‘We should block this before nightfall,’ he said. ‘I am sure they will attack the screen mainly but they could put their arms through here and surprise us.’
‘We will do; we have wood enough here for that.’
‘I wonder where the night devils came from; I mean how they were made. We are the children of Cygannan, the sky creator; surely they are not of the same stock as me or you?’
‘They are not. You heard the Elder say they are part reptile and part amphibian. They are the children of Ventekuu, the great snake spirit, herself one of the progeny of Ukka. The tale as the Elders tell it is that, shortly after Cygannan made the world and the creatures of the surface, Ukka grew jealous. On looking at the world he saw that the world was unbalanced containing as it did no great predators, no insects and no creatures of the water. Ukka then set to work to rectify this. Ventekuu was his first creation, a snake five hundred paces long. After this, Ukka created the fish, then the midges and blood-sucking insects, the leeches and lampreys. Ventekuu saw all this boon of life and wondered, “Can I not create my own creatures, those that would serve me?” In thinking this she was deluded, for she had no power to create life and failed to understand that Cygannan and Ukka’s creations were not their servants, but devices to bring balance to all things, to see that as one thing died, another was born, that for every hatched bird that survives another must die to feed a snake or an eagle or a pike. And so Ventekuu fled to the Lake of the Eye, the deepest lake in the marsh. Angry that she could not breathe life into air, she tore off her scales, cut herself on a rock to make her bleed, took the great spirits’ creations the frog and the lizard, and used their life force to create the first Malaac.
‘Cygannan and Ukka saw this and conspired to punish Ventekuu. Ukka told her that she could make many Malaac until her desire to create was sated but they could never leave the confines of the lake. And Cygannan put all his power forth and created man, the balance against the Malaac, to show Ventekuu the full potential of life, one that her own mean and evil attempts could never match. And so it came to be that we have the marsh and they have the lake, a balance that could only be broken by the anger of the spirits at their creations, or by powers outside the marsh – the men of the dry lands blundering and interfering in matters they do not understand.’
‘Then it is true,’ said Cerren. ‘The gods have been angered by something and have sent the Malaac to punish us.’
‘Either that or the Taneren or other outsiders have done something stupid.’
‘Possibly,’ said Cerren, ‘but that may be out of our control. Maybe, though, we can do something to placate the Gods, to show that our errors, whatever they may be, were accidental and can be put right.’
‘That is Dumnekavax’s responsibility. He will tell us what to do when we see him.’
Then it was Cygan’s turn to sleep. Despite the straitened circumstances he managed surprisingly to do so well, flitting into and out of dreams featuring eagles and owls hunting rats and mice. Then as he looked the talons of the raptors became black claws and the toes became webbed and slimy. Then the birds opened their beaks and started to howl, a most unbirdlike sound. It was a long-drawn-out noise, high-pitched and tremulous, disturbingly unnatural. It was a sound that froze his marrow and turned his blood to ice. Suddenly someone was shaking his shoulders. It was Fasneterax.
‘Listen, the Malaac are gathering.’
Cygan realised that the noise was a real one and not a figment of his imagination – out on the river the Malaac were calling. He realised that the sun had almost gone down; the half-light would dapple the river, tricking the eye as it threw out chiaroscuro shapes and confusing perceptions of size and distance. In half an hour it would be dark.
The others had set a fire in the fireplace, which sent out a comforting deep-red glow. There was no point in concealment at this time, as they were trying to tempt these creatures into a rash attack. Cygan picked up his bow. It felt good in his hand. He knocked an arrow ready to fire. Any time now, he thought to himself. They all strained their ears against the river and the wind.
‘There!’ he hissed.
