Revenant

by Bevan McGuiness

  He did not understand her, nor did he particularly want to. What she had said in the ancient language of the sorcerers in the Chamber of Kalev still rang in his mind. He had no reason to disbelieve its truth, which made her actions all the more incongruous — but only if she did not know what she had said.

  Despite his disinterest in the machinations of her mind, he could not get the image of her body out of his memory. It would have been a pleasant memory were it not overlaid with other images and sounds associated with other women: the sight of Waarde’s battered corpse; the sound of a heart falling into the open chest of its owner; the dream memory of the Revenant tearing Kirri open from the inside. With a sigh, he rolled over and out from under the wagon. He would not sleep now, so he might as well hunt.

  The night was dark with almost complete cloud cover. The light of Grada was muted behind the clouds, leaving a darkness without even the moonshadows for contrast. Slave felt more at home when it was like this, except for the wind, which made the sounds and smells unreliable until he got used to it. He rose to his feet, gripping his Warrior’s Claw in his left hand. For a while, he stood motionless, sensing the area, getting his bearings. He heard Camaxtli’s restless grunts, Myrrhini’s low, exhausted snoring and the hiss of the waving grasses. Above that, he could hear the rustle of a few night predators as they sought their prey, the soft whistle of birds’ wings overhead; all natural, all safe. Slave moved silently away from the wagon.

  The grass came up to his chest, its sharp edges scraping across the leather of his jerkin, making sounds like claws skittering across a stone. Slave edged his way through it, allowing himself only the natural sounds of the night.

  He froze when he heard a footstep coming from behind with care, but little skill. He listened before frowning, then dropped below the level of the grass, effectively vanishing from sight. The moment he did so, he changed direction to seek out the sudden hiss of disappointment at his disappearance. It was not hard to find, as the one who made it was determined to keep walking in the same direction, still seeking him.

  The approaching footsteps kept coming straight at him, so that when the foot came down by his face, he was ready. He grabbed the ankle and wrenched it forward, bringing Myrrhini down with a squeal of pain and surprise. He scrambled onto her, clamping his hand over her mouth before she could cry out again.

  ‘You are dead,’ he whispered into her terrified face.

  Her eyes widened even further when he raised his Claw above her head. He brought it downward quickly towards her face, stopping its plunge a bare handspan from her forehead. He was about to speak when he screwed up his nose. He rolled off her and looked down at the slowly spreading patch of wetness by her crotch.

  ‘I would never kill you like that,’ he said with disgust, tucking his Claw away again.

  ‘How was I supposed to know?’ she snapped as she scrambled to her feet. ‘It looked like you were.’

  ‘But …’ He gestured down.

  ‘It’s called terror, you bastard.’

  ‘No, it’s called …’ He stopped in surprise when she raised her hand to slap him. His reactions were faster than she realised and he caught her hand before it landed.

  ‘I hate you,’ she hissed.

  ‘But I thought …’

  ‘That’s your trouble, you aren’t capable of thought.’ She struggled, trying to pull her hand free, but his grip was far too strong. ‘Let me go!’

  He released her hand, just as she wrenched it away. The sudden lack of resistance made her stagger back before falling heavily to the ground again. There was something about her tangle of limbs, the expression on her face, the way she fell so gracelessly that made him smile. He was about to reach down to help her up again when a shift in the wind brought a new scent to his nose. Without thought he dived forward onto her, just as the huge black shape erupted out of the grass.

  Slave grabbed Myrrhini as he rolled over, dragging her back up onto her feet with him. He shifted his grip to the collar and hem of her jerkin, lifted her up and threw her away. She screamed as she went flailing over the grass before crying out in pain as she landed. Slave paid her no more heed, instead pulling out his Claw and crouching to face the enormous spurre that had somehow stalked him without his knowing it.

  To his astonishment, the spurre did not attack. She growled deep in her massive chest and sat down as if regarding him.

  ‘I know you,’ she said.

