by Jen Williams
The third time a new body formed, she took hold of the wrist again, and She Who Laughs spoke in a quick, urgent voice.
‘You know you cannot kill me this way. You cannot kill me at all, little girl.’
‘No, but it’s annoying, isn’t it? And I can do it all night.’ She tightened her grip on the woman’s wrist, intending it to hurt. ‘Send me home, or kill me. Those are the only two options. I’m not something for you to poke and prod. I’m not even a victory in your weird grudge match with the Aborans. Give me back to my people.’
‘Your people?’ She Who Laughs smiled coldly. ‘You killed them all, remember?’
‘The people I love. Send me back, or just end it. I promise I will be nothing but a problem for you as long as you keep me here.’
The woman scowled. Her newest body was young, no more than a teenager, and Noon felt a twisting in her gut. This vessel may be dying, but she had no wish to kill her, even so.
‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘If that’s what you truly want . . .’
‘It is. It might make me weak or a coward or whatever you’d like to call me, but if I must grieve all over again, I’d prefer to be where I’m supposed to be.’
‘Very well.’ She Who Laughs shook her off. ‘I will send you back to your heart’s dearest desire, then.’ She frowned at Noon, looking as if she might say something more, but instead the woman raised her arms, and the halo of fire grew larger, filling up the small courtyard with its glow.
Tor, thought Noon, and then blinked as a rush of green light enveloped her, blotting out She Who Laughs, the glass castle, the desert night above. There was a sense of weightlessness, a rushing sensation through her whole body, and then she was somewhere else . . .
Daylight, more sky. There was nothing holding her up and she was falling, falling through an empty sky towards the very distant ground, which looked alarmingly solid and full of rocks. Noon opened her mouth and screamed.
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Did you feel that?’
Tor leaned back in the harness, trying to make sense of what he was feeling. A surge of strong emotion, out of nowhere, then gone again. They were flying south over the arid plains of the Yuron-Kai, the only features of the landscape the clusters of yurts and herds of horses that indicated a settlement. Far to the east was the distant strip of blue that was the sea, and just before that, a haze on the horizon where the mighty city-state of Reidn squatted. Bern brought Sharrik up as close as he could get to Kirune, and shouted over the wind.
‘Was it Vostok?’
‘It felt like her,’ Tor muttered, distracted.
‘What?’
‘The snake is very far away,’ said Kirune. ‘And she thinks of us barely at all. Our connection . . .’ He growled low in the back of his throat. ‘Vostok alone truly understands it. But she is very faint. I cannot tell what she thinks.’
‘Bern?’
‘I don’t know. The bastard worm people make our connection harder to hear.’ He held up his hand with the blue crystal embedded in it as an explanation. ‘I can barely be sure of anything while they are caught in their own chaos. Apart from Sharrik.’ He ruffled the feathers on the back of the griffin’s neck. ‘I can always hear Sharrik clear enough.’
There seemed to be no more to say. They flew on across the ever-changing landscape, heading always south. Tor had spent so long over his crosses and lines that he could picture the map in his head. Every account he’d been able to draw together suggested that the Jure’lia habitually withdrew to a place in the southern hemisphere of Sarn, a place so distant that Ebora’s maps didn’t have a name for it; there was just a vast expanse of forest, marked in anonymous green.
It was getting late in the day when Tor saw the first patch of varnish. The sun was going down, turning the sky to the west of them into a glowing anvil of heat and cloud, and at first he thought he was looking at a particularly large lake. Then the angle at which they saw it changed, and he recognised the shining, warped surface for what it was. It was an enormous stretch of varnish, right out in the middle of nowhere, but Tor could see many dirt roads leading into it. Evidently the place under the varnish had once been a town, and quite a big one, by the look of it.
‘By the stones,’ Bern’s voice was thick with horror, ‘there’s more beyond it, look.’
He was right. As the sun sank and filled the landscape with dying light, the patches of varnish lit up, reflecting a sickly yellow. This region had once been filled with small settlements and bustling towns, but the Jure’lia had come for them and quite neatly erased them from the map.
