The Company of Glass

by Tricia Sullivan

  It was not the worst sort of terrain by any means, but in bad weather the surfaces were slippery, and, more dangerous still, everything looked different depending on where you were standing. Stone formations that appeared distinctive from below sometimes didn’t show up at all from above or from a different angle. The danger of a treacherous, deadly fall might not be so great, but Istar feared they could easily waste hours zigzagging across the same face because they’d lost their bearings or because a direct route could not be seen in the fog. With the two prisoners in such fragile condition, such delays could mean death.

  For Anatar, she thought, gaining a ledge from which she could see the crevasse they’d been travelling down when the Slaves ambushed them, death might be inevitable anyway. She spotted the bodies of the other Slaves sprawled where they had fallen. Maybe a quick, unknowing demise would have been kinder than the slow, guilt-steeped decline that Anatar was surely now destined for.

  Mist enveloped the mountainside so completely that it was easy to forget about the height. If the sky were clear, the tilting planes of peaks and distant valleys would be dizzying. But sound and light were trapped by the clouds, and Istar’s heartbeat and breathing seemed loud in her ears, as if she were cornered in a tight space. She fought the impulse to look over her shoulder every five seconds.

  She groped a way down to the place where Pallo had encountered the Sekk. She did not really expect to find evidence of its presence. Few Sekk bodies had ever been recovered, although a number of Clan soldiers, Istar herself among them, could boast of having slain a Sekk Master. She had engaged one a couple of years ago, in a village in Wasp Clan territory; but she had killed it by driving it into the pit of a Fire House. Afterwards, there had been nothing left.

  At first she saw no sign of a body. There was the pool where Pallo had flung her sword; there was the place where the Sekk had lain, crying to Pallo. No body. She dropped into the divide. Even her own blood must have been washed away, for she saw nothing to indicate there had been a fight. Then, turning slightly, she saw the Sekk. Oddly, the body seemed displaced a bit from where she remembered it being, but it lay in the same final position. Flies were at work, and a scavenger snake moved eerily beneath the soaking robes.

  Normally Istar was not much affected by the sight of carnage, but to this corpse she found herself both attracted and repelled. She was drawn towards the body as if to something forbidden. It was safe to look, now that the Sekk had no power to Enslave. But her insides were twitchy and she felt as if she were about to go into a fight. She knelt beside the body.

  It was beautifully proportioned, sleek as a racehorse. The skin and nails were in perfect condition. Relative to Istar, it was small, but otherwise the Sekk might have been Istar’s age. She made herself look into the face, expecting something: some revelation, some insight. But there was nothing. Only a beautiful girl, eyes half-open, lips parted, dead.

  The body stank. She stood up.

  ‘Istar?’

  Sounded like Xiriel. She bounded back the way she had come, shouting a reply. She was almost upon him before she saw him. He was standing on the edge outside the cave, peering into the mist. Relief showed in his face when she appeared.

  ‘Look what I found. Near the back of the cave.’ He held out a lump of disfigured glass, and Istar shied away.

  ‘Should you touch that?’ she said, alarmed. ‘What does it do?’

  ‘That’s just it. It doesn’t seem to do anything. It doesn’t resonate with the Carry Eye, it doesn’t exhibit any of the telltale signs of an Artifact – not the obvious ones, anyway. I haven’t had time to do all the tests. And it doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen.’

  Istar said dubiously, ‘Even so. It’s not natural, and it wasn’t made by the Clans. No, don’t offer it to me! I don’t want to touch it.’

  Xiriel laughed. ‘For Mhani’s daughter, you have a funny attitude towards the Knowledge. All right, then. I won’t show the others. But I’d like to keep it, and see if I can figure out what might be done with it.’

  ‘Well … if you’re sure it’s all right …’

  ‘It could be of use,’ Xiriel pressed. ‘Jai Pendu is not the only source of the Knowledge. Lesser Artifacts have been found in Everien.’

  ‘Very well. But I don’t want to stay here, knowing that the Sekk have marked this place, with those bodies attracting buzzards outside.’ She raised her voice. ‘Are we all awake in there? Let’s get moving.’

