Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be here now, dying alone, cut off from her family. Betrayed.
But she had tried to do the right thing! She had tried!
“Papi,” she said. “I’m scared.”
Her father’s face shifted into worry. “Anna-chi? What’s wrong?”
“It’s after me. The monster is after me. I think I’m in a scary story, Papi, and I don’t know if I’m going to survive!”
Kenan looked confused. He glanced at Marisela, but the woman just shook her head. And shook it. And shook it. The thread on the needle was black. Black like the emptiness.
Hyranna blinked in confusion. The thing her mother was sewing wasn’t a fur wrap. It was a shadow. And at the furthest end, closest to Hyranna, the shadow began to move.
“No!” Hyranna cried, jumping back.
Her mother kept sewing, oblivious to Hyranna’s fear.
“Stop that, Matti!” she cried. “Don’t make it any bigger!”
But her mother didn’t hear her. And the emptiness grew, crawling across the floor and up the walls. It found the fire.
Whump!
The fire went out. A blast of cold air filled the cavern. The shadow began to curl around Marisela, who was still pulling the thread in and out, multiplying it with every stroke of her needle.
“Matti!” Hyranna screamed.
The emptiness enveloped Marisela. Hyranna had a last glimpse of her face: her beautiful face. Then it disappeared.
Hyranna stood, staring into the blackness. She couldn’t remember what she’d been looking at. Yet inside her there was a deep ache. As if she were missing something. Something important. Something that defined her, spoke to her, loved her.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Papi, run!” she cried. But when she turned, her father stared out of a ruined face. He had been split in half, cracked down the middle like shredded bark. He blinked one eye, and then the other.
“Papi!” Hyranna sprang forward, but when she grabbed the front of his shirt, the pieces of him collapsed into ashes.
And he was gone . . .
Gone?
What was gone?
Hyranna no longer remembered where she was, or why, or who had been there. Except something crawled along the ground and up the walls, a malicious shadow, a hunting thing, devouring her from the inside out.
She ran.
The shadow followed her. She ran up snow-covered rocks, scrambling and falling and skinning her knee. She left drops of blood in the bright snow. Her hands and feet turned numb.
She panted. Her eyes tore across the landscape, willing it to remain, to anchor her. Not to betray her.
A figure appeared: a gangly youth with splotchy skin and dark red hair. His blue eyes found her, all seriousness.
“It’s going to take me too,” he said, holding out a hand. “But remember.”
His hand was full of pine nuts.
Blink.
His hand was full of shadows. Little, crawling maggoty shadows.
“No,” she breathed. “Don’t take Balduin from me too! Don’t—”
A pain ran through her, sharp and cruel. She collapsed onto her knees in the snows above Elamori.
“Don’t take him from me! Don’t take my memories! Don’t—”
Another hole. Another piece of her story. Missing. Stolen from her. But she no longer remembered.
A crunch of feet. She glanced up, face wet with tears, and she watched the emptiness take shape. Pieces of blackness merged, crawling over each other until they resembled a pair of legs, and a body, and arms. The head was the last to appear. Then the blackness erupted with putrid colour, like a corpse forming out of nothing.
The corpse was walking towards her.
And with every step, the colours merged and re-merged, as if the process of rot was moving backwards, from grey sunkenness, to the liveliness of flesh, from milk-white eyes, to snapping black ones.
The boy-shape that emerged was emaciated, with a vicious hunger in its eyes. It had wild, tangled black hair and dirty clothes. It seemed to breathe, yet something told her it was not really alive.
It’s face split into a grin.
“There you are, Anna-chi,” it said. “You think you can run from the Aktyr in this place? The Unseen is mine, as you are.” It laughed. “Vanya’s not coming back for you. Which means it’s time for you to die.”
Then it lunged for her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tandra Yourk
The longer the days stretched, the more Tandra Yourk soured. If Mag had found the stone, he’d have turned back to meet her by now.
But he hadn’t.