Hestillion came for them, Tor reminded himself. My sister has done this.
‘I want to take a look,’ he called across to Bern. Kirune growled, but he ignored it. ‘Let’s land.’
Bern didn’t object. They came down lightly, skittering across the slippery surface and coming to rest near a mound of rubble given smooth sides by the varnish. Tor unstrapped himself from Kirune and stepped down, touching a hand to the sword on his back as he did so. The place was eerily silent, without even birdsong to break it up, but a sense of danger remained, as though the Jure’lia were hiding just out of sight.
‘I do not like it,’ said Kirune. Even the big griffin looked uneasy, his paws taking big elaborate steps across the varnish.
‘I suspect the people who died here liked it even less,’ said Tor. All around them were signs of regular human life – straw, buckets, cloth, bricks – all caught and frozen by the solid resin. There were bodies too, men, women and children ensnared in a stillness they would never escape. He saw terror on some faces, those who had been trying to get away and had failed to evade the grasp of the worm people, and he saw those who had already had their insides eaten away by the burrowers; their eyes were black holes, their mouths were expressionless. Once this had been home to lots of humans. It had had its own name, its own identity. Now it was impossible to tell what it had been like. The buildings were all crushed to dust and rubble, the people all dead.
‘Aldasair is right,’ he said eventually. ‘She is being methodical. Working her way through the continent, wiping each human place off the map. They ran, probably,’ he gestured vaguely to the south, ‘when they realised that their neighbours were being eaten alive. When they spotted the Behemoths in the sky, they probably ran to the next settlement, the next town. But she kept coming back. How far can you run?’ He thought about that moment, so many years ago, when he had left Ebora. He had intended to run then, but it had all caught up with him. ‘Maybe some of them got away. I can’t believe she would have gone to the trouble of chasing the stragglers down the road. But then –’ he lifted his arms and dropped them, laughed a little – ‘what do I know about my sister? Fuck all, it turns out.’
‘Have you seen enough?’ rumbled Kirune.
‘This probably means we are on the right track, you know,’ said Bern. He was massaging one hand with the other, frowning slightly. ‘If she is starting with places close to where they’re holed up. But brother Kirune is right. We should get moving. It’ll be dark soon, and the last thing I want to do is camp on top of this stuff.’
Tor nodded. The idea of sleeping on top of varnish was obscene somehow. He touched his sword once more, for luck, and they prepared to leave.
It was like Noon shouted in her ear.
Vostok turned sharply in mid-air, every sense alight. Out of nowhere, bright weapon was in the sky with her. She could feel her as clearly as she ever had, as clearly as when the girl had carried her soul within her.
‘Where are you?’
There was no answer but a singing note of terror. Vostok cast about desperately, trying to sense where she was. The land she currently flew over was a strange, barren place, riddled with springs of water that ran boiling hot. Steam and mist clung to the rocky ground, making everything look much the same, and barely anything lived there. The acrid smell of it, she had privately decided, was enough to send even the lowest creature away.
&nbs
p; Yet it was movement that caught her eye; a tiny figure in the distance, dropping through the air like a stone. Vostok, her heart thundering in her chest, parted the air like an arrow.
Bright weapon! I am coming!
Vostok!
It was close. Vostok ploughed into Noon, catching her only ten feet from the ground. For a time she just flew, barely in control, and narrowly avoided crashing into the rocky earth herself, then she let her wings take her up, and up. Noon was crushed against her scaly chest, held there with her front legs.
‘I knew it!’ she called, exultant. ‘I knew you were not dead!’
They were on solid ground again. Noon opened her eyes and pressed her feverish brow to Vostok’s scales, taking comfort in her touch.
‘Where are we?’
The dragon had flown her up and away from the place of rocks and streams, and now they rested on the slope of a small hill, covered in patchy, sick-looking grass. When she lifted her head, she could see across the stretch of rocky ground to the sea. There was a lot of sea.
