  How long she had sat there, she didn’t know. When she roused, the Diatheatre was empty, with only Galia sat beside her.

  ‘How long?’ she asked. She glanced into Galia’s eyes and found them as glossy as her own.

  ‘As long as you needed.’

  ‘I’ve never heard anything like it.’

  ‘No one has outside of this place.’

  ‘His voice it sounds like… I don’t know how to express it.’

  ‘We call him the Fallen Star. How do you feel?’

  ‘I feel strange, a mixture of heavy and weightless.’

  ‘It’s a strange feeling when the voice of your enemy becomes your saviour.’

  Is that what this was? A glorious voice in the midst of everything strange and unfamiliar sending a healing balm to guide her through places unknown, to reach down into the void within her and create a new melody of her own.

  ‘How come only women visited the Diatheatre?’

  Galia chuckled. ‘The men around here are too thick skinned to have their emotions pampered or so they’ll tell you.’

  Mirah contemplated what Gabe and his friends would have made of the Fallen Star’s preternatural singing and concluded they would have accused her of being soft. She still missed him but somehow thoughts of Gabe no longer ripped inside her. The knowledge that he’d be all right cushioned her sense of loss.

  ‘How often does he sing?’

  ‘Every morning.’

  ‘Do you think we could come again? Could we bring Neviah?’

  ‘Of course. Come on, I’m starving, let’s find something to eat.’

  Galia bought oranges, and they sat by the edge of the river not far from Nate’s ship. A longing, coiled tight in her stomach, opened its eyes.

  Galia threw her an orange and asked, ‘What do you want to do this afternoon? I wondered if you’d like to see the city.’

  Mirah glanced up from peeling her orange. ‘You’re not attempting to distract me are you?’

  With a tentative smile, Galia replied, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  They sucked on the citrus juices and watched Nate’s crew leaning over rubbing oil into the ship’s deck. Galia flung her peel into the river and little fish came up to nibble and inspect it.

  ‘We should discuss what happened at the lake. There’s no point in avoiding it.’

  Galia peered around before whispering, ‘Not here.’

  Mirah rose. ‘I have questions.’

&
nbsp; They strolled along the riverbank until they were far away from the crowds. Mirah recalled Galia and Nate’s conversation after she’d lifted the lake’s rock bed. She had so many questions and wanted to apologise if she’d hurt her but how much could she ask or say without Galia realising she’d been listening?

  When they were a safe distance away she asked, ‘Where is Nate?’

  ‘Someone killed Zamani, he was Shemyaza’s firstborn son. Shemyaza ordered Nate, Bishnor, Esha and others to find them and seek retribution.’

  ‘Oh.’

  It was all she could say. Inside, she battled a tangled web of emotions, their sinewy threads threating to immobilise her. Call it denial, she didn’t care and told herself, he would come back.

  ‘My sister, Arella, is with them.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a sister. I thought when you told me about your family that you had been left alone. You must be distraught?’

  ‘Not really. You saw her move like a tornado in the Taphas chamber. She’s difficult to assault when she’s whirling through the air.’

  Mirah hopped over a slimy pebbled brook flowing towards the river. ‘What about Nate?’

  Galia skipped after her. ‘Trust me, he has his own devices.’

  ‘I thought you said Shemyaza brought peace?’

  ‘He has within our borders but others still refuse to bend to his will. Nate believes in an old prophecy which says one day men will gather under thunder and then we’ll descend into war but don’t tell him I mentioned it. It’s best to keep that to yourself.’

  ‘Under thunder? What does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure anyone does.’

  Mirah glanced around to check no one was nearby. ‘Before he left, Nate said I was different, and nobody has ever wielded water and rock before. I’ve been thinking that the best way to protect myself is to understand how wielding works and what I can do. I don’t want to shy away from it. Although I’ll never use wielding in war, I’d like to help my friends if needed. Will you help me?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She was certain Shemyaza would expect her to wield this power. If she didn’t gain control, it had the potential to hurt others and that was something she refused to allow. Mirah nodded.