Not after the gale winds and the thunder, and the rain pounding the dusty earth into pulp. Not after finding the old tracks, where he’d been thrown, and digging through every inch of grass. The stone was gone, and so was Mag.
Tandra counted the days on her fingers. With Tums’s help, he might be in the forest by now.
He might be in Garden’s hands.
Krunyn’s eye, he might even be dead.
The thought turned Tandra’s stomach cold. It brought a cold sweat to her brow. Her nephew. Dead. Gods be, no!
Magellan Yourk, for all his foolhardiness, was all the family she cared to claim these days.
She still remembered that day at the old Foxwyn estate, nigh ten years ago: the sight of that dour, crenellated red brick monstrosity they called a house, the salt-stiff summer breeze, the willows bending to welcome her. But instead of her brother marching down the pearl-white steps, it was Mag.
Magellan Yourk, no more than twelve, he must have been—a scrappy boy with a soft West Isles look and a chip to prove himself.
“Where have you been, Aunt Tan?” he demanded, that time they’d met.
She dismounted and took the steps two at a time. “Mag,” her voice was crisp, all business. “Where’s your father?”
“You’re late!”
Tandra turned to the lad. His face was taut with anger, but his clear blue eyes said he was glad to see her.
“Am I?”
“Aunt Maia’s ten days in the ground. Father’s been drunk for twelve.”
“Gods be,” Tandra said. She pushed inside the house. Heavy oak doors gave way to a dim hall with its sprawling staircase and once brightly-coloured carpet, now faded to a dingy blue. A girl, a little older than Mag, pranced down the steps. She had her father’s dark, curly hair, but her mother’s face, delicate as a doll.
“What are you doing here?” the girl asked.
Tandra huffed. “It’s the sun o’ my day to see you, too.”
“See?” Mag said. “I told you she’d come. I’m right.”
“She’s late,” Tannis replied. “You don’t get it back.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause I already won, fit and fair. It’s done.”
“What’s this about?” Tandra turned to her nephew.
He made a face. “Nothing.”
“Mag bet fifteen marks you’d come to the funeral,” Tannis said with a laugh. “It was his whole savings.”
“And you took it from him?”
The girl shrugged. “What’s he going to do with it? He’s just a stupid boy.”
“Gods be praised for blessing me with such a family,” said Tandra. She gripped the boy’s shoulder. “Sorry Mag, but gambling’s a fool’s game. You always lose: now, or later, it’s only a matter of time. Best do it now, while the consequences aren’t debt and prison, am I right? Now where’s your father?”
He stood up a little straighter. “It’s not a fool’s game if it’s based on certainty. I knew you’d come. And you did. You came for the funeral, didn’t you?”
“Yes. But late, apparently.”
Without another word, Mag ran up the stairs and disappeared down one of the long halls.
“Sorry about that,” Tannis said with a suddenly charming smile. “Father’s in the smoking room.”
Tandra banged the doors open to
the dim room. Heavy curtains turned the hazy nook as dark as a sepulchre. Her brother was slumped in one of his over-stuffed chairs, gazing at a map of the Isles on the far wall. Glassy eyes turned to her from a brooding face.
“Krunyn’s eye, stop pretending to mourn,” she snapped, stomping into the room. “You’ve got affairs that need ordering and two kids, in case you’d forgot.”
“Tan.” His voice was thick.
She walked to the curtains, and thrust them open, slicing bright afternoon sun into the tomb. She heard her brothers booted feet drop to the ground.
“Who in the ten fires are you to come storming into my house and demand anything from me?”
“Your big sister,” she said. “Now get up and take a bath. You stink.”
“I have a right to sit here as long as I want and be wretched!” His words slurred.
“You’ve no such thing. Maybe you cared about Maia once—who knows. But right now you’re a lousy drunk who’s forgotten his own blessed children.”
“And who are you?” he cried, half-rising from his chair. “She needed you, and where were you? If you didn’t care enough to help her all those years, what in the ten fires are you doing here now?”