‘An island somewhere,’ said Vostok dismissively. ‘There is no one here, but it is hot. I thought you might have been here, and then you were.’ She sounded pleased with herself. Since they had landed, she had curled herself about Noon protectively, like a mother-dog with puppies. Her long white tail twitched in the scrubby grass. ‘I have been looking in all the hot places. Where have you been, bright weapon?’
‘I was in the Singing Eye Desert,’ said Noon.
‘There?’ Vostok snorted. ‘There is nothing there. And it is very far from here. In future, I would prefer that you do not suddenly go to strange places without consulting me first.’
Noon smiled weakly. Vostok’s presence was solid and reassuring, a suit of armour holding her together, but she felt like she had had her life energy ripped from her. It was difficult to concentrate, or think clearly.
‘It wasn’t my choice, Vostok. Someone took me there, and then they sent me back. It was strange there, in the castle. I think that time was wrong, somehow . . . They sent me back to you, I think, although I doubt she would have cared if I had smashed my brains out all over these rocks instead.’
‘Who was this person? Did you destroy them? This is an enormous insult to me, and to Ebora!’
Noon sighed. Already her time with She Who Laughs in the desert felt like an especially strange dream, while the memories that she had forced back onto her felt all too real.
‘I’m not sure I can explain it,’ she said eventually. ‘At least, not yet.’
Vostok was quiet for a moment. The silence was filled with the sound of raucous seabirds, and for a while Noon lost herself in it.
‘I do not understand what has happened to you,’ said Vostok, her voice unusually soft, ‘but I can feel it. You are broken in new places, bright weapon. I will have vengeance on the person who has harmed you so. I will bury them in fire.’
Noon almost smiled, thinking of Vostok trying to burn to death a being who essentially was fire.
‘I am broken,’ she agreed. ‘But it’s a break that’s been waiting to happen for a long time.’
Vostok blew soft grey smoke through her nostrils. The birds, Noon noticed, were still all squawking madly, possibly because there was a dragon sitting in their nesting area. ‘I don’t pretend to know what that means, bright weapon, but we shall certainly heal you. And to do that we must go home, back to the tree-father and our brethren. There is a lot still to do.’
Noon nodded, although even the idea of standing up seemed an unanswerable challenge. She shifted, curling up closer to Vostok’s side.
‘I know, I just need to rest some more first. Sleep, and then home.’ She thought of Tor and Vintage and smiled, even as sleep shut her eyes for her. ‘Home very soon.’
Chapter Twenty-six
The lobby of the Efrinka Counting House was cool and shady, an oasis of apricot marble and artful little pools of trickling water. Vintage patted at her hair, too aware that they had been travelling through the grasslands of Jarlsbad for days, and the orange dust of the region had apparently bonded itself to every part of her body. Chenlo seemed less concerned, looking around the lobby with keen interest, while Helcate they had left to the skies.
‘Madam,’ the man behind the desk pressed his lips together, preparing to say something mildly impolite, ‘you will forgive me, but this is an old family account, one of our most treasured, and we cannot simply take your word.’
‘I have told you once already. I am Lady Vincenza de Grazon and I am the key holder of this account. As it happens, I don’t have my identifying papers with me and this particular key has been mislaid, but I assure you, I have been here many times before to withdraw funds.’ When the man only looked more pained, Vintage sighed noisily. ‘Haven’t you got anyone who has worked here longer than a week?’
The man retreated into the labyrinth back rooms and returned with a stately-looking woman with sooty black eyelashes and a gold key around her neck. She looked as though she had been interrupted during something important and her mouth was pursed into a forbearing expression, but when she spotted Vintage her eyebrows shot up and she scampered forward.
‘Lady de Grazon?’
‘Ah, darling, at least someone remembers me.’
‘We could hardly forget one of our most celebrated customers. But Ernes here tells me that you do not have your key or your papers?’
‘I have had a rough week or so, my dear. Which is partly why, of course, I must access my account immediately.’
The woman nodded vigorously. ‘Absolutely, and we will be pleased to help you in any way we can, Lady de Grazon. However, you would not trust us with your funds if we weren’t very careful about our security, so perhaps on this occasion we could see . . . the mark?’