  ‘You can speak?’

  The spurre mocked him. ‘You can speak?’

  ‘Do I know you?’ Slave asked. Something far back in his mind held a memory of a black spurre. Had he fought it when in a rage? Was that why he could only dimly recall it?

  She shimmered and changed into a beautiful woman with yellow hair standing naked before him.

  ‘Remember me now?’ Tatya asked.

  Slave shook his head.

  ‘You released me from the Link.’

  ‘I did? How?’

  ‘You really don’t remember me?’

  ‘I said that.’

  ‘You did, didn’t you?’

  ‘Tatya?’ Myrrhini emerged from the grass to stare at the woman. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Tatya gave Myrrhini a blank stare before returning her attention to Slave, as if totally dismissing the other woman from her mind.

  ‘Where are you heading?’ she asked Slave.

  ‘North. We’re looking for Keshik.’

  Tatya sniffed disdainfully. ‘He’s about three days’ walk for you that way.’ She gave an airy gesture in a vaguely northward direction.

  ‘Three days’ walk for me? How long would it take you?’

  ‘I could be there by morning.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Could you take him a message for me?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he is a Scaren warlord, your Beq, and it is your duty, spurre.’

  Slave spun around at the new voice. He was astonished to see an old barin. Standing on its hind legs, it towered over him.

  ‘You I do remember,’ Slave said. ‘I met you outside Vogel.’

  The old barin shimmered and shifted into a tall, angular man with inordinately long arms and legs. He was hairier than anyone Slave had ever seen.

  ‘I recognised you as soon as I sensed you, Beq,’ the shapeshifter said. ‘But I did not want to reveal myself to the others with you.’

  ‘And why are you here?’

  ‘I have been tracking you ever since you left me. I knew you would need me, Beq.’ The man bowed deeply. ‘My name is Alyosha and I place myself at your command, my Beq.’

  10

  Keshik tightened the straps on his horse and straightened. He stared back at the Tulugma camp. After declaring his intentions to Zhan Tien, he had returned to his campsite with Maida to wait. He’d given them three days before deciding to leave.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Maida asked. She knew it was a redundant question — they were heading back to the great northern wilderness, going home to the snow and ice. The thought was intoxicating. This hateful heat, this scorching sun and dry wind had long since passed tolerable. Her skin was sore from the burning sunshine, her hair had changed colour; it was time to go home.

  Keshik shifted his gaze away from the Tulugma to look at her.

  ‘North,’ he said.

  ‘How far?’

  ‘North. As far as we can.’

  ‘C’sobra?’

  ‘Let it burn.’

  Maida frowned. There was something in his tone — he was uncertain, troubled.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked with a sinking feeling in her gut.

  ‘Nothing,’ Keshik said, but Maida knew a lie when she heard it.

  She also knew the look on his face, and the pointlessness of asking again. Instead, she continued packing her own horse. They were ready to ride before the sun was halfway to its height. Keshik mounted then, with a last glare back at the Tulugma, he urged his horse north.<
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  The ever-whispering grasses parted before them. Maida felt her spirits rise the moment she saw the sun to her right. Heading north was the cure to all that ailed her.

  ‘Let’s ride,’ she called to Keshik. Her heart beat a little faster as she dug her heels into the flanks of her horse.

  ‘Ha!’ Keshik’s grin suddenly appeared as he followed suit. Together, they galloped away from the Tulugma.

  They rode through the endless grasslands of Midacea until the sun started its inexorable slide into the west. When the darkness crept up from the east, they reined in, exhausted. They had eaten on the ride during the day, so there was nothing but sleep awaiting them. Maida slept happily on the hard ground with Keshik snoring beside her, the stars wheeling across the velvet black sky, and tall grass all around her. She woke to the cool of the morning, the songs of the birds and the freedom of an open sky.