“Gods be, certainly not testing my vocal cords, though you seem to think it. I will do this, though.”
She grabbed the bottle at his side and brought it down hard on the edge of the oak table. It shattered. The clear amber whiskey spilled over the wood, dripped down the side, and soaked into the thick, green carpet.
His mouth hung open, flopping around like a fish on a rock.
“What did you . . . ? What did you . . . ?”
One hand groped uselessly, clutching at a phantom bottle. Then he collapsed back into his chair with a groan.
“What did you do?” He dug at his hair, pulling the curls into a greasy mop.
“Madric. Don’t be so daft and get up. Mag says you’ve been drowning since the funeral, and if that’s the way you decide to take it, then I’ll do what needs doing.” She walked to the liquor cabinet, opened it, assessed the meagre contents, then took them down in an armful. Cradling the various selections of shine, she shouldered open the door, marched past her wide-eyed niece, back down the hall, and through the front doors. Then she blessed the steps with each bottle, cracking the tops open and pouring them out until every last drop had been emptied.
“Aunt Tan, you forgot one,” she heard behind her. Mag was holding up a small bottle of whiskey. Expensive stuff. Hardly something her brother could afford anymore. “It’s what he keeps in his rooms.”
She smiled. “Good lad.” She uncorked the top and let the glistening innards go with the rest. A pity. It was fine stuff. But if she was going to make a point, it had to be done.
When it was empty, she tossed the flask to join the blooming glass garden. It shattered.
“Now are you finished?” Mag asked.
“You tell me?”
“I think so.” He grew serious. “Now see here, any moment my father’s going to come storming out in a bluster, so before that happens, take a look at this and tell me if I have or have not been cheated.”
“What?” she frowned. “What’s this?”
Mag passed her a neatly folded parchment. As she unravelled it, she saw it was scrawled out by a hand just learning the finer points of calligraphy. She read: “This here is set down, by the witness of our hands, that whoever wins the wager is owed no less than fifteen marks, to be paid out immediately upon discovery of the result. The wager is as follows: I, Magellan Yourk, avouch for the presence of one Tandra Yourk at the Yourk estates in Beltic, Foxwyn, for the purpose of attending the funeral of the late Maia Yourk. And I, Tannis Yourk, deny the aforesaid avouchment.” The parchment was signed by both their hands.
Tandra studied the document with growing pleasure, and when she reached the end, she burst out laughing. In moments, she could barely see for the tears pouring down her face.
“What is it?” demanded Tannis, appearing at the door. Her pretty face was clouded. “What’s happening? Would someone tell me what’s going on?”
Tandra struggled to catch her breath. She was hard-pressed to remember ever being so delighted, and when she regained herself, she straightened and wiped her eyes. “My dear, my dear,” she chuckled. “Seems you’ve been bested by your own hand.”
She passed the parchment to the girl and watched her scan it, her lips moving as she read. After a moment she shrugged. “I don’t see what’s so funny. Mag drew up the thing, insisted we both sign it. Said he didn’t trust me. Do you believe it? My own brother? That’s the joke, if anything, as if I’d go back on my word.”
“Aye, that’s the joke.” Tandra chuckled. “Read a little more closely, my dear.”
By this point, Mag was grinning with delight, trying his very best not to bounce up and down in glee.
Tandra put a hand on his shoulder to ground him. “Do you see yet? Or shall I explain?”
The poor girl looked dumbfounded. She just shook her head.
“Pay attention to the exact wording of the wager. Mag confirmed I’d be here, and here I am, and that I’d come for the funeral, and that indeed was my purpose, as I’ve already said. The line says nothing about coming on time, or actually being present at the funeral, so you see, not only do you owe him his fifteen marks back, but I believe you’ve lost another fifteen for being dead wrong.”
Tannis stared in shock. “Impossible!”