Vintage grimaced. She glanced once at Agent Chenlo, who was now watching with interest, before lifting the ragged tails of her shirt and pushing down the top of her trousers. Low on her hip was a tattoo of the de Grazon family crest, combined, through a series of flowing lines, with the sigil of the Efrinka Counting House. It was drawn with very special inks, crafted from the bones of Wild-touched sea creatures, and at the sight of it, all hesitancy vanished from the woman’s face. From within her shirt she pulled a long brass chain, on the end of which was a small round lens. Very briefly she pressed it to Vintage’s tattoo, and for a moment another pattern was revealed within the inked lines. It looked a little like a bunch of grapes – Vintage had chosen the shape herself, years ago. The woman straightened up.
‘Very good,’ she said shortly. ‘What can we do for you, Lady de Grazon?’
Vintage gave her the request, and then turned back to Chenlo, who looked faintly amused.
‘I did not realise you had a tattoo also.’
‘Yes, well. I’m full of surprises.’
‘And I’m not certain why we need to go through all of this. Surely if your friend Okaar is in this city, you can go and ask for him.’
‘First, I would like to eat something that hasn’t been crawling about in the grass recently, and second, we will have to throw a lot of money around even to get into The Shining Coin. If Okaar is there, he is hiding, and we’ll need to get through the layers of lies he will have built up around himself.’
‘But why? Why would he be hiding?’
‘Because, my dear, the queen of Tygrish wants him dead, and anyone here could sell his location to her for a healthy profit.’
‘How do you even . . .’
‘The bar towel. It was his way of telling me where to find him if we survived. Do you think an assassin habitually keeps souvenirs on his person in case he needs to hide a key? Okaar is a very clever man and we could do with him on our side.’
Chenlo looked unconvinced, but said no more as the woman with the sooty lashes returned carrying a soft leather pouch and a simple bag with a strap.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Lady de Grazon, but I took the liberty of acquiring a bag for you to put your fun
ds in. Walking the streets with one of our withdrawal pouches on display may not be entirely safe.’
Vintage beamed. ‘My darling, you are a wonder. If we aren’t all eaten alive by the worm people’s monsters by next week, I shall absolutely write a letter of praise to your superiors.’
Nodding merrily at the woman’s slightly strangled expression, Vintage left the great airy building, Chenlo at her heels.
‘Was that necessary? You upset that woman, I think.’
‘Oh, I’m just having a bit of fun.’ Vintage pulled the bag strap over her shoulder and settled it into place. ‘Speaking of which, we shall need new clothes.’
‘Clothes?’ Chenlo looked stricken. ‘I am quite happy with these. They are quite adequate.’
Vintage glanced at her again; they were good clothes, well made and solid, but they were also very obviously the travelling clothes of a Winnowry agent.
‘Nonsense. We have to dress the part, you see. Come on, it won’t take a moment.’
The streets of the central city of Jarlsbad were heaving, as they had been every time Vintage had visited it. Delicate green and white towers rose all around them, while the smaller, squatter buildings, with their mint-green roof tiles and elaborate shop signs, spilled even more people; men and women shopping for goods, children chasing after their parents or their brothers and sisters, merchants with heavy satchels full of change. There was the scent of cooking food on the air, mixed with a fresh floral scent. Jarlsbad was known for its perfumes, crafted from flowers growing on roof gardens all over the city. They moved up the street, heading towards the fabric quarters, where the best clothes were to be found.
Despite herself, despite everything, Vintage felt her heart soar. There were few things so fine, she thought, than to be in a city that is busy living its own life. It was possible here to feel that no matter what happened, Jarlsbad would continue on its way, that the sheer frenetic activity of such a place could never really cease. As a young person she had dreamed of exploring these streets with Nanthema at her side. That particular dream had ultimately not survived the rigours of reality, but it was fine to be here with a new friend. Perhaps, it was even better. She looked over at Chenlo, who was looking around at the busy shops with an uncertain expression.