The Bitter Twins

by Jen Williams

  Vostok and Kirune landed on the outer edge, where the waves crashed and hissed constantly, like the ranting of some sea god. Noon felt the hairs go up on the back of her neck as she wriggled from the harness.

  ‘This bloody place sounds haunted.’

  Kirune seemed to have an even lower opinion of the place, picking up his paws and growling back at the hissing of the waves. Noon didn’t blame him; the island was barely comfortable for her to walk on, with her tough boots and small feet. Vostok, with her more flexible body, had arranged herself around a series of pointed rocks, her long tail curling around one tall shard multiple times.

  ‘How lovely,’ said Tor as they picked their way towards each other over a mixture of sand and stones. The air was thick with water and salt. ‘The birds are welcome to this place, I can tell you that.’

  ‘Was this one of the landmarks on the tablet?’

  Tor nodded. The endless wind had blown much of his black hair out of its tail, and now it swept across his face, hundreds of incredibly fine strands in constant movement.

  ‘We’re on the right track, at least.’

  ‘And our next stop?’

  ‘Far enough away for me to need a break. Do you think you can find anything to burn on this horrible little rock?’

  Noon looked around. There was very little natural vegetation that she could see, other than some patches of orange and yellow lichen. She thought of clambering into the centre of the island and raiding a few nests for sticks, but they would likely be wet anyway.

  ‘Bern packed some firewood for us. We can use that, if we’re sparing.’

  ‘Of course he did. Come on then, before I expire from sheer misery.’

  When it was done – ignited with winnowfire fuelled by Vostok – Noon thought it had likely not been worth it, and she looked with anxiety at the dry sticks as they blackened and spat. They couldn’t afford to waste their supplies, and with the constant spray and moisture in the air, it was unlikely that she or Tor would warm up or dry off, although Tor was practically sitting on top of the fire in an attempt to do so. She looked up again. Clouds were moving in from the east, chasing the sun across the sky.

  ‘So, it’s getting late. We can either eat something quickly here, and get back up there, or we can stay here overnight.’ She grimaced as she said it. ‘Will we get to the next stop by nightfall?’

  Tor sighed heavily, and pulled his hood up over his head in one terse movement. ‘Yes? Maybe? I transcribed everything I could from the amber tablet, and Vintage matched it up with the best maps we could find, but this still feels like a very precarious way to navigate the Barren Sea.’ He sniffed. ‘The seas are not for us, is what my grandmother used to say. Nothing in them but salt, nothing beyond them but woe. She was full of cheery observations like that, my grandmother.’

  ‘It will be even harder in the dark, and the clouds are moving in thick.’

  ‘You sound just like her.’ Tor held his hands out to the fire. ‘Perhaps we would do better to be cautious for now.’ He turned around to Vostok, and raised his voice. ‘What do you think, my lady?’

  The dragon bowed her head. ‘This place is bracing. It is no discomfort for me to stay here for the night.’

  Noon looked at Kirune, who had done his best to get comfortable a short distance from the fire. His thick grey fur was dark with moisture, and his tail flicked and jerked irritably. She suspected that he would have preferred to leave, but would sooner chew his own tail off than show himself to be less hardy than the dragon.

  In the end, Noon did her best to cook some of their fresh fish with winnowfire – burning a few to blackened pieces in the process – and as the sun set and the clouds moved in, the sea seemed to grow a little calmer. Vostok and Kirune ate several fish each, bones and all, and then, to Noon’s surprise, curled up next to each other and promptly went to sleep. She almost wanted to ask the dragon if she were feeling all right, but she could sense the weariness in Vostok’s muscles and recognised that the war-beast was getting rest where she could.

  ‘Fish for breakfast, fish for lunch,’ said Tor, manoeuvring slippery pieces of hot pink flesh from between silvery skins with his fingers. ‘Or is this dinner? Supper? I suppose it’s better than dried meat at least.’

  ‘So why did your grandmother hate the sea?’

