Taste of Lightning

by Kate Constable

  The next instant, a ragged child tugged at his arm. ‘Want some, mister? Best quality, guaranteed. Straight from Cragonlands. Same fields she uses.’ The child jerked its chin toward the grim, serrated towers that loomed over the town.

  Perrin felt the weight of the coin-purse in his pocket, and the pleasant tingle in his veins that was the last of Elvie’s pinch of rust racing through his body. He hesitated. Suddenly Sedge gave a great snort in his ear, and nudged him toward the bustling market-square. Perrin shook the child off gently. ‘Not today.’

  He led Sedge around the market, jangling the coin-purse in his hand. He couldn’t find proper Rengani-style bed-rolls, lined with felt, with waterproof canvas on the outside, but he bought blankets, and leather straps to fasten them. Cooking pans, and another tin mug. A cake of soap; he wasn’t going without soap any longer, and he knew Skir would appreciate it too. Tansy said she’d seen enough soap to last her whole life; she was quite happy just to splash herself in a stream. A razor would have been nice, but the Balts seemed to prefer facial hair and he was less conspicuous with stubble. More flints for the fancy silver tinder-box that Skir had filched from Arvestel; at least he had no Baltish scruples. A sack of oats for the horses.

  He hesitated over saddles, but they were expensive. What they needed more than saddles was real food. Dried fruits, and hard-cake, and flour, and beans. Spices and salt. A round of cheese. A bag of carrots, and another of onions . . .

  Perrin enjoyed himself, as he knew he would. There were no markets like this in Rengan. People bartered a little, a clutch of eggs for a bag of wheat, but it was nothing like this fistful of shining coins and all this – all this stuff. He was enjoying himself so much that he barely noticed the desperate, nervous faces of the stall-holders who begged him to buy their wares, or the woman with the twitching eyelid who brushed against him by the cheese stall, or the filthy child who’d followed him from the alleyway.

  He wandered through the market with his spare change in his hand. He bought a blue scarf for Tansy, and hoped she wouldn’t strangle him with it. He bought himself a comb at one stall, and stood for a while at another examining mouth-organs and finger-harps.

  ‘You buying that harp, love?’ wheedled the woman behind the stall, rubbing at her nose.

  ‘I’ll take it.’ Perrin handed over the coins.

  He was waiting for his change when he heard words that made his hair stand on end.

  ‘– a boy with red hair? He’s sixteen, but small for his age –’

  Perrin froze. The voice came from just behind him.

  ‘Yes, a black horse with a white star. There’ll be a reward when the boy’s found, a very handsome reward . . . No? Thank you anyway. If you do see him, send word to me at the Hammer and Anvil. Just ask for the Captain.’

  ‘Here you go, love.’ The stall-holder poured a shower of little coins into Perrin’s hand, and he shoved them impatiently into the purse. Ever so casually he turned his head.

  The man was scanning the market-day crowd. He didn’t look like a soldier. But he wore a sword, and his boots were a soldier’s boots. His hair was long, and his clothes were – not fancy exactly, but good quality, made of fine grey-brown cloth. As Perrin watched, the Captain flung his cloak over his shoulder and strode away.

  A very handsome reward. Perrin stood still, while Sedge chafed gently at the end of the bridle. He’d resisted temptation once today already. But how much rust could be bought with a very handsome reward? How many shining market wares? Could a very handsome reward buy freedom? He imagined a rain of copper coins, a riverful of silver, an ocean of glorious gold.

  Perrin’s heart beat once, twice, then he was running across the crowded market-square after the Captain, with Sedge clip-clopping behind.

  ‘Excuse me.’ He tapped the man on the shoulder and the Captain swung around. ‘Excuse me – hello.’

  ‘Hello.’ The Captain looked Perrin up and down with an expression of mild surprise.

  Perrin flashed his most charming smile. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing, and I wondered . . .’ He blurred his vowels and buzzed his s’s, just like any Baltimaran. ‘How much is a very handsome reward, exactly?’

  ‘That depends,’ said the Captain. ‘If the boy’s found alive, if he’s found quickly, it would be a lot of money. A lifetime’s money, let’s say, at least.’ He glanced at Sedge, weighed down with all the bags and bundles. ‘Looks as if you’ve spent quite a bit yourself today.’

  ‘I don’t often get to market.’

