by Tom Lloyd
Shell shook her head. ‘Join you? If I’d known your goal, I’d have let you burn the village around me.’
‘You could not have stopped the God’s purpose and even now, you cannot defeat me.’
‘I’m not part of your war, or whatever this sick game is the God has you playing.’
‘Still you are a part of it. You are a being of power and power calls to power.’
‘It can call all it likes. I’ll not answer.’
The Reaper looked up to the vast, cold sky, as though catching a scent. ‘We will meet again,’ it said. ‘Our fates are intertwined. There will come a reckoning yet.’
‘No – there won’t. I’ll not play your games.’
The Reaper turned without another word and started to walk away out through the stone forest. Shell watched it go, but once it was beyond the first of the great stones, the grey of its wings seemed to blur and hide it from view. Somewhere in the distance there came a distant call of some great horror, sharp and fearful as though sensing the newest among them.
They stood for a long while as lights shimmered in the sky and faint trembles ran through the ground. Moss went to the edge of the stone forest, axe in hand, as though expecting more horrors to appear, but nothing happened and eventually his readiness faded. It was only when all was still and silent again, the air limp around them, that Shell found the strength to stir herself .
‘I’ll be glad to see the back of this lifeless place,’ she said, scowling at the grey landscape.
At that, the Voiceless cocked its head and looked up at the sky. Above them, clear to the naked eye and blazing like a trail of suns in Shell’s left eye, was the constellation the Voiceless had first showed her all those years ago.
Shell felt a tear slip down her right cheek and wiped it away, unsure even why she cried. ‘Yeah, I remember the way home.’
The Voiceless merely looked at her, its scarred and starlit face a mystery. Moss tramped up beside it, keeping a wary distance, while Lichen edged forward far behind, the reins to Horse and the mule in his hand.
‘Merciful light, woman,’ Moss breathed. ‘You look . . .’
‘Different?’ She forced a smile. ‘So do you, in one eye at least. Maybe it’s the true you, maybe something else entirely. Looks like I’ve got to figure that part out on my own.’
‘So . . . what now? You’re a being o’ power now – mebbe a truer angel for the army o’ rhetoric to follow? New purpose for us all?’
She shook her head. ‘Now we go home. What else is there?’
‘Home?’ he repeated. ‘And where’s that for either of us? Some pissant village who never liked the look of either of us much? Is there a home for the likes of us?’
‘You once had a proper home, I see that now,’ Shell said, closing her right eye again. ‘How about we try there? This doesn’t mean I like you any more than I did, but we’ve come this far and I’ve no home to speak of, nor Lichen.’ She cocked her head at the smaller man. ‘Assuming you’re still one of us, for whatever it means?’
The thin man nodded, still shaking as he tried to speak.
‘They never much liked the look o’ me back home,’ Moss muttered, ‘but I guess you two’ll scare the shit out of ’em so sure, why not?’
‘I’ll come,’ Lichen said, finding his voice at last. ‘I’m no fighter, but I can work. I’ll not be a burden.’
Shell sighed and inspected him though her left eye. Lichen was older in that, skin still stained but his hair longer – falling down past his shoulders, hanging loose over the filigree brocade of a rich man’s coat. ‘I suspect you’ll be more use than either of us two,’ she said wearily. ‘Either way, we’re better together I think.’
Moss looked her up and down. ‘What do we tell them if they ask? About all that, about Lichen’s skin?’
‘We tell them the truth,’ Shell said with a shrug and glanced in the direction the Reaper had disappeared. ‘My guess is they’ll soon have enough to fear that we won’t matter much.’
She inclined her head to the Voiceless who made no effort to return the gesture; he just turned and departed in the opposite direction to that of the Reaper. Shell looked up, the sky now shimmering silvery white above her.
‘Home’s that way,’ she said, pointing to the constellation inscribed in her heart. ‘That’s as good a start as any.’
About the Author
Tom Lloyd was born in 1979 in Berkshire. After a degree in International Relations he went straight into publishing where he still works. He never received the memo about suitable jobs for writers and consequently has never been a kitchen-hand, hospital porter, pigeon hunter or secret agent. He lives in Oxford, isn’t one of those authors who gives a damn about the history of the font used in his books and only believes in forms of exercise that allow him to hit something. Visit him online at www.tomlloyd.co.uk or Twitter @tomlloydwrites
A Selection of Other Titles from Kristell Ink
Healer’s Touch by Deb E. Howell
A girl who has not only the power to heal through taking life fights for her freedom.
Llew has a gift. Her body heals itself, even from death, but at the cost of those nearby. In a country fearful of magic, freeing yourself from the hangman’s noose by wielding forbidden power brings its own dangers. After dying and coming back to life, Llew drops from the gallows into the hands of Jonas: the man carrying a knife with the power to kill her.
In Search of Gods and Heroes by Sammy H.K Smith
Buried in the scriptures of Ibea lies a story of rivalry, betrayal, stolen love, and the bitter division of the gods into two factions. This rift forced the lesser deities to pledge their divine loyalty either to the shining Eternal Kingdom or the darkness of the Underworld.
When a demon sneaks into the mortal world and murders an innocent girl to get to her sister Chaeli, all pretence of peace between the gods is shattered. For Chaeli is no ordinary mortal, she is a demi-goddess, in hiding for centuries, even from herself. But there are two divine brothers who may have fathered her, and the fate of Ibea rests on the source of her blood.
Chaeli embarks on a journey that tests her heart, her courage, and her humanity. Her only guides are a man who died a thousand years ago in the Dragon Wars, a former assassin for the Underworld, and a changeling who prefers the form of a cat.
The lives of many others – the hideously scarred Anya and her gaoler; the enigmatic and cruel Captain Kerne; the dissolute Prince Dal; and gentle seer Hana – all become entwined. The gods will once more walk the mortal plane spreading love, luck, disease, and despair as they prepare for the final, inevitable battle.
In Search of Gods and Heroes, Book One of Children of Nalowyn, is a true epic of sweeping proportions which becomes progressively darker as the baser side of human nature is explored, the failings and ambitions of the gods is revealed, and lines between sensuality and sadism, love and lust are blurred.
The Art of Forgetting: Rider by Joanne Hall
A young boy leaves his village to become a cavalryman with the famous King’s Third regiment; in doing so he discovers both his past and his destiny.
Gifted and cursed with a unique memory, the foundling son of a notorious traitor, Rhodri joins an elite cavalry unit stationed in the harbour town of Northpoint. His training reveals his talents and brings him friendship, love and loss, and sexual awakening; struggling with his memories of his father who once ruled there, he begins to discover a sense of belonging. That is, until a face from the past reveals a secret that will change not only Rhodri’s life but the fate of a nation. Then, on his first campaign, he is forced to face the extremes of war and his own nature.
This, the first part of The Art of Forgetting, is a gripping story about belonging and identity, set in a superbly imagined and complex world that is both harsh and beautiful.
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About the Author
Other Titles from Kristell Ink
