The Poison Song

by Jen Williams

  The map rolled up under one arm, Tor pulled down his sleeve to cover his bandages and ventured out into the corridors. To his faint embarrassment, it took him a moment to remember where the winter gardens were, but soon he was out under the cloudy sky, wincing at the daylight. The winter gardens were an odd mixture of lawn, stones and evergreens, artfully arranged by the great garden masters of the past, and he found Kirune stretched out on a bed of white stones. Sharrik and Jessen were with him, and Tor felt a flush of shame he didn’t understand. How long since he’d seen them all together? Days, at least. He smoothed a hand through his hair and went to them. Kirune lifted his great head, yellow eyes flashing as the pupils narrowed.

  ‘You have come to drink outside?’

  Tor bit down his initial reply and brandished the map at them. ‘I think I’ve figured something out, and I wanted to talk it through with someone. Vintage isn’t here, so . . .’

  ‘I have little time for maps,’ boomed Sharrik. The big griffin was sitting on top of a huge boulder, just like a statue of an ancient war-beast; one paw stretched out in front of him, claws extended. ‘You should show Bern, or Aldasair. They both know those sorts of drawings well.’

  ‘He doesn’t want to talk to them,’ said Jessen, quietly. Her wolf’s eyes were too perceptive for Tor’s liking. ‘He’s been avoiding them.’

  ‘Yes, all right, how about you all stop giving me the evil eye for a few moments and let me tell you what I think I’ve found? I think it could be important.’

  He knelt down in the gravel next to Kirune, and spread the map across his knees.

  ‘I’ve been studying the amber record—’

  ‘Studying,’ coughed Kirune.

  ‘Be quiet. I’ve watched so many battles now I think I can see them in my sleep. Micanal managed to recreate many of the major battles of the first eight Rains, and each time, at the end of each battle, the Jure’lia leave in the same direction. Here, look.’ He touched his finger to one of the crosses. ‘This was the Battle of the Blind Bird, in Kesenstan. And you see this line? That’s the rough direction that the worm people headed in when they were defeated. And here,’ he touched another cross, on the far side of the map. ‘A battle from the Third Rain, which took place in what is now the Reilans. You see the line? It’s on the other side of Sarn but it’s heading the same way – south.’

  ‘So?’ Sharrik had shifted to the very end of the boulder and lowered his head, so he could see what they were all looking at. ‘You have tracked the progress of the cowards as they flee from our might!’

  ‘Look, though.’ Tor took a piece of the charcoal from his pocket and used it to continue the lines, making them longer and longer until, eventually, they began to intercept each other. ‘The Behemoths are extensions of the Jure’lia, aren’t they? All part of their hive mind. They don’t make decisions for themselves, they just follow instincts. And we know that after every Rain, the Jure’lia vanish for generations to heal themselves. We’ve just never known where they go.’

  ‘Vostok says they would go too high, too fast,’ said Kirune. Much of the bitterness had dropped from his voice. ‘They would go where the air stopped being air, and we could not follow. Into darkness they went.’

  ‘You think you’ve figured out where they go,’ added Jessen.

  Tor leaned forward and circled the place where the lines intercepted. ‘There’s got to be something here. Some sort of, I don’t know, clue. That’s what Vintage would say. And what else do we know about the Jure’lia at the moment?’ He sat back on his haunches, looking around at them. ‘That not all of their force is in the skies. My sister leads a handful of Behemoths, but where are the rest? Where is the queen?’ He tapped the circle on the map. ‘I think it’s worth going to look, don’t you?’

  Jessen stood up and unfurled her wings. ‘I will summon Aldasair.’

  ‘Good.’ Tor stood up. ‘And I’m going to find myself a decent sword.’

  Chapter Twenty

  They were roused from their cells so early that the under-palace was thick with silence, and as they were marched along the corridors, glimpses out of windows revealed a cold morning of lilac light and grey cloud.

  ‘Can you tell us where we’re being taken?’ Vintage asked one guard gamely enough, but she was met with sullen indifference. Next to her, Agent Chenlo was composed and calm, looking annoyingly fresh for someone recently imprisoned. Her thick black hair with its bolt of white was tied neatly back into its thick braid, and she looked only ahead of her. Harlo, who apparently also shared their fate, turned out to be a short, pale man with a wispy blond beard and a shaved head. All the smooth confidence of his patter seemed to have left him, and he said nothing at all as they took him from his cell.

