Bloodchild

by Anna Stephens

  The drill yard was packed to capacity with civilians, some in sullen silence, others weeping, a few still shouting even now. Colonel Osric stood on an anvil outside the smithy so they could all see him. ‘Citizens of Rilpor,’ he shouted, signalling for quiet. ‘I know you’re afraid. I know you hoped that this would be your refuge until the war was over. It is not, and you know the reasons for that. You’re scared, and you’re right to be—’ More muttering. She wondered what Osric’s rallying speech before a battle would be like. ‘—but the Wolf Lands are the safest place you can be. Safer than here, which is why you’re leaving. You have supplies for the journey, and you have soldiers to guard you and Wolves to guide you. Dancer’s grace.’

  He jumped down from the anvil and Rillirin realised that was it, that was all they were getting. Be scared. Walk. Pray.

  ‘Well, he won’t be earning any commendations for public speaking,’ Gilda muttered, then patted Martha and Rillirin both on the shoulders. ‘Not to fret. They killed the war bands out in the Western Plain and the Commander has more patrols scouting. The plain is safe. But if they do come, you run and you don’t look back, all right?’

  Rillirin’s hands went to her belly as Gilda’s words loosened her bladder. ‘Run,’ she said numbly. ‘Of course.’ She adjusted the cord holding her blanket and few possessions. We will run, won’t we, little warrior? Run as far as we need to and we’ll hide, and then we’ll keep going, miles every day, safer and safer the further west we get, and never look behind us.

  Martha huffed a laugh. ‘You want to walk with us?’ she asked them both. ‘I’d feel better with a Wolf and a priestess by my side.’

  ‘I will,’ Gilda said, ‘but the lass should make her own decision.’

  Rillirin paused, knowing the priestess was trying to give her a way out – she knew the thoughts whirling through Rillirin’s head. ‘We’ll go together,’ she said at last. ‘It’s always a good idea to stick with Gilda.’

  Martha smiled with relief Rillirin didn’t share. She told herself the Mireces wouldn’t kill women and children; they were too valuable. They’d be fine; they didn’t have a link to the Raiders as Rillirin did. She could leave them if she had to. It’d be fine.

  Martha pressed a small hand into Rillirin’s. ‘Ben Junior, you mind your manners and listen to Auntie Rillirin, all right? We’ve got a long way to walk and you’ll be tired, but I need you to be a brave boy and do as you’re told. We’re going on another adventure.’

  Ben watched his mother with grave solemnity. ‘I don’t like adventures,’ he said. ‘Are we going to find my da?’

  Grief flashed across Martha’s face and her lip trembled, but she had no words.

  Gilda knelt stiffly by his side. ‘We’re going to the forests and the mountains where I come from,’ she said. ‘Mountains so tall that they have snow on all year round. So tall that if the sun isn’t careful, he’ll pop like an egg yolk on the point of Mount Gil and then we’d be in trouble, wouldn’t we? This adventure takes us away from the cities and into the wilds. But no, your da won’t be there, I’m afraid. But we will.’

  ‘Am I the only Ben now, then?’ the little boy asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ Gilda said. ‘You’ve got your da’s job now to look after your ma and your little brothers.’

  Ben scuffed his boot on the flagstones and heaved a sigh. ‘All right, then,’ he said.

  Gilda stood back up and Rillirin watched her, swallowing against the lump in her throat. The old priestess nodded once and took Ben’s other hand in hers.

  All right, little warrior. You and me and Gilda, and Martha and her three as well. But no more. We’ll stick together and run from the danger and make it to the Wolf Lands. We take them, but no others. We can’t.

  And with that, the fort’s gates creaked open and they began the march.

  They were two miles out, moving in a ragged mass thirty ranks wide and more than a hundred long, with four hundred Rankers ahead and to the sides. Twenty provisions wagons pulled by horses the Rank could ill afford to lose rolled in the middle.

  Rillirin’s heart lurched when a horse cantered up alongside, and then lurched again when she saw who rode it: Dalli. The Wolf chief reined in and dismounted; then she beckoned to her. Rillirin passed Ben back to his mother. ‘I’ll catch you up soon,’ she promised and dodged her way through the straggling lines.