  Tor glanced up from his fish supper, his eyebrows raised. ‘You didn’t have stories about the sea where you’re from?’

  Noon shrugged. ‘Maybe. I don’t remember any. We lived on the plains, remember? You have to go a long way to see the sea.’

  ‘Ah. Well. It was death, the sea. Life and earth were inextricably linked, the soil being the only place where roots could grow. The only good water was fresh water – seawater was poison.’ He waved a piece of fish tail in the air. There were tiny scales stuck to the back of his hand – Noon could see them catching the light of the fire, like minute flecks of heated steel. ‘Superstitious nonsense, of course.’

  ‘I find it hard to believe that the mighty Eborans were afraid of anything.’ She glanced at Vostok and Kirune, each breathing evenly and deep. ‘You had the best weapons. What could possibly worry you?’

  Tor grunted. ‘The Jure’lia for a start, but that wasn’t to do with them, at least not directly. At least the dangers we face on land are visible. On the sea, there could be anything waiting underneath. It’s poisoned, just like the rest of Sarn, and there have been monsters under the waves for as long as we can remember. At least on the land, you know the ground itself will not betray you.’

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it.’ Noon was thinking of the huge, deformed whales they had seen, and how in Esiah Godwort’s compound a parasite spirit had risen up through the mud. There were no parasite spirits now; with the revival of Ygseril, all the old souls of the war-beasts had dissipated, too weak and confused to return to the tree-god’s roots. All save for Vostok, who she had carried safe inside her until the dragon had been born again in the Ninth Rain. Noon looked out over Tor’s shoulder; the sea was an inky blue now, thick and unknowable. Perhaps this wasn’t the best subject for dinner talk.

  ‘Were all the places you saw like this? Miserable rocks?’

  ‘Mostly. Some were bigger, and even had trees, grass. But the dream Micanal crafted moves very fast – he wasn’t giving us guided tours of these places, and besides which, these images he created are hundreds of years old. These tiny islands could have changed by now, or disappeared entirely.’

  Dusk proved to be the dangerous time. Their conversation had lulled, and they were both sitting in a contemplative silence. Noon had just started to think about retrieving her bedroll, because, despite the cold and the hiss of the sea, her eyelids were getting heavier and heavier, while the thick clouds were casting everything into an early darkness. Later, she realised that if they had gone to sleep, there was a good chance that they could have been killed.

  She had just fought down another huge yawn, and was about to tell Tor she was going to get her head down for a bit, when she spotted a faint glow at the edge of the rocks. It was so soft that at first she thought she was imagining it – that it was just her eyes getting used to the dark beyond the fire, creating images where there were none – but when she looked to her left she could see more of it there, too.

  ‘What’s that now?’

  Tor’s head jerked up – he had evidently also been on the verge of nodding off – and he looked where she was pointing.

  ‘Ah. I wonder if this is one of these strange lichens Vintage has talked about before. At length, of course. Some sort of natural light, produced by something or other.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Very slowly, Noon stood up. ‘Do those rocks look like they’re the right shape to you? I mean, don’t you think they’ve changed shape?’

  It was difficult to tell. The firelight was continually dancing and flickering in the wind, sometimes even dying down to near embers before flaring back up again, and to Noon it looked as though the rocks were cons
tantly moving. She looked over to Vostok and Kirune. The big dragon had her head tucked under her wing, and looked very determinedly asleep.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Tor sounded annoyed, sceptical even, but he had stood up too, and he reached over his shoulder to rest his fingertips on the hilt of the Ninth Rain. ‘Rocks don’t change shape.’

  The edges of the rocks seem to flex somehow, growing limbs in the dark, and then all at once the whole island teemed with movement. Noon yelped and jumped back towards the fire. Starfish, enormous things as big as dogs, were crawling out of the water and over the rocks at speed, their long tapered limbs waving in the air. Noon had seen pictures of starfish in her mother’s books, years ago, and they had seemed pretty and charming, but she had never imagined them to be so big, or to move as they did. On the underside of each limb were hundreds of tiny fronds, and these were reaching out and clutching at the rocks, propelling them along. The starfish were glowing slightly, filled with a faint inner phosphorescence that only made them more eerie.