Out to their left was a sound like that of an animal scrabbling over wood, but it was a heavy animal, no waterfowl or young goat. He could hear its feet now as it moved on to the damp earth. It was trying to be quiet but it was coming ever closer. Fasneterax drew his bow, and the muscles in his arms corded. The howling continued from out on the river. Suddenly the screened wall started to rattle and Cygan saw a black four-fingered hand force its way through the gap in the screen and side wall. Fasneterax’s bow twanged. His arrow punched through the screen where he guessed the creature’s body would be; Cygan’s arrow followed a second later. There was a cold sharp hiss and the hand was withdrawn. Shortly after they heard a splash, the sound of a man-sized body falling into the water. The howling cut off immediately. Cygan’s heart was pumping, his blood rushing in his ears.
Still they waited. Dusk turned into night. The glow of the fire flickered around the room casting eerie shadows against the walls and floor.
‘Perhaps they have gone.’ said Cerren.
As if in answer, there came more scrabbling, much louder this time.
‘They are climbing the wall.’ said Cygan.
The noise moved upwards. They raised their heads, realising that the creature was on the roof. They saw a shadow pass over the chimney hole.
Fasneterax loosed his bow again but this time the arrow stuck in the roof missing its mark. A hand came through the hole and started to tear off lumps of thatch. Cerren threw a dart at it but it was too dark to see if he was successful. Then it was Cygan’s turn. They heard the impact of his arrow against a solid body. There was an angry howl. More footsteps could be heard outside. The screen started to shake as several creatures started pulling at it. Tegavenek rammed his spear through the screen impacting into a muscular body. Cerren followed suit. Parts of the screen started to disintegrate as black-scaled clawed hands punched through it. The creature on the roof was still there tearing a larger hole into the ceiling; others of his kind joined him up there. Cygan and Fasneterax fired off arrow after arrow, then seeing the perilous situation they set down their bows and took up their spears. They exchanged a grim look. It would be a matter of seconds.
A creature plunged down from the roof between the two of them. Two or three simultaneously burst through the screen. One got two hands on to Tegavenek’s throat. He went down.
‘For the Black Lake!’ screamed Cerren, ramming his spear into the creature attacking the Elder. Black ichor spurted from the wound, splashing his face. Cerren pulled out his knife and stabbed the creature again and again. It howled and thrashed in its death throes, but Cerren didn’t stop even when another of the beasts dived on him, sinking its teeth into Cerren’s shoulder.
While this desperate fight was going on, Cygan was duelling with the creature from the roof. It was too dark to make out its features clearly; he could see its rows of pointed white teeth and the pale-green luminescence in its eyes; the rank smell of the bog filled his nostrils. It dodged his first spear thrust, and his second. It then ducked under his third and barrelled towards him, knocking him backwards against the wall. Cygan let go of his spear and pulled out his metal knife, a precious object bartered from the Tanaren. The creature was on top of him, its fetid breath in his face as it made to bite down hard on the exposed vein in his neck. In an act of near desperation Cygan twisted his body, freeing his right arm. Then he sank his knife into the creature’s neck.
It didn’t die easily. It thrashed around on top of him, its claws rending his arm as he protected his face. Cygan kept a grip on his knife, holding it firmly as his enemy’s blood, sticky and black, oozed over his hand. Then it was still.
Kicking the dead thing off him, Cygan sprang up knife in hand, ready to deal out more death. The screen, he saw, was in shreds. Fasneterax was holding one of them at bay with his spear. Cerren was rolling on the floor with another of them
, limbs flailing everywhere. Tegavenek’s spear was impaling yet another of the monsters; he was leaning against the wall gripping it tightly, but Cygan could see his strength was failing. He swept up his spear and finished the skewered creature off.
Then the Malaac broke and ran. He saw four, five, maybe six, shadowy figures abandon their attack and run from the shack. He heard their heavy feet in the mud of the bank and the breaking sound of the water as they plunged back into their native habitat.
Cerren went to run after them.
‘No!’ said Fasneterax. ‘We stay here.’