  ‘Here,’ Dalli said and held out a leather thong with an amulet dangling from it.

  ‘What is it?’ Rillirin asked, not moving to take it.

  Dalli ran her tongue over her teeth. ‘Years ago – you probably know this – years ago Dom and I were lovers. He gave me this. I didn’t keep it because I still love him,’ she added in a rush. ‘It just became a sort of good-luck charm. I thought you could have it. The charm, the luck, whatever. Gilda said you don’t have anything of Dom’s and that … didn’t feel right to me.’

  Rillirin still hesitated. ‘I have his child.’

  ‘If you don’t want it, fine.’ Dalli reached for the saddle.

  ‘Wait. You said he’s a traitor and a murderer. You said our babe will be a monster.’

  Dalli winced, thrust the necklace at her again and this time Rillirin took it.

  ‘We both know I’m a pig-headed fool at times,’ Dalli said. ‘I … I thought you were dead, back when you went overboard and it grieved me. Gilda, well, let’s just say the priestess and I had words and she made me realise a few things.’ She scraped fingers through her spiky hair, looking past Rillirin to where the priestess waited, stolid and silent and watchful. ‘Whatever Dom is or isn’t, you’re my friend. I mean, you were, and I hope you will be again. If we both live, that is.’

  Rillirin dragged her into a hug, cutting off her words. She smelt of sweat and horse and she was small and hard, like diamond. ‘I love you,’ she whispered fiercely and Dalli’s arms tightened around her.

  ‘I love you, too. Look after my home, war-kin.’ Rillirin pulled back to stare at her and Dalli winked. ‘We’ll make a Wolf of you yet. Now go, and Dancer go with you. I’ll see you when this is all over.’

  Rillirin forced herself to let go. ‘Dancer’s grace. Kill them all for me.’

  Dalli grinned a wolf’s grin. ‘You know it.’

  DOM

  Eighth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

  Vision house, Seer’s Tor, Krike

  It took Dom almost an hour to walk from the small, heavily guarded house in the travellers’ quarter, his guards grumbling at the slowness of his pace and the sun high above by the time they arrived. They were lucky – if he hadn’t managed to sleep through the previous evening, night and morning, they’d be carrying him. Even so, he was sweat-slick and wobbling by the time he reached the vision house.

  It was a small roundhouse with a low thatched roof and a central smoke hole, the structure nestled at the base of the tor in almost perpetual shadow. The lead warrior pointed. ‘In.’

  Dom ducked his head and shuffled into the gloom of the interior. His eyes hadn’t begun to adjust when the door was shut behind him and the darkness grew, leavened only by dancing orange flames in the small fire pit. Someone sat in the shadows on the other side.

  ‘Calestar. That’s who you are – what you are – isn’t it?’

  The roof beams were many and low and Dom lowered himself on to his knees opposite the figure. ‘Seer-Mother?’

  She leant forward so the flames touched their colours upon her cheeks and swirled in the tattoos chasing around her eyes. ‘It is a joy and a privilege to meet one who shares the power to converse with the gods. There is much we can learn from each other.’

  ‘The honour is mine, Seer-Mother,’ he said and meant it. ‘I have never met anyone else who shares my gift. I’m eager to see how the experience of godsight affects you, and whether you have any particular rituals to help ease the pain of the communion. As you saw with me yesterday, it is unexpected and … difficult.’

  The Seer-Mother watched him through the sm
oke. ‘So you do not summon it then?’ she asked. ‘I had thought you called it in order to deflect attention from the fraud whose side you haunt.’

  Dom frowned. ‘Fraud? Crys is no fraud, Seer-Mother. It is difficult to believe, I know, but he is the Fox God in mortal form. I have seen him perform miracles; I have seen him do many things. The knowings sent to me by the … by the Dancer confirm it. If you would but speak to him instead …’

  ‘All in good time,’ Tanik said smoothly. ‘I spoke with the lover at dawn; I speak with you at noon. It may be I shall speak with Crys when the sun goes to rest. It will depend on your testimony, Calestar. I have my people to care for – I will not allow them to be coaxed into a war by a false god. You said it yourself, after all – someone here lies. There is nothing to say that that someone is not one of your companions.’

