Taste of Lightning

by Kate Constable

  ‘No. We haven’t come from Rarr,’ said Skir, furious that he hadn’t thought of asking her name, and determined to say something. ‘We came through the woods from the south.’

  Perrin pulled a face at him, a pantomime of outraged disbelief. Skir jutted out his chin to show he didn’t care what Perrin thought. Then Perrin gasped in pain as Elvie probed his wound. Skir smirked. Tansy frowned at both of them. A strained silence fell as Elvie bent over Perrin’s hand.

  ‘This bandage should be burned, it’s disgusting,’ she said. ‘You should have kept it dry. I’ll give you a new one. How did you hurt yourself?’

  ‘A hunting accident,’ said Perrin.

  ‘Why didn’t you have it seen to?’

  Tansy said, ‘We’re away from home. We thought it’d heal quicker than this.’

  Elvie turned her face up to Perrin. ‘Is the pain very bad?’

  Perrin nodded, his face screwed up, then remembered she couldn’t see him. He whispered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have something that will help.’ Elvie slid a long, low box from under the bed where Tansy was sitting, and unlocked it with a key she wore around her neck. She lifted out a linen packet about the size of her thumb, then locked the box again and pushed it back under the bed. Tansy and Skir watched in puzzlement, but Perrin gave a low whistle.

  ‘Is that rust?’

  ‘Rust?’ squeaked Tansy. ‘That’s forbidden!’

  ‘Only to the poor,’ said Elvie. She unwrapped the packet with careful fingers and held it out to Perrin, who took a pinch of red powder between his thumb and forefinger and inhaled it quickly through one nostril. A second pinch followed swiftly through the other nostril, and he sat back in the chair, breathing hard. A drowsy look came over his face.

  Tansy said accusingly, ‘You’ve done that before!’

  ‘Only once or twice,’ he said with a sleepy smile. His words were slightly slurred. ‘All the soldiers do. ’M not an addict or anything. Don’t even like it. But ’s good for pain . . .’ He breathed out a deep sigh, and his head lolled on his shoulder. ‘Mmmm. Sleepy now.’

  ‘He needs to rest.’ Elvie straightened up. ‘Are you hungry? I only have bread and cheese and jam, but you’re welcome to share it.’

  ‘We’ll pay you,’ said Tansy.

  ‘You can pay me for the ointment. And the rust. That’s fair.’ Her voice was hard. ‘But I’m offering you the food as my guests.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Skir quickly. ‘You’re very kind. Tansy didn’t mean to offend you. And I – I’ve already had some bread. I’m sorry.’

  Elvie smiled. ‘That’s all right. There’s another loaf in the crock.’ She held out a hand to stop Tansy from helping her. ‘Please don’t. I have to keep everything in place; if things get muddled I’ll never find them.’

  Tansy and Skir tore into the bread and cheese, munching until their jaws ached. Elvie explained that she’d already eaten her midday meal; she sat beside Perrin until they’d finished. Then she said, ‘There’s not much room, but you can stay here tonight. Your friend needs to sleep, and you’ll be safer here than in Rarr.’

  Tansy and Skir exchanged a look of alarm.

  ‘You’re the runaways from Arvestel, the horse-thieves. Aren’t you? Soldiers searched here two days ago. Don’t worry, they won’t be back. They’re frightened of me.’ Her face twisted. ‘They think I’m a witch.’

  ‘Because you’re a healer?’ said Skir.

  ‘Because I work for Lady Wanion,’ said Elvie.

  Tansy jumped up; her plate smashed into a dozen pieces on the floor. ‘You work for the Witch-Woman?’ She drew her sword with a rasp and pointed it at Elvie.

  ‘Tansy!’ shouted Skir. ‘Put that away!’

  For a moment Tansy stared from one to the other; then slowly she sheathed the sword.

  ‘Please, sit down.’ Elvie knelt and groped for the shards of broken pottery. ‘Everyone in Rarr works for the Witch-Woman in one way or another.’

  ‘Let me do that.’ Skir touched her shoulder.

  Elvie returned to her stool. ‘Lady Wanion owns this town. I grow herbs and I make rust for her. She sends me the chaka-weed from Cragonlands; she knows I won’t cheat her, and she trusts me not to take any for myself.’ A shadow crossed her face, and she gestured to her eyes. ‘I got berry-juice in my eyes when I was young.’

