by Katy Winter
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was Cadran who gave the first intimation someone followed the group, as he sought out Knellen one morning after his jewellery consistently flared throughout the night. Knellen looked up from what he was doing, surprised, because Cadran was usually with Lisle and his men at this time. Varen were very early risers, often before dawn. They never required much rest.
“What is it, young one?”
Knellen crossed the room to rest an encouraging hand on Cadran’s shoulder.
“Knellen, my jewellery flares and feels hot on and off. I sense someone draws steadily closer who could harm me.” Cadran paused. “Not just me either,” he added.
“Come with me, boy,” instructed Knellen, guiding the younger man across to where the Doms and Companions had just finished breakfast and stretched preparatory to getting themselves organised for a move later in the morning.
“Hello, Cadran,” smiled Quon. “Have they let you loose for the day?”
“No,” he responded with a reciprocal smile.
Quon considered Cadran had matured hugely over the last syns and was considerably more assured as he continued to quickly grow into full manhood. He was stable and reflective and still responded to teaching. Quon watched his bond with Jepaul with fascination. He knew the other Doms suspected what he did but he said nothing and neither did they. He wondered if the Companions had begun to draw similar conclusions to his own and was fairly sure they had. If they hadn’t he suspected they would very soon. He was sure Knellen had guessed as much as the Doms already. That also amused him but it troubled him for Jepaul. He wondered what it presaged.
“Cadran senses danger, Doms.”
Sapphire yelled out to Jepaul.
“Jepaul, lad, can you come?”
Jepaul obligingly crossed the ground, ruffled Cadran’s hair in a brotherly way and glanced enquiringly at Sapphire.
“What is it?”
“Is your jewellery reacting?”
Jepaul frowned.
“No. Should it?”
“Cadran’s is,” put in Javen.
“Why isn’t Jepaul’s?” demanded Saracen. “Why do we have so many riddles?”
“Not so, little man,” interposed Dancer, laughing. “If Cadran’s flares and Jepaul’s doesn’t, then the danger Cadran senses may be connected with his being a Varen. Jepaul is Castelan and Cadran is half Montegnan. Those heritages don’t seem to be affected. It must be the Varen.”
“Maybe,” conceded Knellen. “Why, then, do I sense no danger?”
“None to you, Knellen.”
“Possibly none to Cadran either,” suggested Ebon. “It may just be a warning Cadran’s picked up through his jewellery sensitivity.”
“Cadran?” questioned Jepaul.
“The Dom may be right,” he said uncertainly. “But someone comes.”
“Well done, young one,” said Quon. “If a Varen has actually been sent out after Dral or Silklip, or both, we’ll wait for him.”
Quon looked round. Everyone nodded.
“Then young one,” said Knellen in a mildly teasing voice to Cadran, “off you go back to Lisle. Tell him not to continue the order to break camp. We remain here. And, Cadran, all credit to you for such a prompt, mature response. I take pride in you.”
He saw Cadran’s eyes light up with pleasure, nodded to show he meant what he said and watched the young man take off at a run.
The Varen from Lethwyn rode carefully. He didn’t hurry. It took him time to pick up scents because the travellers veered quite sharply which threw him out for several days until, after much casting around, he found scents again. Now the travellers were in view he was cautious. He sent back distant images of them but wasn’t yet close enough to assess how many made up the travelling group. He surmised it was quite big. What surprised him as he neared them, was to see a large encampment and another larger Varen one beyond it.
It was while he reconnoitred that he was approached by a small group of horsemen. He recognised Varen and drew up his horse courteously. He waited. The men drew up sharply in front of him, one Varen in front who spoke in the clipped neutral voice of their kind.
“Brother.”
“Brother,” he responded cautiously.
“My nomen is Lisle. Yours?”
“Gratan.”
“Where from?”
“Lethwyn.”
Gratan recognised he spoke with an elite Varen and it made him even warier.
“Whom do you hunt?”
“One taken from Lethwyn.”
“His name?”
“He answers to Silklip. Have you seen him?”
“Yes. He is with us.”
“Did you remove him from Lethwyn?”
“No.”
“Which Cynas do you serve?”
“Harnath.”
“Of Arrain-Toh?”
“Of the same.”
“May I ask what you do so far from your city-state, brother?”
“My duty, as you do yours.”
“Mine is to find Silklip.”
“And when you do?”
The pointed teeth gleamed.
“As you may expect, brother. I have my orders.”
“As I have mine.”
“Silklip has served his purpose.”
“I agree. However, he is not mine to dispose of. He now belongs to others who use him at their discretion. He is no longer free for you to take.”
