“I have a knife,” Kallish answered, most of her attention on the canopy overhead.
“The temple left you your weapons?” Arrow asked, surprised.
“No. They took most of them. This one was hidden,” Kallish answered.
“I do not suppose you hid any tea while you were at it?” Seivella asked. She had retreated out of the way of the falling sticks. Arrow glanced across and thought that the lady looked somehow diminished. The peculiar colour of her eyes, the violet she was famed for, was faded, there were shadows under her eyes and her hair, normally shining and perfectly styled, was hanging around her shoulders in a limp tangle.
“No,” Kallish answered, catching another stick from above. She glanced aside at the pile they had. “A dozen. I wonder if that will be enough?”
“More would be better, if we can carry them,” Arrow suggested. “And perhaps some more fruit. Prime,” she called up, and Zachary’s face appeared a moment later. “The fruit is good to eat. The dark red ones are the ripe ones.”
She ducked to one side a moment later as a dozen or more fruit fell on them along with several more sticks.
“Thank you,” Kallish called up. “I think we have enough now.”
The Prime came back down the tree face-first, moving as smoothly as if he had been walking on a flat surface. He sniffed at some of the fallen fruit, picked one up in his mouth and moved to the side to eat.
Seivella wasted no time in grabbing some of the fruit, edging away from the Prime to sit and eat.
When breakfast was done, Zachary settled for a nap. Or at least that was what it looked like. Kallish sent Seivella to the stream to wash bits of leaves and sap off the remaining fruit and pack it into her makeshift bag while Arrow and Kallish gathered up the sticks.
Arrow settled without complaint to stripping the leaves off the sticks, passing them to Kallish for the warrior to form the ends into points with a small, wickedly sharp knife she apparently kept in her boot.
Fed, rested, and armed, the group set off again, stopping to drink in the stream on the way. Arrow splashed cold water over her face, letting the water run over her hands for a moment. It was odd to miss cleansing spells so strongly when she had not been able to use them for most of her life.
~
The morning passed more smoothly than the day before, even with all of those in human shape carrying some of the makeshift spears. Either the ground was easier to walk on, or she was getting better at navigating her way past the tangle underfoot. If she had been on her own, moving at her own pace, she would have been pleased with her progress. As it was, she could not keep up with the others, constantly falling behind and having to speed up, pushing her body to extra effort, to rejoin them.
Kallish called a halt after what felt like hours of walking. Arrow sank back against a nearby tree trunk, trying to hide her relief. Every muscle in her legs was on fire. Even though the path had been easier, she had caught her toes many times, having to keep adjusting her pace to stay with the others.
“You did not receive any orientation,” the warrior said bluntly, settled on the ground nearby. It was an echo of a past conversation with Kester and the memory hurt, fresh worry rising in its wake. There had been no sign of Kester. Or any of the others from the temple.
Although it had not been a question, Kallish was waiting for an answer.
“No.” Her legs did not want to hold her up any more. She sank to the ground, biting her lip as muscles protested, using the tree as a chair back.
“Your sponsor should have arranged that,” Kallish added, sending a sidelong glance to Seivella. Arrow’s brows lifted. She had not realised it was part of a sponsor’s responsibilities to make sure she was given the sort of survival training most Erith seemed to take for granted. Seivella seemed to believe that simply agreeing to act as her sponsor, to put her forward as a candidate for the Trials, was a huge favour. She wondered what else the lady had not told her.
“No one expected her to live,” Seivella said, sounding sulky. “Evellan ordered me to put my name forward. No one expected me to do anything apart from that. Just get her to the Trials.”
“No one expected her to live?” Kallish’s voice was quiet. Not calm. Dangerous.
“We all knew Seggerat hated her,” Seivella went on. “The old man was cunning. We expected her to have an accident of some kind.” The lady turned away, eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. “I did my best.”