And that is what they did. They retook their positions in the shack, spears in their hands, waiting for the next attack. The moon sank behind the trees; they still waited in abject silence. The light started to break, the crows started to call, then thousands of other birds joined with them in a cacophony painful to the ears. The four men still stayed where they were, waiting for the noise of claws against wood or bare feet slapping against mud. But the Malaac did not attack again.
Eventually, in the wan light of the morning with a light drizzle gently fogging the river, they emerged. Cerren had a nasty bite on his shoulder and Tegavenek had claw marks scoring his chest and left arm. There were ingredients in the boat that could be made into a poultice for these wounds but it would take time. In the shack and on the earth just outside it lay the bodies of four Malaac. In the light of day Cygan could see they were dark green rather than black; their scales were actually quite lustrous and had an almost metallic sheen. They had a couple of small near-transparent fins on their back and one behind their head, as well as some feathery gills either side of their wide mouth. Apart from that they were exactly as others had described them.
Cygan pulled the healing herbs out of the boat, together with a wooden mortar and pestle. They would need a binding agent; he wondered if the mud here was suitable. Behind him, Cerren was kneeling over a fallen Malaac; he appeared to be doing something to its corpse. As the other three watched him, he turned around to face them, triumphantly holding the creature’s head high in his right hand, its black blood dripping and pooling on to the floor.
‘Behold,’ he said, ‘the head of the Malaac. I, Cerrenatukavenex, have taken its power for my own. Am I not worthy to be called a warrior?’
Fasneterax went over to him, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulder.
‘Your bravery is not in question, you have more than proven yourself, but I have a feeling you will get many more opportunities for this over the next few weeks.’ Tegavenek slumped down, leaning against the boat. Cygan saw him. He decided to bark some orders.
‘First we patch the two of you up. Fasneterax, check the water; see if the Malaac are still out there. Unless the Elder wishes to return home, I want us at the Jagged Hill within the next three days.’
19
‘Good afternoon, my Lady, allow me to welcome you to Thakholm.’ Baron Skellar was courteousness itself as he gave her a low bow.
The location of his welcome was hardly auspicious, standing as they were on the great harbour wall, its implacable grey stone sweeping outwards into the bay, The harbour was sheltered on both sides by great promontories of rock that curved into the sea until they almost met each other, the gap between them being just large enough to admit one great ship at a time. The wind here, however, could still be treacherous, and it was like this now, whipping past their heads as it seemingly blew in all directions at once.
Ceriana had been advised by Ebba to leave her hair loose, saying that no power on earth or in the heavens could keep it in shape in these conditions, and now, as the Baron stood before her, great strands of it were flicking into her face, making it difficult even to see him.
‘Thank you, Baron.’ She raised her voice so he could hear her. ‘The harbour is impressive indeed.’
‘Yes, it is it. There has been an army working on it all year, mostly from the mainland. Now they have gone, the island feels deserted. Did you have a pleasant journey?’
‘I must admit I am not overfond of sea travel, but, yes, the journey was passable enough.’ In fact, as travelling by ship goes, it was almost luxurious. It was one of her husband’s ships and her cabin was quite large, with a long velvet seat that doubled as a bed, a window to watch the ocean go by, and even her own privy. There was room for Ebba, too; she slept on cushions on the floor.
‘What do you think of the warships? I suppose you have seen them many times before.’
‘Not that many.’
They had moored quite close to them, two of the Grand Duke’s great war galleons, their blue-and-white gold-edged pennants flapping noisily from their high forecastles. A contingent of marines was drilling on the quarterdeck of the nearest ship and sailors could be seen on both of them, scrubbing decks and coiling ropes. A piece of Tanaren City a long way from home.
‘We have been invited to officially inspect them tomorrow; a Baron Richney has travelled with them as the Grand Duke’s representative. He is currently enjoying the hospitality of the manor house, as, my Lady, should you be. Come, your carriage will take you.’
He took the hand she presented to him and led her towards land. There were a couple of gaudily painted wagons waiting for them. The wind subsided once they climbed off the harbour wall and Baron Skellar spoke to her again in a confidential tone.