  She waved her hands as if to bat away her words and the need for Dom to answer them. ‘But first, let us get to know each other. Your gift, Calestar. Have you had it long?’

  He was thirsty, the smoke clinging to his throat. ‘Since I was a boy. There hadn’t been a calestar in a generation by the time I showed the gift, so my parents were unsure how to deal with it. When my mother – my adopted mother, that is, Gilda – when she understood what I was, my birth parents gifted me to her and the temple so that I could be raised as close to the gods as possible. It was a difficult time, but it was the right decision for all of us. Gilda Priestess loved me and raised me and helped me to understand what I was.’

  ‘Abandoned by your parents when your power manifested? Little wonder you forsook the Light. Oh yes, Calestar, tales of your betrayals reach even Krike, borne on the breath of the gods. But of course you would give yourself to Blood: you had learnt from a young age that the pursuit of power was to be honoured above all else, including family.’

  Her words were a hammer blow to the chest and Dom gasped, shocked. ‘That’s not how it was. None of it. My parents made the right choice.’

  ‘For themselves, certainly. No doubt it was horrifying to watch you suffer so, and easier to give you away so that they did not have to witness it, while at the same time, I’m sure, thinking they made the right choice for you.’

  There was absolutely no condescension in her tone, but her words prised the lid off a suspicion he’d buried twenty years before and Dom was light-headed with the realisation of it. Her power is great indeed.

  She threw a bundle of herbs into the fire pit. They flared in a moment of incandescence and then faded, leaving a thick waft of smoke and scent to billow outwards. Dom coughed.

  ‘And now you return to the Light?’ the Seer-Mother asked. ‘Or just to the side of this man you believe to be a god? Having forsaken the Light for Blood, having ended the reign of the Dark Lady, you now seek yet another higher purpose to which you can dedicate yourself? Are you addicted to the power you gain from walking at the side of such beings?’

  Dom’s head was swimming – anger, denial, guilt, delight, understanding all bundled together in a tangled mess, his sense of himself crumbling like the herbs in the flame. ‘Truly you see much,’ he croaked. ‘But that is not … that’s not who I am. In this you see false.’

  Tanik smiled and waved away the comment. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell your companions. Your secret remains between us.’ Dom glanced over her shoulder at the man kneeling behind her. ‘My brother, Pesh Crow-dream. Don’t worry about him.’

  ‘You’re wrong about me,’ Dom said again. He was so thirsty.

  ‘Or perhaps you are darker still,’ she mused as though he hadn’t spoken, one finger stroking along her jaw and down her throat. ‘Perhaps your addiction is the ending of such creatures. Are you a god-slayer by trade, Dom Templeson? Does your friend Crys need to fear you?’

  ‘No!’

  Perhaps. I don’t know.

  The Seer-Mother smiled, as though the words inside Dom were as clear as the denial he’d voiced. ‘Perhaps if Crys is who he claims to be, his death would secure the Dark Lady’s return. Perhaps that is your ultimate aim. And if he is not, well, what’s one more death on your conscience? But it may be that the cards will tell us.’

  There was a slow liquid thudding in Dom’s ears as her words insinuated themselves between the spaces in his mind, settling like oil into the darker crevices. Pregnant. Waiting. Not entirely unwelcome.

  Tanik Horse-dream drew a stack of large, ornate cards from a small box that Pesh handed to her. There were more leaves in the bottom, glossy and dark, and Pesh tipped those into the fire too. ‘Bay leaves,’ Tanik said, ‘from the far, far south of Krike. They help us to see.’

  The man retreated and Dom watched as Tanik laid out the cards, face up, one at a time. They were intricately painted with vivid natural scenes, some disturbing and some incomprehensible.

  ‘What are these?’ Dom asked, his heart still troubled by Tanik’s suggestions and eager to change the subject. The smoking leaves gave off a bright, heady scent.

  ‘They aid my understanding. This is how I learn the gods’ will, a way very different from yours, but no less powerful. Please, touch any of those you feel particularly attracted to. Don’t think about it, just place your fingers and then move on.’

  Unease was crawling through Dom’s gut as he studied the images, his gaze flicking back and forth and back again, over and over.

  This is her version of the knowings? Where is the deep connection, the godspace inside her? How does this work, exactly?