  ‘By the roots!’ Tor had drawn his sword, an expression torn between surprise and disgust on his face. ‘How many of them are there?’

  Noon just shook her head. They were already surrounded, and the starfish weren’t slowing down. One of them was within reach of her boot, and it reached one long arm out to slide over the leather – it stretched more than she thought possible. Noon skittered back, casting around for something to steal life energy from – she desperately didn’t want to touch the knobbly, slimy skin of the starfish – but there was nothing to hand.

  ‘Vostok!’

  The dragon was awake instantly, her head up and whipping around to survey the situation. Tor was poking at the starfish with the Ninth Rain, but it was doing little to keep the tide of them back. In one smooth movement the dragon uncurled her tail from the jagged rocks and reached out with it to poke Noon in the back of the leg. Next to the dragon, Kirune had jumped to his feet, his big yellow eyes like lamps in the growing gloom.

  Noon reached down and slapped a hand against Vostok’s slick scales. Immediately her chest was filled with a boiling heat, sending spikes of warmth through her whole body, and in the dark she smiled.

  ‘Any time you’re ready, Noon.’ Tor was busily trying to shake a starfish off his own boot, and Noon saw with rising alarm that although several of the strange sea creatures around him were dead, missing arms and leaking dark fluid, there were more and more crawling over the rocks. It wouldn’t take much for them to be overwhelmed.

  Holding her hands a palm’s width apart, she funnelled a bright stream of green winnowfire out and across the teeming animals. Almost immediately the air was filled with a high-pitched keening noise, like a thousand kettles boiling at once. Noon winced, and intensified the fire stream. A smell, like boiling seaweed, assaulted her nostrils, and with a wet pop first one starfish exploded, and then another. Next to her, Tor staggered as several starfish shoved into him at once, and then a moment later a number of them rushed her; it was like being hit in the shins by a horse. Noon crashed into the stony ground, narrowly avoiding the fire. Several sharp rocks punched her in the rear end and lower back, and she let out a bellow of rage. At almost the exact same moment, a stream of violet fire appeared from overhead, and the shrieking of the starfish grew deafening.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Tor’s voice was terse with impatience.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Noon struggled to her knees, still reeling from the strength of the starfish. ‘The bastards must be made of muscle!’

  A shadow passed over her, and Kirune landed amidst the creatures. He was a whirling thing of claws and teeth, and Noon had to turn her head away as pieces of starfish flew in all directions. A strong arm curled around hers and lifted her to her feet; it was almost entirely dark now, but in the intermittent light from the fire and Vostok’s flames she could see the rueful expression on Tor’s face.

  ‘Micanal didn’t see fit to include this in his bloody dream-walk.’

  Noon opened her mouth to reply, but Kirune suddenly roared and leapt back from the melee, shaking his head violently from side to side. His wings unfolded and shook out, and he half leapt into the air in his distress.

  ‘Kirune!’ Tor dropped Noon’s arm and went to the war-beast, but the big cat hissed and swiped at him with one giant paw. ‘What is it?’

  Noon looked around. Between the four of them, they had killed an impressive number of starfish – it was no longer possible to see the rocks for their dismembered corpses – but there had been no let-up in their numbers. More and more were marching over their fallen brethren, and she had a sudden vision – the sea floor teeming with millions of moving starfish, this small island a tiny obstruction in the midst of some mysterious migration. The things might not stop coming all night. They might not stop coming at all.

  ‘We have to get out of here, Tor!’

  Tor wasn’t listening. He had managed to reach Kirune, and was holding the cat’s great blocky head between his hands. He turned towards Noon, and he looked very pale.

  ‘I think they stung him, poisoned him or something.’

