Bloodchild

by Anna Stephens

  Want to come out and wow them, Foxy?

  There was a feeling of amusement but no corresponding change in his nature. Still, Crys hoped he wasn’t going to have to do this alone.

  The Seer-Mother stopped in front of him and peered at his face. He arched his eyebrow and waited. So did she, but if she was expecting deference she’d be standing there a long time. ‘You have destroyed Krike’s priesthood and forbidden the old worship,’ he said; breath hissed from her. ‘You have made yourself the sole conduit between the people and the gods. That must be a heavy burden.’

  ‘I bear it gladly,’ she said, tossing her head.

  Crys indicated the bronze and brass bracelets and necklaces, the many fine beads threaded into her hair. ‘So I can see. And do you think people beggaring themselves in return for your intervention with the gods is just?’

  The Seer-Mother barked a sharp laugh. ‘You are the one who is here to be judged. You are the one whose truth is to be discovered – and the consequences of it.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Crys said softly and felt stillness gather in Ash standing at his left shoulder. His lover was readying for a fight. ‘I do not need your judgement,’ he continued, raising his voice for the Warlord to hear. ‘I am Crys Tailorson, officer, soldier, heart-bound to the Wolf Ash. I am the Fox God in mortal form, the Trickster. The Two-Eyed Man. There is rot in Krike, and though I came here to secure aid for Rilpor’s fight against the forces of the Red Gods, I will not leave before I have done all I can to bring harmony back to your land and the gods back to your hearts.’

  The Seer-Mother pounced on his words. ‘The gods, you say? The gods, not “Me”. You proclaim yourself our lord and then refuse to acknowledge your place in those hearts you speak of so lovingly.’ She pointed a finger between his eyes. ‘I name you liar.’

  ‘I name you Tanik Horse-dream, false Seer-Mother,’ Crys replied easily and a ripple of surprise ran through those gathered.

  Tanik scoffed. ‘Anyone you travelled with could have told you my name. There are no secrets among Krikites, Crys Tailorson, false prophet. I am Tanik: what of it? You think that makes you divine?’

  ‘False,’ Dom said and his teeth clicked together as he bit off the word. ‘False.’

  ‘See?’ the woman demanded, gesturing. ‘Even your accomplice agrees with me.’

  Neither Crys nor Ash were listening. ‘He’s going,’ Ash said, ‘this’ll be a full one, he’s too close to the edge after that moment just now.’ He leant in close, hands on Dom’s shoulders. ‘Let’s sit you down, Dom, eh? Come on now, right here, that’s it. Come—’

  Dom’s arms flew up and knocked Ash away and then he stiffened and fell like a tree. Crys slid in behind him and caught his shoulders, but Dom began to convulse before he managed to get him on to the floor and he wriggled, hit the dirt back-first so all the breath was driven free, and then the thrashing started, the arching, the guttural grunts.

  A spear appeared in the ground by his hip and Ash spun to face the Warlord’s warriors. ‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ he roared at them, turned away before anyone could reply, and threw himself down at Dom’s head, murmuring the old charms to soothe him, let him know he wasn’t alone. ‘Hush now, hush,’ he said, thumbs tracing circles on Dom’s brow. ‘We’re here; you’re safe. You’re safe. We’ve got you.’

  Crys knelt at his side and studied the writhing face as Dom’s boot heels drummed the hard-packed earth, foam splattering from his mouth. He put his hand on the calestar’s stomach and pushed. ‘Be still,’ he commanded and Dom relaxed, a sudden boneless collapse as though he’d been brained. There was a chorus of murmurs from those around them as all crowded in to see, but Crys paid them no mind.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said.

  Dom’s eyes opened, brown and bloodshot, glittering with pain. He spat out pink saliva. ‘Lies live here,’ he grated to the assembled Krikites as much as to Crys. The Seer-Mother and even the Warlord leant close to listen, though warriors stood ready in case this was some ruse. ‘Someone here dissembles, cloaked in lies and false prophecy. Someone tricks.’

  Sharp looks in Crys’s direction that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Unfortunate choice of words, Calestar.

  ‘There is deception here, and it stifles the divine,’ Dom continued. ‘Someone lies, someone trusted. The gods are leaking from Krike as the faithful turn their hearts away. Water from a broken bucket. Turn them back, or all is lost. Worship again, worship as your ancestors did, or be lost.’