‘I do not know if you saw his carrack in the harbour but we have another guest, too, and not one I had expressly invited. Do you remember at the council them discussing Baron Vorfgan of Clutha? Well, he is here; getting to know his neighbours, so he says. I am sure it is no coincidence that he arrived the day after the warships.’
‘Do you not mean the Baron Protector? He was administering those lands while the former Baron’s son recovered from illness, I believe.’
‘I am sure he will tell you himself, but young Dekkan, alas, did not recover. Xhenafa claimed him over a week ago. Vorfgan is now officially the baron of that land.’
‘I see. I wonder if he knew I was coming.’
‘Undoubtedly, it was discussed openly at the council. In any event, all barons have their spies in other camps, so I am sure the news reached him pretty quickly, by whatever means.’
With his assistance, she and Ebba climbed into the carriage. Baron Jon took the one behind. Thakholm was a busy little harbour town, all cobbles and small brightly painted stone fisherman’s cottages. The road they took wound through the centre of the town along a road that broadened into a wide square with its houses of Artorus, Hytha and Meriel all standing side by side.
‘At least it’s not market day,’ said Ebba, ‘or we would never get through.’
Once clear of the square, the cobbled road narrowed and started to climb uphill. Ceriana’s impression of the northern towns being somewhat grim and colourless was put to the test here. She could now look over the bay and saw it filled with ships and boats, most of them small cogs or other fishing vessels and most spectacularly painted in reds, blues, yellows and greens. In keeping with an old seamen’s tradition, the eye of Hytha was painted on many of them. Many of them, however modest their size, bore bright flags and pennants. She remembered from her book that Thakholm was called the ‘Rainbow Isle’. Fishing was at its heart because the land here was poor, most suited for sheep, goats and smaller, wilder strains of cattle. As they cleared the town and continued to climb, she looked back and could see the island was fairly treeless and dotted with smallholdings all the way up to the outskirts of the town. The land was also fairly uneven and hilly – hills that seemed to increase in height as they got to the island’s heart. They crossed, via a low stone bridge, a small silver river, one of several watercourses that discharged into the harbour; she followed its path as it danced playfully over greasy rocks before skirting the nearest houses of the town and entering the sea through a culvert in the harbour wall.
Ahead, the road ceased to be cobbled, changing into a dirt track. It wound upwards still and turned towards the sea. She realised then that they we
re going towards the northern promontory, one of the two great arms that swung into the sea protecting the harbour. Craning her neck, she saw that atop this finger of rock was the mansion house. Its outer wall was a low one, following as it did the great cliff edges that bounded the house. Through necessity, the house itself was long and narrow, built of stone and roofed in slate, which she believed was quarried here somewhere. It was single-storied, though as it followed the contours of the rising ground, the rear of the house was somewhat higher than its front. She imagined what it was like living there in a fierce winter storm. They passed some cottages before accessing the mansion, dwellings of the staff, she imagined, also noticing that they were far less colourful than the houses in the main town. The iron gates were opened and two guards clad in green and blue saluted as the carriages halted before the building’s main door. It was a large door of dark wood hinged in black metal, flanked either side by a rectangular window – reminding Ceriana somewhat of the face of one of those lugubrious hunting hounds some nobles kept that always seemed to live under a pallor of sadness.
Baron Skellar led them through the doors into a narrow reception room and great hall. Passing the kitchens and storerooms, they climbed a flight of stairs and headed towards the guest rooms. Eventually they came to a door which, Ceriana assumed, could not be far from the very rear of the mansion house.
‘For you, my Lady, the master guest bedroom.’
She was right – this was the last room of the house. In each of its three walls was a large picture window: through the left window she could see the harbour; through the right, the rugged green headlands of the island; while straight ahead was the sea, and nothing but the sea, grey and violent and shrouded in cloud.
The Forgotten War Page 29