  ‘Ah.’ The Captain looked at Perrin’s bandaged hand. He rubbed at his eyes and said slowly, ‘If you have anything to tell me, anything at all, I’d be pleased to hear it.’

  Perrin hesitated. For an instant he seemed to see Tugger’s shrewd dark eyes staring at him, appraising, judging. And he knew he couldn’t do it.

  Perrin shook his head. ‘No. Wish I could help you. But I don’t know any red-haired kid.’

  The Captain took a step forward. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ His voice was low and urgent.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Perrin stepped back. One or two curious people had turned their heads to watch; Perrin cursed silently. He said abruptly, ‘Look, I said no! Now leave me alone, all right?’

  The Captain raised his hands and stepped back as more heads turned. Someone gave a rust-sniffer’s high, abrupt giggle. Perrin wound Sedge’s bridle around his fist and pulled her away. The crowd parted to let them pass, and when Perrin looked back, there was no sign of the Captain.

  He took Sedge to one of the inns and bought a flask of wine for later. He had just enough left for a mug of beer: smooth, mellow Baltimaran beer, not the gnats’ piss you got in Rengan. Perrin swilled it slowly, regretfully, around his mouth. Then he untethered Sedge and set off on the road out of town. He was so busy thinking of the sacrifice he’d made that he didn’t notice the dirty child who slipped along the road behind him. ‘Yes, I’m sure he didn’t follow me,’ said Perrin impatiently.

  The heat of the day had burned away and they were seated in Elvie’s hut, by the fireplace. Elvie scattered herbs on the flames and the sweet scent of the smoke filled their nostrils. Perrin poked the logs. ‘I told you, I didn’t speak to him. He didn’t even see me – why would he have followed me?’

  ‘But you had a good look at him?’ said Skir. ‘You’d know him again?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Long face, blue eyes, one of those hideous droopy moustaches. He had a grey-brown cloak, like a sea-eagle’s wing, and high black boots, and long brown hair like a Balt noble.’

  ‘Nobles don’t wear brown,’ said Tansy. ‘They wear blue and green and purple.’

  But Perrin’s eye had been caught by something on Elvie’s mantel. ‘That’s funny – he had one of these! One of these little dolls, pinned to his jacket, just the same as this.’

  ‘It’s a luckpiece,’ said Skir. ‘Everyone in Baltimar wears a luckpiece.’

  Tansy’s voice wobbled. ‘Like this, Perrin? White, like this?’

  ‘Yes, exactly the same. Why, what’s the matter?’

  Elvie sat with her hands folded in her lap. She said quietly, ‘Lady Wanion gave me that luckpiece. She gives them to all her servants. All her bondsmen.’

  ‘That Captain’s working for Madam,’ said Tansy. ‘He’s looking for Skir – for Ren. Oh, he’s doing it for her!’

  ‘It could be a coincidence,’ said Skir in a small voice.

  ‘It ain’t no coincidence. You know it ain’t.’ Tansy swung around to Perrin. ‘You wipe that smirk off your face. You don’t know nothing about it. It ain’t nothing to smirk over. You ain’t seen what I seen. I know about her luckbits because she gave me one, too. She tried to make me steal from Skir, so she could make her magic – that’s how she does it, she takes something that belongs to a person, or – or part of a person . . .’ Tansy swallowed. ‘The part rules the whole. They say we won the war because of her magic. I didn’t want to, but she . . .’ Tansy choked.

  Elvie said, ‘The luckpiece
binds you. You have to obey.’

  Perrin said, ‘But – all right, then, Tansy, where’s your luckpiece now?’

  ‘Skir burned it.’ Tansy’s voice dropped and she stole an awed glance at Skir, who shifted uncomfortably on his stool. ‘He ain’t scared of her. His magic’s stronger than hers.’

  Perrin and Skir looked at each other. Then Perrin put his arm around Tansy’s shoulders. ‘You’ve got two sorcerers to protect you now. So there’s nothing to be frightened of.’

  ‘But I disobeyed her! And it came back to me, like she said it would. Skir burned it, and drowned it, and stamped on it. And your boat burned, and we nearly drowned, and I hit my head –’

  ‘Well then, it sounds like she’s finished with you. Listen. This Wanion woman, the most powerful sorcerer in the Kingdom of Baltimar, isn’t going to bother with one insignificant laundry-maid. She’s too busy interfering in affairs of the state and meddling in wars to look for you. Anyway, we’ll be gone before dawn, across the river and far away.’