  Crys sat back on his heels as Dom rolled weakly on to his side and vomited. Ash snatched a waterskin from Cutta and helped him to drink. Despite the situation, the war leader kept her place by their side and Crys was thankful for it. He had an uneasy feeling he’d need her and her fighters.

  ‘Warlord, is there somewhere we may go so my friend can rest?’ Crys asked, standing. ‘He’ll be exhausted after his knowing and in a lot of pain. He needs somewhere warm and dry to sleep. You may guard us however you see fit; we won’t resist. And if you’d like to question our presence here, I am happy to come with you.’

  Ash jerked his head up at that and Crys put his hand out.

  ‘Lies and falsehoods and secrets and fear,’ Dom mumbled, gazing into some inner vista that haunted him. ‘Lies, all lies. Only dreams are true here and they forget their dreams.’

  The muttering this time was angry, hostile.

  ‘See?’ Tanik demanded. ‘They know nothing of us and our way of life to speak so. The Fox God would never allow anyone to speak of the soul-dreaming with so little respect. They are moon-mad; it can be nothing else. This one has been born with the sign of the god in his eyes and uses the blessing to cheat and corrupt the weak of mind.’

  Ash scowled at the implication. ‘Fuck’s sake, I’m not listening to any more of this shit. Crys, help me get him up; he needs to rest. With luck we can be gone in the morning.’

  Dom’s legs would barely support him and he hung between them like wet washing as they started towards the gate. Warriors shuffled and looked at each other, at the Warlord and the Seer-Mother, at Cutta Frog-dream and her two-hundred-strong war band.

  ‘Let them through. House them in the travellers’ quarter and put a dozen guards on watch.’ The Warlord’s voice was clear and he radiated puzzlement more than hostility, as though something didn’t quite make sense.

  ‘They will be questioned one at a time,’ Tanik said. ‘That one’s insane claims will be investigated in the sight of the gods. When his heresy is laid bare, he will be dealt with accordingly.’

  The honour guard formed up around the three of them before Crys could respond and marched them through the gates and into the town, laid out like spokes on a wheel with roads lined with vegetable plots all leading in towards the centre – the tor. Crys felt it pull at him as they walked, felt a sudden sharp-eyed attention from within.

  The tor. It will happen at the tor.

  What will?

  All of it.

  Crys wasn’t reassured. He was pretty sure the Fox God had said something similar shortly before he was almost tortured to death.

  CORVUS

  Eighth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

  Throne room, the palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

  ‘The first of the Evendoom women turned up,’ Corvus said as he lounged on the throne, one leg flung over the arm. ‘Three of them.’

  ‘How’d they look?’ Valan asked.

  Corvus screwed up his face. ‘Even when they weren’t wailing and tearing their hair and so forth, mostly like the bastard offspring of a dog and a horse’s arse. I got rid of them.’ He studied Silais, who’d decided kneeling was by far the lesser evil compared with having body parts cut off. ‘But Slave Silais tells me some of the others have reputations for being quite pretty. In fact, he’s staked his other ear on it.’

  The man twitched and Corvus sniggered. ‘As for the male heirs, two currently reside in Pine Lock. Brothers. I don’t trust the East Rank to handle it; sort
it out for me, Valan. Silais will give you names and descriptions.’

  ‘Your will, Sire. With your permission, I’ll leave at dawn.’ Corvus nodded. ‘Regarding your safety in my absence, Tett’s a good man, steady and loyal and a bastard with a knife. He’ll make you a decent bodyguard.’

  ‘Hails from Crow Crag, not Eagle Height?’ Valan nodded. ‘Good. Always easier to trust one of our own. Brief him tonight and send him to me before you leave. Now, how’s the mood?’