“I see.” Gratan chewed his lip thoughtfully. “There is another who leads me here.”
“Yes?”
“A gem trader who left with Silklip. I have his scent.”
“And?”
“I have orders to return with him to my Cynas in order to let the Red Council question him. I am in duty bound to do this.”
“So I see,” agreed Lisle, eying him.
“I will not return without him.”
“No,” agreed Lisle again.
“Can you bring him to me?”
Lisle remained contemplative.
“This requires discussion. You will return to our camp with us, brother.” Gratan sat rigid. “I believe I outrank you.” Gratan curtly nodded. “Then you will obey your senior. Turn your horse about and follow!”
This order was reluctantly obeyed. Gratan also found himself surrounded by unsmiling Varen of varying degrees of seniority who drew very close to him, almost knee to knee, as he was escorted back to camp.
There he found a very unusual Varen awaited him, his expression uncompromising and with eyes that were so alien they were frightening. The horsemen drew up. At a sharp nod from Lisle, Gratan dismounted and saw, with disquiet, that his horse was led away. He went to protest but a look from the strange eyes silenced him.
“Come with me,” came the deep voice.
Gratan found he was still escorted so he resigned himself until he could regain the initiative. He entered a structure where there was a makeshift table and folding chairs. He stood, wondering what was to come as the escort disappeared.
“Disrobe your upper body.”
Gratan started, then stifling a sigh he obeyed. The senior Varen, or so Gratan assumed he was, waited patiently, then strode forward to look over the bare torso.
“You carry a writhling.”
“All in the service of Cynas Grone do.”
“Hand me the shard.” Gratan went to speak. He hesitated. “Do it, Varen!”
“I dare not,” he whispered. He put a hand to his shoulder as a shaft of pain convulsed him. “It speaks and orders me not to.”
“The shard!”
Gratan couldn’t speak. Knellen put his hand in the Varen’s pocket and quietly withdrew the shard that now lay in the palm of his hand. Gratan was a ghastly colour.
“This acts as the instrument of obedience. Through it you answer to the Red Council, and through them to your Cynas. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” gasped Gratan, sweating and shivering.
“I ha
d one likewise. Your writhling appears to be considerably smaller than mine.” Knellen considered the Varen appraisingly. “That being so, Varen, what I do will not kill you but it will cause you considerable pain and make you very unwell for a few days.”
“Brother. I must obey, I must.”
“You cannot be allowed to return to your Cynas, Varen. What follows is regrettable as I do not like to inflict such pain on anyone. Had the writhling been other than a small control, I would have ordered your death.”
Knellen called to Lisle who appeared so promptly Knellen knew he was waiting for an order.
“Bring in four men, Lisle.”
He watched Gratan fall back, alarm on his face. It grew when four Varen entered and Knellen nodded at them to advance. Gratan was grasped and held rigid.
“It will be kinder if you lie him. Hold him unmoving. He has a writhling in him that must be dealt with.” Knellen saw revulsion on Varen faces. “It is a young and small writhling but even so he will feel what I intend to do. Indicate your readiness.”
Knellen watched as Gratan was wrestled to the ground and held immobile. Lisle watched Knellen as the man held the shard in his hand, then deliberately dropped it to the ground and placed his booted heel on it. As he broke and ground it under foot, the most awful sounds were wrenched from a man trying to arch and writhe at the same time. Lisle thought the howls came from an internal hell they’d all been rescued from.
The writhing and struggling lasted some time before Gratan lay still, his mouth frothing and his face the colour of parchment. He began to vomit, the convulsions shaking him until all he could do was distressingly dry retch, his body soaked with sweat even as shivers made his pointed teeth rattle. Knellen went to one knee beside him.
“What is his nomen?” he asked Lisle, looking directly up at the Varen.
“Gratan,” answered Lisle, his throat very, very dry. He found he shook.
“Gratan,” murmured Knellen, his voice very quiet. “Gratan. Let him go,” he instructed the Varen. Their hands shaking, the Varen obeyed and stood erect, their bodies trembling as much as Lisle’s. “Gratan, can you look at me?”
Knellen gently lifted the Varen into his arms. Gratan opened dazed eyes blurred with pain and utter exhaustion.
“Master,” he managed.
“The writhling is still in you, Gratan, but it is neutralised and permanently seriously incapacitated. It will continue to trouble you, on and off, but it will no longer control you and demand your constant obedience. Do you understand?”
Gratan simply stared up, his expression one of disbelief.
“Master?”