Arrow frowned. The tears were out of character. Usually a force to be reckoned with in the Academy, the lady was known for her tough approach to discipline, believing that hard work was essential. No one spoke out of turn in her classes. But she was also the one that students would go to with any problems. A hard shell, and a generous heart. For her own people.
“You did not want to spend too much time with me,” Arrow guessed, “because you did not think I would survive.”
“No one thought you would.” Seivella would not look at her, voice shaking with emotion. “No one. Even Evellan was not sure. But he said you should be given a chance.” She wiped tears from her face with a trembling hand, movements impatient. “Serran’s granddaughter. Evellan thought you should be far more powerful than you seemed. He would not let me refuse. It was the only thing we really argued about until … until Nuallan returned.” Seivella swallowed and turned back to Arrow. It was still strange to see the lady with no amber in her eyes. “And you did have more power. Far more. Keeping secrets.”
“Necessary to stay alive,” Arrow answered, voice cool, not backing down. “You said yourself that no one thought I would survive. The Taellan spoke of my death quite openly more than once. That it would be no bad thing. Showing too much power would have had me killed long before my oaths expired.”
Seivella lifted a shoulder and turned away again, expression unreadable. Arrow was tempted to say more, to demand answers. She was not sure what the questions were, though. And not sure she wanted to know what else Seivella and Evellan had discussed about her. How long she would have to wear the collar, perhaps.
“Well, you are not dead. And if we are to survive the jungle, we need to move faster,” Kallish said, cutting across Arrow’s thoughts. A welcome distraction. “Orientation.” She stood up, and waved Arrow to her feet. “Leave the spears.”
“But there is no magic,” Arrow protested, rising to her feet. Her muscles were still aching.
“You do not need magic to move better. Come.”
Kallish took them a little distance from Seivella and Zachary. Not out of earshot for the ‘kin, Arrow knew, but giving her a little privacy, which she appreciated. Kallish was as demanding a teacher as Seivella ever had been.
And Arrow did not understand what Kallish was asking her to do. She could tell that the warrior was explaining what she wanted in as simple a way as she knew how, but the words made no sense to Arrow’s ears. To move in this way, to not move in this other way, both of which seemed identical to Arrow’s eyes when Kallish demonstrated. And then Arrow fell over her own feet, trying to match Kallish’s instructions.
She stayed on the ground a moment, feet tangled underneath her, one knee twinging from being twisted as she fell, and had an unfamiliar impulse to cry. Weeks of poor sleep had frayed her temper. She was stuck in the Erith heartland with no magic to defend her. She had no skill at weaponry. She could not even move properly.
“Mage.” Kallish’s voice, warmer than it usually was, startled her. She looked up to find the warrior crouching in front of her. “Most Erith have half a lifetime to learn this. Years of training that starts when we are still growing. It is not something that happens at once. Keeping awareness of your feet will help to start with.”
“Svegraen,” Arrow acknowledged, feeling her face heat up. She was being foolish. There were real threats out in the jungle around them, and she was indulging in a sulk on the ground. She got back to her feet, trying not to wince too much as her knee protested.
“You have morias?”
“Yes.”
“If you chew some, it will help with the pain,” Kallish told her, then turned and went back to the others.
Arrow pulled a strand of morias out of her pocket. It was crumpled and limp. There were fresh plants at the stream’s edge, so she went there instead, pulling a handful up.
As she straightened, movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned, slowly, and saw what looked like a monkey nearby. Larger than she had expected, it was watching her with wide, dark eyes in a face of striped black and orange fur. The dark eyes looked soft, enquiring. It was quite beautiful in its own way, seemingly as curious about her as she was about it. As it saw her looking, it drew back its teeth in a silent hiss, incisors gleaming. Arrow’s heart sped up, familiar knot of tension growing in her stomach. An Erith creature. Most were deadly in their own way.
She held still, taking in other details. Long, sharp claws at the ends of its fingers and toes, letting it keep a grip on the tree trunk. A droop to one of its eyes from what looked like a scar. The wide, dark eyes had fooled her for a moment, but the longer look confirmed what it was. Predator.