  They rode north. That was all they did. The days slipped by uncounted, the nights under the sky were spent in careless love and peaceful sleep. Hunting was good, if lacking in variety, and water was hard to find but clean. Maida forgot, or at least put aside, the concerns she had about what lay ahead as her life returned to what it should be. It would not be like this for long, so she was determined to revel in what she had.

  Keshik awoke just as the sun caressed the top of the grass, every sense alert. The wind urged the grass into steady whispering, bringing with it the scent of unwashed men. He reached out to shake Maida awake; she did so without a sound. Keshik raised his finger to point to the south, from where the wind was bringing the scent.

  Slave would tell me how many there were, what they were wearing and whether their mothers were still alive, Keshik thought wryly. But at least I know they are there.

  He wormed away from Maida, towards the careless men. She moved too. Their time together obviated the need for any words. Their movement would take them in a scissor action, Keshik to the left, Maida to the right — they would meet with their quarry between them.

  As he slithered through the grass, he became increasingly concerned. Whoever it was, there were several of them, and they were not being very careful. They were talking quietly, not keeping their voices low. Keshik allowed himself a snort of derision.

  If there are less than ten, I kill them all myself. Otherwise I can let Maida share some.

  A voice rose above the low hum.

  ‘He came this way.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last night.’

  Keshik dropped his face onto the earth in dismay. He recognised one of the voices. It was Hayde, the brash young Tulugma. Why is he following me? And who is he with? He unsheathed a knife and gripped it between his teeth before continuing towards them.

  There were over twenty warriors waiting impatiently for Hayde to interpret the trail Keshik and Maida had left the night before. Keshik moved quietly to the back of the group where an older, apparently experienced archer was slouching on his horse, bow not even strung, gazing absently into the distance. For a moment, Keshik considered killing the fool as an object lesson to the others, but held back. Instead, he approached him from behind. When he was level with the man’s stirrups, the archer still blissfully unaware, he struck upward with a savage blow, just below the ribs. The force drove the air from the man’s lungs, leaving him momentarily stunned. Keshik wrenched him down from the saddle, slowing his fall to keep the noise below the constant swishing of the grass. Before the archer could regain enough breath to cry out, Keshik dealt him another blow which left him unconscious. He then casually mounted the horse.

  ‘I think he doubled back on us,’ Keshik called out.

  ‘I think I would have noticed that, you idiot!’ Hayde called back without turning.

  ‘I doubt that,’ Maida said as she stepped out of the grass, less than two paces from him.

  Hayde sprang to his feet, his hand going to his sword, but Maida’s thrown dagger sliced into his hand, stopping him before he could reach the hilt. He cried out in pain, clutching at the wound. Maida had her own sword out in a heartbeat.

  ‘Why are you following us?’ she snapped.

  ‘We are looking for Keshik,’ another man said. ‘We heard of his offer to train us to go up against the Revenant’s army.’

  ‘Why wait so long?’ Maida asked. ‘We waited for three days and none of you came near us.’

  ‘We had to discuss what to do,’ the man replied.

  ‘What do you think?’ Maida looked past Hayde to where Keshik leaned on the pommel of the horse he had just ‘borrowed’. Every eye looked around to see him. Most jaws dropped in shock.

  ‘They’re soft, weak and slow.’

  ‘But they’re what we have?’ Maida finished.

  ‘They are all we have.’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ Hayde gasped.

  ‘What?’

  Hayde took a deep breath, mastering the agony of his damaged hand before giving a nod to another archer. She unshipped her bow, nocked an arrow and fired it high into the air. When it reached the top of its arc, it released a plume of orange smoke. Keshik watched with approval.

  ‘Apros Smoke,’ he said. ‘No flame, useful for signalling. How many groups are out there?’

  ‘Twenty, each of thirty-two warriors like this one,’ Hayde said.

  ‘Five hundred,’ Keshik mused. ‘A good start.’

  ‘Um, over six hundred, Keshik,’ Hayde corrected.

  Keshik shrugged. ‘That’s even better.’ He looked around, as if seeing the vast grasslands for the first time. ‘Set camp,’ he ordered.