  Groans; vague shuffling. She went inside, hesitant until her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Kassien was occupied with Anatar while Pentar looked on. Pallo, not looking particularly awake, was attempting to dry his cloak over the remnants of the heatstones. One corner was singed and he batted at it sluggishly in mid-yawn; then he saw Istar watching him. He made an effort to compose himself but was overcome by another huge yawn, which he tried ineffectually to muffle against his shoulder.

  Pentar didn’t seem to know where to look when she approached him. She gave him a perfunctory nod and said, ‘How is Anatar?’

  ‘Alive,’ said Anatar. ‘Thanks to you.’

  But even these few words were clearly a struggle. Kassien was holding a bowl of medicinal tea to his lips, probably something to take away the pain, for the dressing would have to be changed. They had brought only a small amount of alcohol, and all of it would not be sufficient to sedate a big man like Anatar for long.

  ‘He’s come through the shock, and the bleeding is less, but there’s fever,’ Kassien said. ‘There could be infection, or it could be his body reacting to the trauma.’

  ‘The wound looked clean last night,’ Istar said.

  ‘Structurally, it’s clean. Perfect amputation.’

  ‘Good cutting,’ Anatar muttered approvingly, and Pentar gripped his hand in a show of compassion.

  ‘But …?’ Istar said, seeing the shadow in Kassien’s expression.

  ‘But that doesn’t mean it won’t become infected. I’ll see more when I change the bandages.’

  ‘Don’t wait, lad,’ Anatar said. ‘I can take it.’

  His face was so white it was almost blue.

  ‘Food,’ Istar said. ‘He’s weak from loss of blood. Pallo, cook us something.’

  She raised her voice but didn’t turn; there was a scramble among Pallo and Xiriel, who by default had ended up doing most of the drudgery thus far.

  ‘You, too, Pentar,’ she said, and began rummaging in their packs for the supplies she had brought specifically to remedy the effects of battle. Up until a moment ago, she had intended to push them all out of the cave at the first possible moment and break fast further down the mountain. Yet she found herself unable to refuse care to Anatar, and all of them, she realized, were dazed and unfit for travel. Leaving Kassien to do the medical work, she recruited Pentar to help with the meal. He chiselled more heatstone from the side wall of the cave, and she could see that many such recent cuts had been made, though there was little residue in the cave to indicate it had been used.

  ‘You were kept in this cave, weren’t you?’ she said, helping Pentar haul the stones for Xiriel to activate. ‘You seemed to know where to cut.’

  Pentar stiffened. ‘I can’t really remember.’ He was still having trouble looking her in the eye. It was disconcerting: her kinsman was an experienced soldier, at least ten years older than Kassien, who was Istar’s senior by a few years. He ought to understand that Slaving happened; that although she might not trust him at her back, she would not hold him in shame.

  ‘You can’t remember anything?’ Istar asked, looking at him searchingly. He was dark, with heavy features that made him appear lugubrious, and a growth of beard in one night that Kassien couldn’t have managed in three weeks. ‘Often we learn more about the Sekk and their movements from recovered Slaves than from the Knowledge itself.’

  ‘I will … try,’ Pentar said. ‘It’s hard to think about … you know. It. Like putting your hand into a fire. But my life is yours. I will try.’ He looked up t
hen, eyes as black and submissive as a dog’s for just a second; then he glanced away.

  Damn it, Istar thought. A sensitive one. Just what I need.

  ‘Pallo? We’re starving to death and the day’s half-gone. Move it.’

  While they were eating, Kassien said, ‘You aren’t thinking of moving on today, I hope.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m thinking.’ She reached for flatbread. ‘Fuel up. We’ve got ground to cover.’

  ‘Anatar can’t be moved.’

  ‘I can walk,’ Anatar called. As if to prove it, he stood up and staggered forward. Xiriel made room for him in the circle, using his knife to push a heatstone in Anatar’s direction. Kassien gave Istar a dark look.