  Valan drummed his fingers on his knee and stared out of the window for a while. ‘Worried, Sire,’ he said eventually. ‘Now that things are settling down, now that we’re consolidating, well … some of the men are wondering if our victory was actually a victory? Our enemy is still out there, skulking through Listre or holed up in the South Forts – and we’ll have news on that any day now. In the meantime, our allies are spread thin across the rest of Rilpor. The Dark Lady is gone, and while the Blessed One’s plan will see Her restored to us,’ he added hastily as Corvus’s nostrils flared, ‘that plan made no mention of whether or not She will return as an infant. The men worry that there are more battles to come and our goddess will be helpless to aid us while in that form. And the food …’

  Corvus licked his lips and strove for calm. Nothing Valan had said differed from the thoughts that chased around his own brain each night. Not that he would – could – ever admit that. And if the Blessed One wasn’t being so fucking secretive, so godsdamned stubborn, we could put all their minds at rest. Mine included. Because the truth was he had no idea if the Dark Lady would somehow transform the infant into a grown woman – a grown goddess – at the moment of Her return. Deep in his heart, he suspected Lanta didn’t know either.

  ‘Listre is being dealt with. I’ve sent correspondence to their government stating we have no quarrel with them – which they’re probably stupid enough to believe – and Tresh won’t be a problem soon enough. Skerris has scouts on the border just in case. They’ll take ship on the Tears as soon as anything untoward is spotted. And I’ve received confirmation from our friends in Krike that they won’t aid any rebel Rilporians.’

  Valan looked at him steadily. ‘I know it, Sire, but the men don’t. I think that’s what has them worried. They know threats are out there and they don’t know what’s being done about them. The Godblind and the mortal Fox God are still missing, as is your sister. We are … forgive me, Sire, we are sitting still. We are shoring up our walls and then hiding behind them. And the longer we wait, the stronger our enemies get. Patrolling the Western Plain is one thing, but why not besiege the South Rank forts? Break the threat on our flank ready to face the Listrans if they come?’

  Corvus stood and strode to the window and then back again. ‘You tell me nothing I haven’t thought already myself,’ he said eventually, and Valan’s shoulders relaxed a little. ‘And while our warriors are fit again, if we leave Rilporin now, we lose it to our own fucking slaves. Make no mistake, if we abandon this place, we’ll have to fight to retake it. If we pull the East Rank back to secure Rilporin, we lose the rest of the country. I’ve been waiting for Fost. Our women are well used to dealing with rebellious slaves, and with them in place to rule our households for us, aided by a few hundred of the men, we can leave Rilporin in safe hands.’

  Valan sat back with a soft whoosh of air. ‘I had not considered that,’ he admitted.

  They were interrupted by a pounding on the door, which was thrown open before Corvus could give leave to enter. He leapt on to the dais, banging his knee into the small table before the throne. ‘Fuck! Fost? Gods, we were just talking about …’ Fost’s face was grey beneath the sweat and stubble. He looked like a man with a hidden wound. ‘Tell me.’

  Fost bowed jerkily, gaze flickering from Corvus to Valan and back. He stopped well out of reach of either of them and weight settled in Corvus’s gut, black and heavy. ‘You don’t … didn’t my messenger reach you?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  Fost swallowed hard. ‘Dead, Sire. They’re all dead.’

  Valan grabbed his shoulder and threw him into the chair opposite Corvus. Corvus didn’t sit; he leant on his knuckles on the table. ‘Explain.’ His voice was quiet, deadly.

  Fost’s throat clicked as he swallowed and hurried to clarify. ‘Well, not all. I bring you one hundred and six children and seventy-two women, Sire. The only survivors of all our towns along the Sky Path. The rest are corpses, or missing in the storms in the mountains. A few weeks after we destroyed Watchtown, hundreds of Wolves took the Sky Path and slaughtered every woman, child and priest they could find. Our women and boys fought hard, but they were overwhelmed. The Wolves freed the slaves, who fled with the livestock, and we found a few children who’d survived the attack only to starve to death, it looked like. Those I have with me were clever or lucky enough to be overlooked, and although a few swear they saw the Wolves stealing children—’ Corvus’s breath hitched. He’d been a stolen child, stolen by the Mireces and brought into the Red Gods’ embrace. Saved. ‘—everyone else – everyone – is dead.’

  Now Corvus did sit, and Valan too, perching on the edge of the table with no thought for propriety. His second breathed as though he’d sprinted the length of the city, greasy sweat darkening his hair. His hands shook.

  They stared at Fost, and the war chief swallowed again. ‘Forgive me, Sire. I did not … There was nothing I could … They were already dead, months dead, by the time we reached Cat Valley, let alone all the way to Eagle Height.’