“I mean what I say, Gratan. Your daily fight against increasing pain is over but you are left significantly weaker than you were because the writhling tried to drain you. It will, eventually, wither within and die. It will take time for you to recover your strength because of the draining. The writhling is now very weak and cannot sustain itself within. You will need careful treatment to ensure it’s demise.” Gratan tried to speak but failed. “No one destroys our kind gratuitously, Gratan. I am Varen.” Gratan nodded tiredly. “Lisle, have him carried to Quon. The Doms know how to treat this.”
Lisle nodded. He forced his limbs to behave and ordered one of the men to carry Gratan. He followed in his wake, the other Varen behind him. He left a frowning Knellen staring down at the ground where the shard was now dust.
Gratan’s gratitude was only equalled by his bewilderment. He found himself with Lisle’s men, but also found that after the disempowering of the writhling, his sense of smell and taste were affected. He could no longer hunt on scent alone, something that caused him embarrassment as a Varen but was quickly adjusted to. Though he was now free to return to Lethwyn he speedily showed he had no desire to do so for several reasons. He’d return without his quarry so would suffer harsh punishment; he was no longer any use as a hunter; and, as he confessed to Knellen, he knew the Red Council would discover the absence of writhling control and insert another immediately. Gratan shuddered as he recalled the pain of the first.
“Then, brother, you have the freedom to go where you will, when you will. But you must realise you will need treatment for the residual writhling and may well find yourself hunted since you have not fulfilled your function. In addition, Gratan, you will find it harder to defend yourself without that scent ability Varen use to mark and follow their prey. Your Varen instinct is compromised.”
Gratan looked shaken and bent his head in something akin to despair.
“Perhaps, Master, it may have been kinder if you had killed me outright.”
Knellen considered Gratan pensively.
“I do not destroy my own,” he said finally. “Gratan, if you choose to remain with us, you will be required to take an oath to me that supersedes any other you have ever taken. I can explain that in more detail. If you choose this option, then you become one of the Varen you see around you. You will also always answer to me. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Mutely, Gratan nodded and, when he raised his head, Knellen saw hope in Varen eyes looking into his for the first time.
Gratan took the oath and Knellen could see, from eyes upraised to his, that this Varen spoke with utter conviction and would, if called upon, die in his service. He was assigned to Lisle. Since he was only a young Varen, of low Varen status and still only in training, he made an excellent companion for Cadran who was mostly among men older than himself and who was therefore delighted to acknowledge someone his own age. The Doms watched the deepening friendship with pursed lips and mixed feelings because Gratan was, after all, still a Varen and one with residual writhling control that could lead him to quite unintentional betrayal. Knellen accepted that but said he hoped Gratan would grow beyond the fading control. Silently, the Doms agreed.
Gratan saw Silklip, knew who he was, but assiduously avoided him, the Varen now well aware that Silklip appeared to belong, firstly to the Doms who he came to intensely respect, then to Knellen, and lastly to Lisle. Such authority over another was instantly respected by any Varen. Gratan saw that Silklip was deeply afraid of the man called Jepaul as well as the Doms.
Silklip knew who Gratan was and guessed his aborted mission. He tried to approach the young Varen to request his assistance to escape, but the young man never neared him and Silklip had begun to lose hope of ever being free. He hadn’t become used to his condition and knew now that it was the Doms who kept him in subjection. His hatred of them continued to intensify. It showed in his eyes whenever they sighted the Doms. Dral saw it.
“He’ll do you a mischief,” he warned the Doms one evening. “Such a one won’t hesitate.”
This led to discussion between the Doms, Jepaul and the Companions. Jepaul and the Companions believed it was time Silklip was disposed of. The Doms still wanted his punishment to continue. It was Jepaul who spoke last. He turned his head to Quon.
“Quon, I know, too well, what Silklip did to one dear to you all. I don’t deny his culpability for Dom Ashken’s suffering, but I believe that prolonging his life also prolongs your suffering. His continued existence ensures this. I ask that you allow me to invoke the finale you know must come, sooner or later, so you can all be free of his treachery. I do not want you to have to go through what comes to him.” Jepaul knelt by Quon who remained silent. “What comes to Silklip will affect you all negatively, Quon, and is something none of you need. I sense your imbalance with him around.” Jepaul gave his mentor a strong hug. “Am I right, Quon?”
It was Sapphire who responded with a wry twist to his mouth.
“He’s right, Quon. Silklip does affect us, you especially, old friend.”
“Jepaul reads us,” commented Dancer. “Ebon?”
Ebon nodded curtly.
“I don’t deny what Jepaul says.”
Quon took a deep, wavering breath.
“Jepaul, what you promised to invoke will affect you. You must
understand this.”