  ‘Ain’t there no one to look after you?’ Tansy’s voice was tight with suspicion.

  ‘My mother died last year. She was Wanion’s rust-woman before me. Now I’m alone. I manage well enough. The villagers come to me for potions and salves and dyes, and they bring me what I need.’

  Skir had spotted one last piece of broken plate beneath the table; in the darkness down there, he touched something hard, wrapped in fabric: a greasy cloth, so old it was almost rotted away. Gingerly he pulled the wrapping aside. The parcel was full of bones; they clattered softly inside the cloth. He drew in a sharp breath.

  ‘Are you all right, Ren?’ asked Elvie.

  Skir scrambled hastily out from under the table. ‘Did you say you had dyes? Hair dyes?’

  Elvie took down a knobbly clump of root from a shelf above the fireplace. ‘Sully-root will make your hair darker, if that’s what you want.’

  Tansy and Skir heaved Perrin’s sleeping body onto the bed, then they boiled up the sully-root and took the cooled water outside to wash their hair. When they’d finished, Tansy’s hair had become a strange red-brown, while Skir’s chopped hair was a rusty black. Tansy surveyed him doubtfully. ‘You look like you ain’t seen the sun in a hundred years. And your eyebrows . . .’

  Perrin stumbled out into the daylight, and laughed at them. ‘It’s always the eyebrows that give it away. Come here, Skir – I mean, Ren.’ His voice was slurred.

  Skir said in a low voice, ‘Elvie guessed who we are.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t have to be a genius to work it out, after all the clues you two gave her.’ Perrin dipped his thumb into the kettle and smeared it unsteadily across Skir’s brows. ‘ ’S better.’

  ‘What about my eyebrows?’ said Tansy anxiously.

  ‘Yours aren’t so bad, they’re dark enough anyway. It’s Skir looks like a festival trickster.’ Perrin grinned at her crazily; his eyes were still slightly unfocused.

  ‘This hasn’t helped at all.’ Skir tugged a lock of hair forward to squint at it. ‘One of us still has red hair, it just isn’t me.’

  ‘Could be useful. In a tight spot.’

  Both the boys looked at Tansy. She said, ‘You mean Fingers might kill me instead of Skir, by mistake?’

  ‘Not kill,’ said Perrin patiently. ‘Don’t forget, no one – no one’s trying to kill Skir. It might even save your life.’

  ‘So Fingers might kill me by mistake?’ said Skir. ‘I’m not sure this was such a good idea.’

  ‘Any dye-water left?’ asked Tansy. ‘You can still see the King’s mark on Penthesi, clear as day.’

  Skir said to Perrin in a low voice, ‘If you’re feeling better, do you think we should move on?’

  ‘What’s the rush? Elvie said we could stay tonight, and the next, if we like.’

  ‘But – is it safe?’

  Perrin shrugged. ‘No worse than the woods, and a damn sight more comfortable. What’s the matter? I would have thought you’d enjoy a night indoors, Your Highness.’

  Skir lowered his voice still further. ‘Can we trust her?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Perrin at once. ‘Definitely. Never wrong about that kind of thing.’

  Tansy came up with the kettle in her hand and lowered her head close to theirs. ‘You’re only saying that because she gave you a pinch of rust. How do we know she won’t run to the Witch-Woman when we’re gone?’

  Skir whispered, ‘I found a packet of bones under the table.’

  Tansy’s eyes widened in horror. Perrin waved his hand dismissively. ‘Plenty of healers grind up bones for ointments. Doesn’t mean anything. They weren’t human bones, were they?’

&n
bsp; ‘I don’t know,’ said Skir. ‘I don’t know much about bones.’

  ‘Maybe she’s going to make broth out of them – how should I know!’

  ‘Human broth?’ moaned Tansy. Then she hissed, ‘She ain’t burned your bandage either, Perrin. I saw her put it in a box. She’s keeping it for Madam.’

  Perrin squeezed her shoulder. ‘You may not have noticed, my turtledove, but it’s high summer. She doesn’t have a fire today. She’s put the bandage away somewhere safe until she can burn it.’

  Elvie’s voice came from close behind them, and they all sprang guiltily backward. ‘I work for the Witch-Woman,’ she said harshly. ‘But I’ve no love for her. I haven’t told you how my mother died. Or how I got berry-juice in my eyes.’ She turned and groped her way back inside the hut.