  ‘Who are the survivors?’ Valan asked, his voice hoarse. ‘Is Neela with them? My girls?’

  Fost’s shoulders hunched. ‘The women are all minor consorts from Falcon’s Landing and Cat Valley; a storm blew in and they were able to flee, invisible. The children are from all our towns, but Neela’s gone, Second, and your girls too. I’m sorry.’

  Corvus and Fost turned from Valan’s ragged grief, shuffling in their seats as he bent double, arms wrapped around his waist as though to ward off a blow. A strangled keening came from him that grated like stone against Corvus’s nerves.

  ‘I sent a messenger as soon as we reached Cat Valley, Sire, I swear. If I’d known he didn’t make it through …’ He blinked, then coughed. ‘We’re holding all the survivors outside the city for now, Sire. I wanted to inform you first, before the men see how few they are.’

  Almost all our women, our children. Our future, gone. We tore apart their people and they did the same to us. So be it. If they want a war of fucking attrition, they’ve got one.

  Corvus’s face was hot with rage, but an ice-cold, ice-hard ball of hate sat heavy in his chest. ‘Fost, you have a list of the women and children, who their consorts and fathers are?’ Corvus barely recognised his own voice, it was so harsh with sickening anger. He’d had a few consorts, at least one daughter, both in Crow Crag and Eagle Height. Fost’s refusal to even mention them said all he needed to know. The man nodded and held it out. Corvus didn’t look at it.

  ‘Bring the men to the women, not the other way around. Women whose man is dead will be reallocated on a merit basis in the first instance. I will announce the … tragedy at dusk, and ask the Blessed One to say a few words about what has happened.’

  ‘Your will, Sire.’

  ‘Valan, I grieve for your loss. Go to Pine Lock for me and kill those Evendoom brothers. Take out your rage on them and make sure everyone knows who they are and why they’re dying. I want everyone knowing the royals are dead, that my claim is uncontested.’

  He couldn’t even be sure Valan had heard him, but his second nodded and stalked from the throne room without another word. Corvus pitied anyone who got in his way. He poured ale, drank without tasting, then hurled the cup to shatter against the far wall.

  I will kill every last fucking one of them, roast them on spits, wind their guts out, peel their faces off. I will kill them all for this. Dark Lady, Gosfath, God of Blood, witness my oath. Now it’s personal.

  TARA

  Eighth moon, first y
ear of the reign of King Corvus

  Heir’s suite, the palace, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

  Tara stood quietly by the window, sunlight sparking strands of gold from Valan’s light-brown hair as he sat with his back to her and the afternoon, staring into the cold fireplace and drinking. He was drinking a lot, and early in the day. Tara didn’t like it, or that one of the toy horses rested in his lap. Every so often he turned it over in his hands. Once he’d rubbed it against his cheek.

  She didn’t dare move. Whatever had happened had made him dangerous and not because he was her enemy. He wanted to hurt something. He wanted to kill something and she was the only available target. Violence drifted from him like smoke.

  He reached for the bottle on the table next to him and sloshed the last of the wine into his cup. Another, already empty, sat by his elbow. She was surprised he was still conscious. Tara padded silently to the shelf and selected a third, hoping after that cupful he’d pass out. She twisted off the cork, placed the bottle gently on the table and stepped back. Valan caught her hand in his, his thumb stroking along her wrist.

  ‘Fetch another glass and sit. Drink with me.’

  Oh, fuck.

  ‘Your will, honoured,’ Tara said. She fetched a cup and then set her chair opposite, out of the candlelight the better to see his shadowed face, poured a small measure and sipped.

  ‘Fill it.’

  She did as she was told, drinking to quiet the butterflies in her stomach. Valan drank some more, still focused on the fireplace and not her. ‘Neela’s dead.’ The words were so unexpected in the long silence that she jumped, wine splashing her skirt. ‘My girls too. All dead. Killed. Murdered. Hacked apart by the cunting Wolves months ago. Months, and only just able to mourn them.’ He flailed his free hand. ‘Did all this for them, give them a better life under the blessings of the Red Gods, an easier life down here, and by now they’ll have been eaten by cats and crows. They’ll never see any of it.’