“I know,” answered Jepaul bleakly.
“You must let us be with you, young one, if not for the invocation at least for the aftermath. You must do this, Jepaul. No one faces this alone, nor can we let you. No one has stood in isolation and done what now comes.”
“I accept,” came the distant response.
The Companions looked at each other.
Silklip was brought before the Doms for the final judgment. The Companions stood behind them, curious but also with traces of apprehension. Silklip was brought by Lisle who stood beside the man. Silklip pulled himself upright, his lips drawn back in a snarl as he stared at the Doms.
“Know who we are,” said Ebon.
He faded for an instant then surged back in a nimbus of glowing redness. Silklip’s expression changed to unutterable terror at that instant of comprehension. Sapphire followed Ebon, then Dancer, before Quon stood erect and with a powerful presence.
“You know who I am, Silklip, don’t you? Your master was one of us, trained on the Island and chosen by Salaphon to be the guardian of the Gates. You betrayed your Master, Silklip. You betrayed your oaths and you betrayed your Order. What do you think comes to one such as you?”
“Masters,” cringed Silklip. “You’re believed to no longer exist on Shalah.”
“You were a senior acolyte, close to your master, so your learning should have told you that the Island is an eternity as long as Salaphon wishes it so.”
“I never saw it. No one did,” whispered Silklip.
“Does that mean an entity doesn’t exist?”
“No.”
“You answer yourself. Can you answer plausibly for your betrayal of Ashken?” There was silence. “Can you explain or justify his suffering?” Again there was silence. “Let me tell you how we know of your complicity, Silklip, so you meet justice and retribution with your eyes fully open.” A cry came from Silklip who sweated and cringed. Lisle, shaken himself at what he’d just seen, pulled the man upright. “We found Ashken’s skeleton. We also found the book you allowed to be thrown away. What is the significance of the Ariel, Silklip?” Silklip shook his head. “Very well. The key, as you well know, was taken from Ashken by Harnath and Grone through your betrayal, Silklip. Do you recall, from your learning, what awaits you now?”
Silklip couldn’t speak. His face was white, the eyes stark with fear.
“Know me, Silklip,” said a deep voice.
The Companions and Lisle saw Jepaul take a step forward. He became outlined in a halo of light that was almost blinding as he stretched out his hand to grasp Silklip’s in his. The man tried to pull back. He was inexorably drawn into the light as he heard the deep voice utter an incantation. At the words, Silklip began to writhe as his body became a shaft of fire, then a pillar of ice, before it was punctuated with holes filled with gas. The body then, through the continual unearthly howls, became solidified like rock before it became consumed by light that streamed through it, absorbing it bit by bit. It was only then the dreadful sounds, that echoed, died and there was a frightening silence.
There was no sign of a man called Silklip, nor a trace of any remains. He was completely consumed. The Companions drew a collective breath of shock. Lisle, unable to control trembling limbs, staggered to a chair where he sank down, too unnerved to utter a sound. The Doms clustered about Jepaul who stood, powerful but shaken by the ordeal, before he suddenly sank into Ebon’s waiting arms. Dancer nodded dismissal at the Companions. It was Knellen who helped Lisle. The Elementals completely withdrew for the rest of the day and night. Belika was unable to be near Jepaul and it was only the following morning that saw her approach Quon to ask where he was.
“Jepaul rests, Belika,” was the terse response. “Leave be.”
Two days later the command went out that travel would resume. The Companions said nothing to each other or to anyone else about what they saw, nor did Lisle, the Varen convinced those he travelled with were extremely formidable. He was glad he wasn’t their enemy. They were terrifying. He finally saw Jepaul again the day they left camp. He walked, thought Lisle, eying him, like one who sometimes wasn’t of Shalah at all. That made him think hard too. He watched the younger man put an arm about Belika as he waited for her to mount her horse, before he mounted his own and drew close to her, their bond apparent to all.
All Lisle knew from a tight-lipped Knellen was that Maquat Doms, believed to have been long gone from the world of Shalah, were indeed present. He was told that each Dom was alleged to have an unusual affinity with the elements of air, earth, water, fire and spirit. Knellen assured Lisle that the Island, disparagingly spoken of for syns innumerable, did exist.
“Do you know this, Commander?” asked Lisle, fascinated yet half-disbelieving.
“Yes, brother.” Knellen added with mordant humour, “I should know because I found myself there.”
“Demons!” uttered Lisle. He spoke hesitatingly. “What I saw -.”
He broke off, swallowing.
“Believe your eyes, brother, as I learned to believe mine.”
Lisle, wisely, vouchsafed no reply.