  Pallo didn’t attempt to disguise the fact that he’d be happy to stay here until the weather improved. ‘How are we to orient ourselves in this mist? We’ll never find our way to the sea.’

  He glanced at Xiriel for support, but Xiriel said nothing. Istar wondered what he had done with the piece of glass he’d found.

  ‘The Seahawk Clan knew these mountains long before we ever encountered the Eyes,’ Istar said. ‘I can guide us, even in the fog. But it isn’t easy going, and we all need the rest.’

  ‘In an ideal world, yes,’ Kassien said. ‘But we’re trapped here. We could hardly find a better way to attract another Sekk than to hang around where there are bodies of Slaves.’

  ‘Not to mention the body of the Master,’ Istar added thoughtfully, ‘which I found this morning just outside.’

  Pallo swallowed uneasily. ‘I take it back,’ he said. ‘Let’s leave.’

  They ate in silence for a minute, the tension palpable between Istar and Kassien.

  ‘Not that my opinion matters,’ Anatar said, ‘but I’m a dead man already. I’ll go ahead no matter what rather than bring danger down on you all. Last night Xiriel told me something of your mission. I—’

  ‘You are prisoners.’ Istar cut him off harshly. ‘We will make the decisions.’

  Xiriel stared at her in distress. ‘There’s no need—’

  ‘Yes, there is,’ she heard herself say. ‘I can’t trust you, Anatar. Either of you. You might still be under a Slaving spell. I am bound by duty to treat you as enemies until it has been proven to me that you are in perfect possession of your wits. I can’t know that as long as we are in a lair used by the Sekk, within spitting distance of a Sekk Master.’

  She scooped the last of her breakfast from the bowl with her fingers and stood up. ‘Get ready to move out,’ she said, and began following her own orders.

  No one said anything. She could practically hear them thinking, Paranoid bitch. She wasn’t certain why she had taken this tack. It had been instinct. When Anatar had begun to speak, she’d realized that his air of self-sacrifice would compel the rest to stay, unless she played the villain and made them go. And they had to go. Maybe she was paranoid, but it would be too easy to relax, and ultimately too dangerous. Besides, it was plain that coddling Pentar would do him more harm than good. The others couldn’t see that, and would resent her – but too bad.

  Her arm ached and burned, and she belatedly realized that she had not had it tended. Well, she couldn’t ask now. Not after what she’d just done. She gritted her teeth and clambered into the leather battle gear, heavy with yesterday’s rain.

  More rain, in fact, had begun to fall by the time they were ready to go. Kassien led off, keeping the pace deliberately slow. Xiriel followed, then Anatar and Pentar, and Pallo. Istar came last.

  It should have been easier going, now that they were descending. But sore legs were uncoordinated in descent, and in the places where there was climbing to be done with hands, going down a rock face was always harder than pulling yourself up, because you couldn’t always see where you were putting your feet. On one occasion, hanging by her fingers and kicking around randomly hoping for a toehold before the strength ran out of her arms, Istar wished she had relented and stayed in the cave. Her arm was not up to this kind of exertion. She could only guess what Anatar must be going through, scraping by one-handed.

  Ropes were needed for Anatar, as it turned out. The rain got heavier. No one was happy, but there was no place sheltered enough to stop.

  ‘I’m not sure where we are,’ Kassien confided in her during the afternoon. ‘I’ve done my best, but I can’t see, and the guide stone is only good for determining general direction. We’re going south-east, but beyond that …’

  ‘It will have to be good enough,’ Istar said. ‘Just get us off the height and we’ll be less vulnerable. It may well be clearer down below.’

  He nodded. Kassien was too good an officer to continue to make an issue of her decision this morning, and she knew he was doing his best even though he didn’t agree with her. But they were all tired, and if even the absurdly fit Kassien was curt because he was conserving energy, matters really were getting bad. They stood chewing grimly on marching rations, water streaming unchecked down their faces, hair plastered flat.

  ‘What a wretched parade!’ Pallo cried suddenly, shaking his blond head and sending droplets flying. ‘I wonder what the Everiens did about rain. Was it a part of their Philosophy? If they were here, would their Knowledge keep our heads dry?’