  The Tulugma drifted in over the course of several days. With each group, the campsite grew louder and somehow hotter. It was as if each person added to the heat while blocking out some of the welcome breeze. The area of trampled grass became dustier with every stamped boot, every hoof print. Keshik quickly found his temper becoming shorter and shorter, more prone to snarls than words. When the first fight broke out between two of the Tulugma, he decided he had had enough. He called everyone together at sunset.

  ‘We are gathering with the aim of creating an army that will go up against and defeat the biggest army the world has ever seen. To do that we will need more discipline than most of you have ever known,’ he bellowed. ‘The advantages we have are stealth, discipline, superior skills and speed.’

  ‘And sanity,’ Hayde called out.

  ‘I am not sure about that, given what I have seen in the past few days,’ Keshik countered. ‘As of tonight, you will all move out from here and set small camps of no more than three tents. No campsite will be visible to another, no fires will be lit and any raised voice I hear will be hunted down and killed.

  ‘You will all stay within sight of an Apros Smoke arrow. If you see it, you will pack camp and get to me before the sun sets that day.’

  ‘What do we do while waiting for your signal, Keshik?’ another voice called out.

  ‘Practise moving silently. Practise hunting each other. Toughen up.’

  A low murmur rippled through the gathered Tulugma. Keshik let it go for a short while before speaking again. ‘I need Tuks, so I will be moving among your campsites. Anyone who catches me will be a Tuk. Now go.’

  The area of flattened grass was deserted before the night was fully dark.

  11

  Camaxtli awoke briefly when the sun rose. He took one look at the massive barin squatting at the side of the wagon staring down at him, screamed, then fainted.

  Slave looked at Myrrhini and smiled. She smiled back at him, apparently having either forgotten or put aside her declaration of hatred earlier. They were seated together on the ground eating a simple meal of roots and cold rodent, cooked the previous night.

  Alyosha gave a deep rumble and shimmered back into human form. Slave threw him a blanket, which he wrapped around himself to ward off the brief morning chill.

  ‘I like doing that to humans,’ Alyosha said. His human voice, like his human form, was totally at odds with his barin form. As a barin, he
had a deep, rumbling voice but as a human, his voice was soft and flowing, almost melodious.

  ‘I think Tatya enjoys playing with humans too, but her games are a little more, um, dangerous,’ said Myrrhini.

  Alyosha’s bearded face darkened at the mention of Tatya’s name. ‘She is young and foolish. Her attitude will get her killed unless she moderates herself soon.’

  ‘Will she do as Slave asked?’ Myrrhini asked.

  ‘She will,’ Alyosha said.

  ‘She told me I broke something she called a Link. What does that mean, and how could I have done it?’ Slave asked.

  ‘When a vlekkenvorm owes its life to a human, a Link is forged between them. The vlekkenvorm is utterly devoted beyond life, beyond reason, to the human. All else is secondary to us; we live our lives in total thrall to the wellbeing of the human. It is a fate we all hold in terror. Only the Scaren, their Revenant or the Sixth Waste itself can break such a link.’

  ‘How did I break it?’

  ‘You spoke the words of release.’

  ‘What are they?’

  Alyosha gave a short bark of laughter. ‘I have no idea. I have never been Linked.’

  ‘Tell me about the Beq,’ Myrrhini instructed.

  Alyosha fixed Myrrhini with a speculative look. ‘Do you always give commands, little woman?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Slave answered for her.

  Myrrhini looked about ready to snap at Slave, or cry, he couldn’t tell which, but she lowered her head to continue eating instead of speaking.

  ‘The Beq is the Scaren warlord who commands all other warlords of all the families of the Scaren. Each family had their own warlord and in times of peace, they travelled the Sixth Waste, never having much to do with the other until the Beq called them to council.’

  ‘And why do you … what did you call yourselves?’

  ‘We, the vlekkenvorm, were created by the Scaren.’