  ‘Now you’ve upset her,’ said Perrin. ‘I told you we could trust her.’

  Tansy was unrepentant. ‘She can say anything. I reckon we should go. Get your bandage back and go.’

  ‘And I say we should stay. Come on, Tansy! She’s fixed my hand, given me a good sleep, dyed your hair and fed you. What more do you want? I give you my word. She’s all right.’

  Tansy turned to Skir. ‘Looks like it’s up to you.’

  ‘Er –’ said Skir, cornered. He wanted to believe Perrin; he wanted to sleep under a roof. And despite the bones, he liked Elvie. ‘What do the horses think?’

  ‘Penthesi kissed her ear!’ said Perrin triumphantly, and the argument was over.

  They spent that night in Elvie’s hut. Tansy shared Elvie’s bed, rolled as far away as she could get without falling off the mattress, and the two young men stretched out on the floor.

  Despite Tansy’s misgivings, Skir felt comfortable and safe for the first time since they’d left Arvestel. Elvie had given him a salve for his feet and a potion for his bowels. He had a pillow under his head, a belly full of food, and he’d washed properly, with soap, all over, before dinner. But now deeper worries stirred within him.

  Suddenly Skir missed Beeman so much his chest ached. Where was he now? Had he been punished for Skir’s escape? Beeman was his tutor, but he was also supposed to act as his jailer. Skir was uncomfortable with that fact, but it was true. In some ways Beeman was as much a prisoner as Skir himself, but as the Priest-King’s companion, it was his duty to see that Skir didn’t wander off, didn’t put himself in danger, and didn’t communicate with anyone outside the Court.

  Of course, Beeman had stretched that final rule many times. Beeman had taught Skir to read, and he made sure that the celebration of Baltimaran ‘victories’ was balanced by news of setbacks and acts of rebellion by the insurgents in Cragonlands. Skir had always known Beeman’s actions were risky, but all that would be nothing compared with the crime of allowing his pupil to be abducted by Rengani forces. Especially when it was discovered that the Rengani forces consisted of one reluctant soldier . . .

  Tansy whispered, ‘You still awake? You worrying about Elvie?’

  ‘No. She can’t do anything now – she’s asleep.’

  ‘What then?’

  Skir hesitated, then in halting whispers, he told her what he feared.

  Tansy was quiet, considering. ‘I reckon, even if they have punished him, he’d think it were worth it, to get you home. That’s what you got to remember. You can’t help him now, if he is in the Pit. Even if they took you back, he’d still be punished for letting you go.’

  ‘I’m not going back,’ said Skir, certain for the first time. ‘I can’t go back.’

  ‘No. So you just got to get home safe. For him.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Skir slowly. ‘And what about you, Tansy? Are you all right?’ It was the first time he’d thought to ask.

  She was silent, and for a moment Skir was afraid she might be battling tears, but then she laughed softly.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I know it ain’t right to laugh when we’re in Madam’s back garden, near enough, and we got soldiers after us and all, but – well, it’s exciting, ain’t it? This whole last year I was in Arvestel, I felt like I was suffocating. Shut in that laundry, same work, same faces. It were only with the horses I felt –’

  ‘Free?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s it. And I feel like that now. Even with the Army on our tails. I can breathe.’

  Skir rolled over. Elvie had left the door open for the night breeze, and in the oblong of dark he could see two crescent moons and one just past full, heavy in the clear soft sky like a ball of quicksilver about to drop. He heard the horses snuffle in the clearing, and Perrin’s slow, half-drugged breath beside him, and a rustle of quilts as Tansy settled herself. As he watched, clouds rolled across the moons, and he tensed as he always did at the prospect of thunder.

  But by the time rain began to patter on the roof of the hut, he and Tansy and the others were all asleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Captain’s Luckpiece

  BY morning, the swelling around Perrin’s wound had gone down, and the horrible smell had disappeared. Perrin could even cautiously flex his fingers.

  They sat outside in the clearing, breakfasting on tea and bread and honey, while, inside the hut, Elvie mixed more ointment for Skir’s feet.

  Perrin ruffled Tansy’s hair. ‘That weird colour actually suits you. It makes your eyes quite blue. I’ll look for a blue scarf at the market today.’

  Annoyed, Tansy batted his hand away. ‘What?’

  Skir was scowling.