“I’m afraid not. Now where’s your father gone? I thought you said he’d fly out in a bluster?”
“Maybe he passed out,” Mag suggested. “Are you going to make Tannis pay up?”
“I’ll do no such thing. It’s between the two of you, and it’s your own familial honour at stake, not mine. Madric!”
She pushed past the siblings back into the house and found her own brother standing, looking as bewildered as Tannis. One shoe was missing, his shirt was wrinkled and dirty, and out here, within smelling distance of fresh air, his stench was even more palpable.
He scowled when he saw her. “What’s the damned purpose of arguing with her, Tannis? Just do as she says. She’ll leave us quicker that way.”
“Ah! And he’s up.” Tandra smiled. “Where’s El?”
“Left,” Madric muttered.
“And Justinia?”
He said nothing, but she could see by his brooding eyes that the family cook had packed up on her way to brighter horizons.
“Gods be, Madric, what have these children been eating? Grass and willow leaves?”
“We’ve been managing,” Mag said. “Justinia left two days ago, but she set us up proper for a few weeks.”
“I told you to stop her!” Tannis hissed.
Mag rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t do any good. Look, we’ve been managing. I was planning to make town later this week and figure something out.”
“No, no, no, no . . .” Madric waved both hands, as if he couldn’t be bothered with such practicalities as food. “I’ve got it, boy. Don’t you worry. This is all just . . . just a bump. Just a little . . .”
Tandra shook her head in disgust. “This is complete nonsense, is what it is. We need to talk, Madric, and we need to do it soon. But I refuse to say another word until you find a bucket and some soap and do something about yourself, for the love of all!”
The visit had gone on in that vein for a number of days, while Tandra helped her brother sort out his affairs. There certainly was a lot of shouting and bluster, especially once Madric discovered that every drop of alcohol had been purged from the house, but no one handled him quite as well as Tandra.
When it was all said and done, she thought it might work out after all. He’d agreed to sell the estate, move townwards, and live off the proceeds until something could be done, while Tandra loaned a significant portion of her own money to help pave the way. “This is for Mag,” she insisted. “So he can go to school, learn himself a trade or something. Do you hear?”
She remembered leaving that time, standing out on the steps, Mag the only one to see her off.
“Come with me,” she said on impulse. It would have changed everything, of course, but the thought of leaving that promising little scamp to be dragged down by the family was almost a crime.
He just shrugged and shook his feathery head. “Naw, Aunt Tan. I’ve got to look out for them, you know?” She did know. So she tipped her hat and carried on her way.
Of course, everything turned out quite different. A few years later, she learned of her brother’s dealings with Terryn Dal, the land pact that went south, her own money lost along with the estate. Those were the years when the old rivalries between the Duke and the Contessa began to stew in earnest—and her daft brother had somehow ended up in the middle of it.
To stem off accusations of treason, Madric Yourk had gone to the Duke of Marrentry and confessed it all, selling himself and his children in all but name to work off his debts, both in honour and gold.
That’s the last she’d heard of it, until the frantic letter begging her to get Mag out of Terryn Dal. She’d nearly dropped at the thought of her nephew in the Contessa’s employ, but she figured it had something to do with Madric’s old troubles. How right she was!
That day—breaking into the Contessa’s palace in Temprin, tracking down Mag, and all the madness that followed—it was no favour she’d done for Madric Yourk. It was for the scamp she remembered who was clever enough to lose at a wager and still win.
Tandra stepped faster, willing herself to cross the Tsavin prairies in time, wishing she was ten years younger, wishing her nephew hadn’t tricked her as cleanly as he had his sister all those years ago.
She ignored her puffing breath, her old legs—not so spry as they once were. But she had to face the facts. She knew what was what.
That’s when she saw it: a grey speck on the east horizon.
Her heart leapt. She gave a whistle, and sure enough, the creature turned and galloped her way. “Tums,” she breathed. “Oh, gods be, it’s actually you.”
But his back was empty. He was alone.
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