  Eventually, they left the main palace building through a tall anonymous door, and were marched briskly through a series of more utilitarian-looking gardens; here, Vintage noted, they grew medicinal herbs, things for healing and poisoning. Seeing them made her think of the three mysterious vials, each tucked safely within her vest. Luckily the guards had not deemed it necessary to search them a second time.

  There were gates ahead, tall and spindly and bronze, and beyond them several land bridges broke away, elegantly leading the way to the satellite towns of Tygrish. One such bridge had a second gate, with many locks, and it was only once they were through it that Vintage realised it wasn’t a bridge at all but a gently sloping stairway, leading directly into an enclosure of long Wild-grass. Vintage frowned.

  ‘So you’re just letting us out for a little walk, is that it?’ She tried to catch her guard’s eye. ‘Bit of fresh air. How civilised of you.’

  At the bottom of the walkway was a raised platform with another ornate bronze fence, and there Tyranny was waiting for them, with more guards at her side. For the time of the morning she looked slightly careworn, as if she’d been up all night, yet her eyes were bright with amusement. She had lost much of her regal finery, wearing only a loose silk shirt and a pair of billowing trousers, but the thin golden circlet was still on her head.

  ‘There you are! Hurry up, bring the Winnowry agent here, I’ve got something special for her.’

  Vintage tensed, desperately missing the weight of her crossbow at her hip, but the guards led Chenlo over to Tyranny, who brushed the older woman’s face with the knuckles of one hand. Instantly, Chenlo buckled at the knees, almost fainting.

  ‘Just a touch, that’s all. I should think you can take that, given your training and everything. Here.’ Tyranny took something from one of the guards, and had them turn Chenlo so her back was facing her. The contraption looked like a smooth silver cylinder with two narrow holes at either end; into these Tyranny forced Chenlo’s hands, and then pushed a small metal lever home. There was a thick, metal clunk.

  ‘Do you remember these, Agent Chenlo?’ Tyranny turned her around, still smiling. Chenlo looked as though she had recovered from the blow, but the large metal cuff was obviously uncomfortable. The older woman stood up straight, her face still carefully blank. ‘You lot had me strapped in these all the time, do you remember? When I was thrown into the dungeons of that shit hole. It wasn’t enough to keep me in a cell like all the other women.’

  ‘You sound quite proud of that,’ Vintage said quietly.

  Tyranny briefly turned her sharp blue eyes on her – it was like a cold slap. ‘They were afraid of me, Lady Vintage. You wouldn’t agree with it, I’m sure. Keeping women like animals. Like worse than animals. I reckon that offends your fine sensibilities.’

  ‘Of course it does,’ said Vintage sharply.

  ‘Well, Agent Chenlo here didn’t want me out and about working for the Winnowry. She told them I should be locked up forever, in the deepest darkest shit hole they had.’

  ‘And I was right.’

  Tyranny turned back to Chenlo and slapped her backhanded across the mouth. The blow was hard enough to split her lip, but Tyranny seemed barely to notice what she had done, carrying on the conversation without
a break.

  ‘The others saw the usefulness of me, thankfully. They weren’t as blind as this idiot.’

  ‘And where did that get them?’ asked Chenlo, but Tyranny only shrugged at this.

  ‘I had to wear those cuffs day in and day out for months. They’re not comfortable, let me tell you. I still have the scars on my wrists. Lots of scars, me.’ She seemed to lose her train of thought, and she moved over to the bronze railing, leaving Chenlo to stand with blood running down her chin. ‘Lady Vintage, you’ll like this. Look. Come and look into the grass here.’

  Reluctantly, Vintage joined her at the railing. The grass below them was around six or seven foot tall, and a yellowish-green. In some places the grass grew thicker, in solid clumps, and here the wide blades were spotted with red and orange – Wild-touched grass. There was a smell too, both the simmering vegetation smell of all the grasslands and something else. A smell that put Vintage on edge.

  ‘Can you see them?’ asked Tyranny pleasantly.