  Can I learn this, a pain-free communion? Can she teach me?

  Hesitantly, he touched four cards in quick succession and then sat back, his breathing ragged. Tanik and Pesh both leant forward, studying the four, and then removed the others from the layout. They glanced at each other and the knot in Dom’s stomach pulled tighter.

  ‘What? Have I done something wrong?’ he blurted.

  Pesh snorted faintly.

  ‘Many things,’ Tanik said with a sharp smile, ‘but in the case of the cards, no. There are no wrong decisions, only those that reveal a person’s inner turmoil or worry.’

  The bay leaves thickened the air so that it felt as if he was breathing water, and everything had a faint golden outline, like flame.

  Like fire.

  ‘No,’ Dom said, ‘no, not now. Not again.’ His back arched in a spasm, arms flinging out to his sides as though he was trying to fly. ‘Help me,’ he slurred, his tongue thick in his mouth, crown of his head pushing up, fingers seeking as though he was being racked.

  ‘Interesting,’ he heard Tanik murmur. ‘Most interesting.’

  Then all was fire and understanding and pain. Pain.

  ‘Ah, good. You’re back with us.’

  Dom groaned and forced his eyes open against the spike of agony impaling the right side of his face. He was slumped in the gloom of the vision house, the Seer-Mother seated opposite, Pesh behind her. They didn’t appear to have tried to help him, or sent for Crys or Ash. His body was heavy, thick with exhaustion, but he forced himself upright.

  Tanik leant forward eagerly, her eyes bright amid the tattoos, heavy brown plaits decorated with feathers and beads hanging either side of her face. ‘What did you see?’ she asked.

  ‘I need to go,’ Dom croaked. ‘The knowings tire me; I need to rest.’

  Tanik shooed away the suggestion. ‘You can rest here. Just tell me what you saw.’

  Without speaking, Pesh moved to sit between him and the door. Oh. So it’s going to be like that, is it?

  ‘I chose the cards first,’ he said with an effort. ‘Tell me about them, and then I’ll tell you what I saw.’

  The Seer-Mother hesitated and then inclined her head. ‘Very well.’

  Dom grimaced, mouth sour with blood, the thick air scouring his throat and rancid with the scent of vomit. Didn’t they have water?

  ‘You are sure you wish to know?’ Tanik said and the agony spiked in Dom’s head again, but he didn’t answer, just gestured with a shaking hand for her to proceed. He needed as much time a
s he could steal to gather some strength before he made a dash for the door.

  ‘We were discussing your childhood, your abandonment by your family and how you subsequently abandoned your gods – and then your adopted gods. The question was whether you would then abandon, or even hurt, Crys, who you mistakenly believe to be our Holy Trickster. Those were the thoughts uppermost in your mind when you chose these cards.’ She pointed to each in turn. ‘The knife; the child; the divine in man; and the harvest.’

  The Seer-Mother paused, watching him as though her words would trigger another reaction. Dom held himself still, breathing steadily through the pain.

  ‘That was your interpretation of my situation, yes,’ he said with an effort. ‘Now please tell me what your cards say.’

  ‘They concur, of course,’ Tanik said as though that was obvious. ‘You have chosen a powerful combination, Calestar. The knife: both threat and protection, healing and killing. A double-edged sword or a two-faced man. Trust and betrayal.’

  Dom concentrated on the itch in the stump of his arm, the flicker of ghostly fingers reaching for a ghostly knife.

  ‘The child: could be you as a boy, betrayed by your parents. Or it could be a child of your own; either the one who died with your wife so long ago, or the one not yet born.’ Dom licked his lips and swore under his breath. She couldn’t have known that. She couldn’t. ‘Taken together, you plan to betray your child as you were betrayed, perhaps even kill it.’

  ‘Or, by your own admission, it could relate to my deep-buried feelings about my parents,’ he pointed out. The Seer-Mother smiled and inclined her head.

  ‘The divine in man is interesting, and clearly relates to your beliefs about your friend. Or perhaps the divine spark each of us carries within ourselves. Is yours still lit, or is your spark red and liquid? And the harvest in this context would be the souls of the faithful that you hope to reap here.’ She paused and rubbed her fingertips against her lips, eyes dancing across the cards.