“Are you ready?” Seivella asked, impatient, appearing between the trees near the monkey. “What are you l-” The lady screamed. High-pitched enough to make Arrow wince.
The monkey screamed back, a sound almost as unpleasant as a baelthras’ cry.
“What?” Kallish arrived a moment later, the makeshift spears under one arm. She saw the monkey, its teeth bared, and spat a curse word. “Move very slowly towards Arrow,” she told Seivella. “Slowly, I said.”
“Is that-”
“Yes.”
Kallish followed Seivella to the stream’s edge, movements slow and fluid, keeping an eye on the monkey.
“What is that?” Arrow asked.
“The warriors call them death monkeys,” Seivella answered, voice high and shaking.
“And there is never just one,” Kallish added grimly.
“A death monkey?” Arrow shook her head slightly. She did not recognise the term.
“They kill Erith,” Seivella said, voice sharp, “and hunt baelthras. Kallish, give me a spear.”
“No. If we stay still and do not threaten it, it may just leave.”
The three of them stayed quiet and still for long moments. Long enough for Arrow to become aware that none of them were as clean as they normally were, and to wish she had taken some of the morias.
The monkey was still watching them, flecks of red growing in its eyes. It still seemed angry, as far as Arrow could tell, teeth still bared.
Zachary padded out from behind the tree nearest Arrow. There was no mistaking him for anything apart from a predator. He made a low, menacing sound in his throat that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, his attention fixed on the monkey.
“We are trying to avoid bloodshed,” Kallish told him, voice stern.
The Prime’s hackles rose and the menacing sound sharpened. He was baring his teeth at the other predator, attention locked in a staring contest.
“You need to keep him under control,” Seivella said, voice high.
“Do not be insulting,” Kallish answered, before Arrow could give voice to the several responses lining up in her mind. “This is the Prime. That creature is a threat.”
Arrow’s knee twinged and she bit the inside of her mouth, stiffening her spine. She needed to stay calm and still.
Whatever silent messages the monkey and Prime were sending each other seemed to finish, the monkey opening its mouth and letting forth a series of sharp, staccato cries.
The quiet of the day was shattered by answering screams and cries from the trees all around them.
Kallish spat a curse and handed both Seivella and Arrow a spear each, keeping one for herself and shoving the rest of the weapons into the soft earth between them.
“Keep your backs to the spears. Aim for their bellies. The points are alright, so try stabbing forward. If you lose your spear, take another.” Kallish issued her commands in a calm, focused voice, taking a step to the side. A warrior organising her cadre. And Kallish had put herself in the most vulnerable position, facing the monkey. “Keep an eye out.”
“You expect me to fight?” Seivella protested. “You are a warrior.”
“If you want to live, you will fight. Death monkeys have killed entire cadres before now,” Kallish answered, rare tension in her voice. There would be another, more proper, Erith name for the creatures, Arrow knew. But the warriors had not chosen the name at random.
Seivella shut up and took a firmer grip on her spear.
The three of them put their backs to each other and to the spears. Arrow found herself looking out over the stream, heart racing into her throat, mouth dry.
The monkey was still shrieking. The pitch was higher and there were no words, yet it sounded oddly like Kallish had, issuing commands. A warrior organising his troops.
Arrow tightened her grip on the spear, her palm damp with sweat, only to realise that she was holding it the wrong way, with the blunt end pointed out. She turned it around and tried swallowing the lump in her throat. It did not help.
The trees around them erupted with black-and-orange striped bodies. More monkeys. Of various sizes. Pouring out of the trees, sliding down the smooth tree trunks, teeth bared, shrieking in apparent fury as they descended on the group.
Then there was no time to be frightened or to think.
The death monkeys chattered amongst themselves, and Arrow thought that the one she had first seen was at the centre of the mass, directing others with waves of one of its clawed hands. Impossible to be sure.