  Vintage peered through the gate. She could see nothing but grass. On the far side, there were the softly curving walls of the enclosure, white stone just like all the land bridges, but that was all she could see.

  ‘What am I supposed to be looking for?’

  ‘Seven Wild-touched giant cats,’ said Tyranny, with real pleasure. ‘They’re in there, somewhere, but they are extremely good at hiding themselves. Isn’t it great?’

  ‘Bloody marvellous,’ muttered Vintage.

  ‘They’re all over the place out here – it’s why we have the land bridges, after all – but you never see them. Not until it’s too late, anyway. So I had a few captured and brought here. I wanted to see them properly, you know.’ She turned to Vintage with her eyebrows raised. ‘And I don’t mind telling you that they are properly fucking terrifying, Lady Vintage.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘’Ere.’ It was the first time Harlo had spoken since he’d been brought out of his cell. He was sweating profusely, his bald head glistening in the sun. ‘What’s all this about? Because I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve, to deserve, whatever it is you’re doing to these women.’ He glanced at Vintage apologetically. ‘I just made some dolls!’

  Tyranny looked at him briefly, as if trying to remember who he was, then carried on talking. ‘I keep them hungry, which doesn’t put them in the best of moods, and of course they’re already pretty annoyed at being kept—’

  ‘This is all fascinating, darling, but if you’re going to throw us in there, then I’d really rather you just got on with it.’

  ‘Hey,’ cried Harlo. ‘I’d rather not, actually, if it’s all the same to you.’

  Tyranny smiled at Vintage; a genuine smile this time. ‘Oh go on, then. Since I like you so much.’ She gestured to the guards, who unlocked a small gate in the bronze railing.

  ‘Can I ask you one question though?’ At Tyranny’s nod, Vintage continued. ‘Why? Wouldn’t it be much easier to chuck us back out of your city with a boot up our arses? Killing me will only anger Ebora more, and you could need them soon. You could need them very soon.’

  Tyranny shrugged again, as if it was no matter at all. ‘I said I would kill you before, and I didn’t quite manage it. That’s not something any leader should let pass, or you start to look weak. Whether you’re the leader of the Salts or a queen of Jarlsbad. And her –’ she nodded at Chenlo, who was being pushed towards the open gate – ‘I’ve wanted to kill that bitch for fucking years. This is too beautiful an opportunity to pass up.’

  Chenlo stood at the gate, her arms behind her back and her hands encased in steel. She hesitated there, trying to hang back, but one of the guards gave her a hard shove and the woman dropped down out of sight. Vintage pressed her lips into a thin line. Harlo followed her down, kicking and shouting and screaming. He landed in the grass with a thud.

  ‘If you were hoping for assistance from above, Lady Vintage,’ Tyranny nodded to more guards arriving behind them, all carrying great bows, ‘we’ll be on the lookout for your little friend. I would like his head mounted on my wall, and maybe a nice fur rug, although he looks a bit mangy –’

  Vintage kicked her hard on her unprotected shin, and the queen of Tygrish bellowed with rage. In the confusion, Vintage made to land another blow, but it was too late; one of the guards grabbed her by her hair and in short fashion she was dragged towards the gate in the fence.

  ‘You absolute bloody idiot!’ she yelled, grabbing on to the bronze railing with both hands. ‘How you ever ran a gang in Mushenska I have no idea, I’ve seen rats with more sense than you!’

  One of the guards punched her in the stomach, driving all the air from her lungs, and the last she saw of Tyranny as she fell backwards was her bright shock of blond hair. She hit the ground with no grace at all, and for a few moments was too dazed to do anything but look up at the sky.

  ‘Did you strike her?’ Agent Chenlo’s face appeared in her field of vision, a frown creasing her forehead. Vintage took a deep, painful breath and got to her feet.

  ‘I did, but sadly I did not strike her stupid head from her shoulders.’ She looked around. Behind them was the solid white wall of the platform, and beyond that, tall shadowy grass in all directions. Harlo was crouched by the wall, his arms over his head. ‘Have you seen anything? Down here?’

  Chenlo shook her head. ‘Nothing definite. But there is movement. The grass moves too much for a place protected from the wind.’