  There was a thick yellow fluid oozing from between Kirune’s jaws, and the cat was holding his mouth open at an awkward angle, as though it hurt to close it. Meanwhile, Vostok had stepped down across their fire, her bulk taking up almost all space as she sent an unceasing stream of violet flames into the heart of the massing starfish.

  ‘Grab your stuff, Tor, and get on Kirune. We need to find another island before he gets any worse. Vostok, help me!’

  ‘We can’t leave.’ Yet even as he spoke, Tor was grabbing his pack and tying it to Kirune’s harness. He kicked a starfish back towards the rocks. ‘It’s too dark, you said so yourself.’

  ‘Then I’ll light the way. Come on!’

  They scrambled back onto their war-beasts. Kirune was whining pitifully now, and in the brief glance Noon gave him she could already see that his jaws and throat were swollen. Would he be able to fly? She felt a stab of panic, deep in her stomach, but pushed it firmly to one side; they needed to get out of here, then they could think. When finally they got up into the air, it was to leave one pack of fish behind, but when Noon made motions to go back for it, Tor shouted, ‘If there’s one thing we can get more of, it’s fish. Let the five-legged bastards have it.’

  Rising up above the island, Noon leaned out over Vostok’s side and looked down. The faint glow of the starfish extended far beyond the limits of the island; a stretch of more than half a mile across glimmered faintly below the black water.

  ‘Tor! Which direction should we be heading in?’

  For a terrible moment, she thought he wouldn’t know – in all the confusion she had no idea herself, and the clouds had completely hidden the moon and stars. But then he pointed, and placing her fingers against Vostok’s neck, Noon produced a bright ball of flame in her other hand. It lit up the night like their very own sinister moon, and they flew out across the sea once more.

  21

  ‘Here, have some of that. It will help, I promise.’

  Nanthema was curled on the low-padded seat nearest the fire, her legs tucked underneath her and a blanket pulled up to her neck. For the last two hours or so she had been staring into the flames, looking but not seeing, her face slack. She had not roused when Vintage had left the room, and had taken little notice when she had returned, even though carrying the small cauldron of hot soup while hobbling on her crutch had caused her to crash around somewhat, nearly knocking over an elegant side table.

  When Nanthema eventually lifted her head to look at her, Vintage smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t make it. I’m not a natural cook, as I’m sure you remember, but it’s amazing what the plains folk can do with some dried meat and some old tubers. I think there’s some sort of animal milk in it – I must find out which, as I tasted a little and it is very rich. Some warm food, that’s what you need.’

  The pot was on the small table, steam rising from it steadily. Vin
tage had smuggled a spoon and a small bowl in one of her large pockets, and these she placed next to it. Her ankle ached fiercely, but Nanthema’s lack of response plagued her more.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said eventually.

  ‘Nan, please.’ Vintage shuffled over to the seat opposite and lowered herself carefully, leg sticking out in front of her. ‘You have to eat. I can’t imagine the horror of what . . . I know this must be incredibly hard, but you are still alive, and I would prefer you to stay that way.’

  Nanthema looked back to the fire. ‘Can you imagine what it was like for them at the end? I find that I can. I imagine it a lot. Mother, shrinking in that bed, becoming a wasted, hollow version of herself, watching the house fall to pieces around her. By then perhaps all of their friends were dead, and no one came to visit them. Father, half crippled with age himself, trying to look after her, trying to feed and clean her.’ She looked back at the pot of soup, her eyes too bright. ‘He made her soup, I expect. She would cough it up, I expect.’

  ‘You can’t do this to yourself forever.’ Vintage shifted on the seat, wincing as an arrow of pain travelled up her leg. ‘Ebora needs you.’

  ‘Ebora.’ Nanthema repeated the word as though she’d never heard it before. ‘Ebora. I knew when I went that I probably wouldn’t see them again, Vin, but I thought that I would have the option to, for a while at least. To me, I only left Ebora a handful of years ago, barely no time at all to an Eboran. It’s as though they have aged and died overnight. They must have wondered why I never answered their letters.’