The creatures did not pause, all of them in continuous motion. They circled around the small group, a mass of bodies, and surged forward. They were half as tall as Kallish, each armed with enormous claws and fangs, long arms giving them a far greater reach than seemed possible. And they were fearless in attack, determined to reach the group, clawed hands swiping forward, high-pitched cries drilling through Arrow’s skull. As the creatures moved forward, the air choked with the stench, sharp and acrid, from the creatures themselves and their hot, foul breath as they got close enough.
Arrow shoved her spear out, ducking away from the lethal claws. She missed the first few times, then struck home with the end of the spear, the tip tearing through flesh and drawing a shriek of rage from the creature trying to kill her. After that, her body seemed to know better what was required. She hit home again, the end of the spear soaked with blood. The wood splintered against the rib cage of one of the monkeys and she grabbed another spear from behind without looking, shoving the point forward. Another monkey danced back, out of her reach, teeth bared, shouting at her with a chattering cry that was as terrifying as the teeth.
The spears made them more wary. And more angry. The cries grew louder until they were all she could hear. Every time she forced another creature away, another took its place. A never-ending stream of black and orange fur, dark, lethal claws, yellowing teeth, and choking stench.
She lost count of the number of thrusts forward with the spear. Of the number of spears she used, at least two becoming lodged in the rib cage of the monkey she had struck.
Her arms were trembling with effort. She was coated in sweat. Her heart was racing too hard and too fast. She wanted to be sick.
There were furred bodies on the ground. None of them dead by Arrow’s hand. Like the spears, the dead did not deter them. Just made them angry.
There was a pause between attacks. Long enough for her to see, in the midst of the tangle of limbs and bodies, a sleek, lethal, black presence. Zachary. He did not snarl. He simply moved among the creatures, avoiding their claws with ease, and dealt death with swift, sure, economical strokes, snapping necks, tearing out throats, and crushing rib cages.
Fewer monkeys were reaching Arrow now. She had time to realise that her entire body was shaking, muscles pinched with agony. And she still held onto the spear she had with grim d
etermination. There were more enemies in front of her.
And Zachary was still moving.
The carnage went on until all the black-and-orange creatures were still. Not one of them was breathing, as far as Arrow could tell.
“Stand down,” Kallish said. She sounded distant.
Arrow turned her head and saw that the warrior was spattered with blood from the dead. Zachary was making an inspection of the bodies, lips curved back to show white fangs, tearing out a few more throats to be sure of the dead.
Arrow loosened her fingers with a conscious effort, letting the spear fall to the ground. Her hands were spattered with blood. Her mouth was full of something foul. The smell of the creatures. She turned away, fell to her knees, and threw up onto the blood-soaked ground. There was too much death around her. Too much. She could feel the grey weight of it, even though her magic was gone.
“Are we safe?” Seivella asked. She did not sound herself.
“Not really. This much death will draw scavengers,” Kallish answered. “They are dangerous, too. Collect the spears.”
“The … but some of them are stuck in bodies.”
“Collect all the ones we can use. We do not have many resources.”
Zachary’s face came into Arrow’s view. His eyes, bright with intelligence but no power, met hers. He was spattered with blood and gore, breath smelling of copper and the stench of the creatures.
Arrow threw up again. Zachary made a soft sound and padded away. There was a splash of water a moment later and Arrow glanced up to find him rolling in the water, washing off the debris. He climbed out of the water and shook himself thoroughly, droplets of water scattering over the three of them and the dead.
“Arrow.” Kallish was crouching in front of her again. “We need to move.”
“Yes.” Arrow sat back on her heels, wincing at the pain in her knee. She had not noticed it in the fight. “I need a drink first.”
“We all do.”
Seivella gathered the spears that they could still use, nearly all of them splashed with blood. Half of their supply had been destroyed in the attack. Arrow shivered as she saw how few spears they had left. A bigger group of monkeys and none of them might have survived, even with the Prime’s help.
Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set Page 127