  Vintage grimaced. She was right. The faint susurrus of the grass was constant, and once you looked into its green and yellow depths, it was all too possible to imagine huge, lithely muscled shapes moving back and forth, ready to pounce.

  ‘Hoy! Move away from the wall.’ They both looked up to see Queen Tyranny leaning over the bronze railing to grin at them. ‘Don’t you want to explore the grass? If you don’t, we’ll drop some buckets of cow’s blood over here, get the cats moving ourselves.’

  ‘Come on,’ Vintage took some cautious steps forward. ‘It’ll be best if we get out of their sight, anyway.’

  ‘Why? So we do not suffer the indignity of their witnessing our disembowelling?’

  Vintage turned to Harlo, who was still shivering by the wall. ‘Come on, my good man. On your feet. You’re dead for certain if you stay there.’

  Harlo looked up at her. His eyes were wet and round. ‘I just sold some statues . . .’

  ‘I know, darling, I know.’ She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the wall. ‘The queen of Tygrish doesn’t care for souvenirs, it seems.’

  Soon they were hidden within the grass, and the platform was lost to view. Vintage unbuttoned the bottom of her shirt and reached within her vest, where she had stowed the package from Okaar. She unwrapped it, her fingers numb. The back of her neck prickled continually. Eyes in the grass, watching.

  ‘I can’t believe this.’ Harlo’s voice was shrill and wavering with fear. ‘I can’t fucking believe it. That bitch is mad, out of her mind. I’ve done nothing, barely anything at all and I get thrown to the Wild-cats?’

  ‘Dear, please keep your voice down, you’ll excite the wildlife.’ Within the roll of material lay the three vials, and the slender silver key. Looking at it now it was obvious what it was for. ‘Chenlo, turn around, let me get at that cuff.’

  Chenlo turned, and as she did so, a low rippling growl oozed from the grass to their right. Harlo yelped, jumping backwards into the two women, and the delicate key dropped from Vintage’s hands onto the ground. Instantly, she scrambled after it, all the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

  ‘Lady Vintage,’ said Chenlo. ‘It is coming.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course it bloody is.’ A glitter of light amongst the grass and Vintage had it, but as she stood up with the key in her fist a dark shape moved through the grass next to them, impossibly large and silent. The thing was furless, with leathery greenish skin and a collection of long whiskers across its snout and forehead. Its eyes were a painful, wat
ery pink, and when it peeled its lips back to emit another liquid growl Vintage caught sight of a collection of teeth that looked wrong somehow; too narrow and far too many, all packed in in rows that marched back down its throat. Trying to ignore her instinctive reaction, which was to run blindly in the other direction – run where, exactly? – she grabbed hold of Chenlo’s steel cuff and slid the key home – a second or two too late.

  It wasn’t the one they could see that jumped. The attack came from the left, the creature moving faster than Vintage would have thought possible. One moment Harlo was with them, crouched and sweating, and the next he was on the ground, being dragged rapidly into the grass. Blood spattered, hot and quick, across the dry ground. The cuff slipped off Chenlo’s hands and instantly she grabbed and drained a handful of grass, sending a ball of green fire after the Wild-cat. It hissed through the grass, sending much of it up like a torch, yet it seemed to pass harmlessly over the skin of the cat, which looked oily and strange under the winnowlight.

  ‘Oh, you’ve got to be bloody kidding me . . .’

  Harlo screamed, a high and terrified sound, and back up above them somewhere they heard Tyranny laughing; delighted, like a child watching a dog do a trick. The tall grasses, lush and strange in this Wild-touched region, were smouldering and throwing out a bitter-smelling smoke. The second Wild-cat was circling, and there were other shadows coming towards them, drawn, no doubt, by the screaming and the blood. Once again Vintage’s hands itched for her crossbow. Chenlo held up her arms, wreathed in emerald fire.

  ‘Here, wait, drink this. It could help.’ Vintage wrestled one of the vials from the cloth and held it out to Chenlo, who barely glanced at it.

  ‘What? No. I can burn them all.’

  ‘Yes, but can you burn them all before they get you?’ At that moment one of the cats in the grass at their backs made a quick foray towards them. Chenlo spun and threw up a wall of fire at it, and it retreated. ‘Or before they get me? Drink it, Okaar will have given it to us for a reason.’