  ‘Elvie says it’s market day in Rarr. I’ll buy supplies.’ Perrin stretched his legs luxuriously in the sunshine. ‘We need blankets, and food, and oats for the horses.’

  ‘You can’t go. What about your hand? And people will know you’re a Gani.’

  ‘My hand doesn’t hurt. Sedge can carry everything. No one’ll know I’m a foreigner unless I want them to. Ask her.’ He nodded toward the hut. ‘She doesn’t know. I’ll bet you . . .’ His smile broadened. ‘I’ll bet you a kiss.’

  ‘That’s a stupid bet,’ said Tansy. ‘You can’t find out without telling her. Give me the money, Skir. I’ll go to the market.’

  Skir drew the heavy coin-purse from his pocket and weighed it reflectively. ‘Wanion knows me, and she knows you. But she doesn’t know Perrin.’

  ‘I want to go,’ said Perrin. His dark blue eyes were alight. ‘This might be my only chance to see a Baltimaran marketplace. All the riches of Tremaris laid out for my delight, and a pocket of coins to spend.’

  ‘It’s only a village market,’ said Tansy. ‘Skir, he’ll just take the money and – oh, give it to him. I don’t care if he does run off.’

  ‘I’ll let you have half,’ decided Skir. ‘That should do.’ A day alone with Tansy and Elvie was worth paying for.

  Tansy watched Perrin and Sedge disappear down the path; when she turned, Elvie was standing behind her.

  ‘Oh! You gave me a start. Where’s Sk – where’s Ren?’

  Elvie’s blind eyes roved up and down and around. ‘Rubbing his feet.’ She put her hand on Tansy’s arm. ‘I make potions for love, too.’

  ‘What would we need that for?’

  Elvie smiled slyly. ‘Which of them do you desire?’

  ‘What? I don’t – I don’t like anyone that way.’ But Tansy felt the heat rise into her face. True, she was drawn to Skir, but he was strange, destined for strangeness, a sorcerer, a king – even if it was only king of a funny little territory. Perrin was good-looking all right, but didn’t he know it! She wanted to slap him twenty times a day. She shook Elvie’s hand off her sleeve. ‘We’re in trouble. It ain’t the time for thinking about that kind of thing.’

  Elvie smiled. ‘If love waited for the right time, there would be no love. But perhaps you don’t need my potions. I think if you crooked your little finger, either one of them would follow.’

  ‘No,’ said Tansy abruptly. ‘I don’t need nothing from you. Thanks all the same.’ And she stalked away toward Penthesi with her face still hot.

  As Perr
in led Sedge along the road to Rarr, it crossed his mind that he could do as Tansy had suggested: ride Sedge away and disappear. But where would he go? If he didn’t bring Skir back to Rengan, High Command would have him hanged. Even as it was, there might be awkward questions; a sole survivor was always a suspicious figure. High Command might even blame him for what went wrong . . .

  Perrin pushed that idea away into the dark box where he kept all his uncomfortable thoughts. The sooner he could hand over Skir to the rendezvous party at the border, the happier he’d be. Skir wouldn’t be too happy in Rengan, though; High Command wouldn’t hurt him, but they certainly wouldn’t keep him in the kind of luxury he was used to at Arvestel. And as for Tansy . . . For the first time, Perrin wondered what would happen to Tansy. A Baltimaran slag, they’d call her. They might lock her up. Surely they wouldn’t hang her?

  That was another thought for the dark box. Perrin’s mind veered in another direction. Suppose High Command decided he was a hero? Then it would be one dangerous mission after another, forever. He’d never be free . . .

  Sedge nuzzled his hair to warn that they were almost there, and he’d better pay attention. Perrin reached up to give her a reassuring pat.

  Rarr was large for a village, small for a town. It had six inns, a bell tower, and a market-square. There was a fountain, and a colonnade with brightly painted awnings above the merchants’ stalls.

  And over it all hung something that couldn’t be seen from the woods: the Fastness of Rarr. It was the Witch-Woman’s stronghold, a fortress of jagged grey rock. Half-a-dozen stone fingers thrust from a nest of dark, glossy forest. It cast its long shadow over the town, and wherever Perrin stood, it was there in the corner of his eye like a piece of grit, impossible to ignore.

  And there was rust in this town. Perrin hadn’t walked four paces down the main street before a man with red-rimmed nostrils stumbled from a grimy alleyway and gave him a groggy, unfocused smile. Perrin smiled back.