  The others chuckled dispiritedly.

  ‘I don’t know about rain,’ Xiriel said, ‘but it is rumoured that in the far deserts of Pharice there are wizards who can make sandstorms.’

  ‘Sandstorms?’ Pallo was unconvinced. ‘Is that the worst they have to contend with? Surely the visibility can’t be worse than this, and at least in the desert it’s flat.’

  ‘It may be flat, but it’s hot enough to kill you in a day if you don’t have enough water.’

  They all looked at each other: this was such an unimaginable proposition that they started laughing and could hardly stop. It was Pallo who led off this time.

  ‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘The sooner we find shelter, the sooner I get my dinner.’

  It seemed the whole mountainside was awash, but even so, when they came to the river there was no mistaking it. The flood was audible long before they could see it, white with underparts stained brown and green in the half-light like the belly of some huge beast. Generating its own fog, it burst from within the declivity it had carved for itself and flung offshoots to either side, claiming a whole region of the rock face for itself. The main flow was more waterfall than river: this meant even more mist than before.

  ‘This must be the Yrtaj,’ Kassien said. ‘Or one of the tributaries, anyway. If it is, we’ve come too far east.’

  ‘That means we’re on my Clan’s land, though,’ Istar said. ‘You fought here a few years ago, didn’t you, Kass?’

  Kassien said nothing, and Istar wondered if she’d judged his mood prematurely, earlier. He looked unhappy. The others stood dully, waiting for guidance; no one cared any more about anything but rest. Istar could tell nothing about their surroundings, except that they were standing on a broad, grassy ledge. It was impossible to tell how high they yet were.

  ‘We should follow it,’ Kassien said at last. ‘Even the Yrtaj is better than no landmark at all.’

  He adjusted his pack and moved forward. No one bothered to respond to the cryptic remark. Each of them was fully preoccupied with the simple act of placing feet and shifting balance, and their eyes were on the ground. Istar, from the rear, saw Anatar falter many times; Pentar was practically carrying him, and Kassien stopped often to wait for them to catch up.

  Only a half-mile or so down river a valley opened up, wide enough to admit the flow of water and to spare. The ground began to level off, and trees appeared, furring the valley walls and cutting off all view of the sky. The river was too violent and its banks too steep for them to walk close to the water, so Kassien led them through the thickening forest on steeply plunging banks. They stumbled between vine-clad trees, ears full of the noise of water, often skidding sideways against the intemperate fall of the land. After a little while, Xiriel
stopped Kassien with a shout.

  ‘What’s that?’ He pointed, and the others saw a wall tracing a parallel course to theirs, higher up the side of the vale.

  Kassien wiped the rain off his face and stared dumbly.

  We’ve become a parade of idiots, Istar thought. If Kassien was losing his wits, it was time to stop and seek shelter.

  ‘It looks like the verge of a road,’ Pallo said. ‘I’ll go and see.’

  Infused with new energy, he bounded up the hillside, eager, no doubt, for any sign of civilization. They saw him reach the wall, which was much bigger than it appeared, for it reached over Pallo’s head. He turned, waved, and removing his pack, scaled it. At the top he turned and called back. ‘It is a road! Built by our betters, long ago, I’m sure.’

  Everyone brightened, and they moved to catch up with Pallo. Everyone, that is, except Kassien. Istar tried and failed to catch his eye. He had spent a fair amount of time in this part of Everien, and she wondered if he knew which road it was.

  ‘Come on, Anatar,’ she encouraged, tugging at his good arm. ‘You can make it.’

  The road was paved with the same white porous stone from which Jai Khalar was built, even though the mountain itself was made of a black, dense composite of minerals. Both sides were walled, and the surface was strangely free from plant growth, though the trees arched overhead to form a long, twisting tunnel.

  ‘This road’s been well-maintained,’ Pallo said excitedly. ‘We must be in Seahawk Country already! Ah, I can almost smell my dinner roasting …’