  Elvie turned her blind face to Skir in the firelight. In a low voice she said, ‘Please. Before you go, will you burn my luckpiece, too?’

  Skir was taken aback. ‘If you really want me to.’

  Tansy said, ‘But – she’ll burn you.’

  ‘She has already burned me,’ said Elvie harshly.

  There was a silence. Elvie reached for Skir’s hand. ‘Please, do this for me. Break the bond. I don’t want to serve her any more.’

  ‘All right,’ said Skir.

  Perrin was still fiddling with the little doll; as he handed it to Skir, their eyes met. Skir took the luckpiece in both hands and held it above the flames. His pale face was lit with gold against the dark shadows of the hut; he looked solemn and filled with power. Despite himself, Perrin shivered.

  Skir raised his hands and closed his eyes, remembering the ceremonies of the Faith. He and Beeman had practised them without the proper tools of office, but he knew the right words, the right expressions to wear, the right tone of voice. He pitched his voice low, and as he spoke, he knew that they were all silent, watching and listening, and he felt a tiny thrill of power. He said, ‘This luckpiece has bound Elvie to the Witch-Woman, Wanion. Through day and night, through summer and winter, that bond has held fast. But now, with these words, and with the power of fire, I break that bond.’

  He lowered the little doll to the flames and let it fall. There was a sizzle and a bright green flare, and the luckpiece shrivelled, blackened, crumbled. Skir struck the remains with the poker, blow after blow, until there was nothing left. Elvie stood and moved close to the fire, feeling its heat on her hands and face.

  Skir said, ‘It’s done.’

  ‘Thank you,’ whispered Elvie, and briefly touched Skir’s hand.

  ‘Sounded better with words,’ murmured Tansy. ‘Wish you’d done the words for me.’

  ‘Very impressive,’ said Perrin. But he wondered vaguely, why didn’t Skir ever sing any chantments? What kind of chanter was he, anyway? He yawned. ‘Let’s get some sleep. We want to be long gone by sunrise.’ He pulled his shirt over his head. ‘No one warned me spending money was such a tiring business.’

  ‘It’s not –’ began Tansy, then saw that Perrin was naked. She took one look, flushing scarlet, and swung away. Perrin grinned at Skir and rolled his eyes, but Skir felt himself flushing too. None of them had been naked in front of the others before. Perrin sauntered across the hut and reached for a fresh shirt, as coolly as if he did this every day. Which, Skir realised, of course he did, in the barracks of the Rengani Army . . .

  Skir was suddenly, hotly grateful that the others hadn’t seen him washing. There was no denying it; though his voice had dropped, he was still a boy. But Perrin was a man.

  Perrin slid between blankets on the floor. Tansy had already dived into the bed, hiding her hot face beneath the quilt. Elvie said to Skir, ‘Are you going to sleep now?’

  ‘I might sit up for a while and watch the fire,’ said Skir.

  Elvie hesitated. For a moment Skir thought she might offer to sit with him, and he almost told her he’d like that. But then she turned away. ‘Don’t leave without saying goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll wake you,’ said Perrin, loud and cheerful, from the floor. ‘Tansy’ll probably tip you out of bed.’

  Whatever delicate moment might have existed between Skir and Elvie was shattered. ‘Good night then,’ said the blind girl, and climbed into bed.

  Skir settled himself in the chair by the fire and scowled down at Perrin’s blanket-wrapped body. He closed his eyes and conjured up again the fleeting touch of Elvie’s fingers. The fire burned lower. Skir slept.

  Penthesi nuzzled at Tansy’s chin, rough and persistent. She turned her head, but he wouldn’t leave her alone; again and again he nudged her, almost knocking her down with his urgency. Tansy, Tansy, wake up, he was saying. There’s danger, wake up!

  Tansy sat up in bed. For a moment she thought she was in Arvestel, in the tiny attic room she’d shared with Aunty Fender. Then she saw Skir, slumped in the chair, and Perrin’s humped figure in the glow from the embers. She was too hot under the covers, with Elvie beside her. She swung her legs out of the bed.

  Then she heard it, just like her dream: the whinny of the black stallion. Danger.

  ‘Quick, quick, get up!’ Tansy cried. ‘Skir, Perrin, wake up!’ She snatched her sword from under the bed.

  Perrin scrambled to his feet. Skir tumbled off the chair. Outside, in the clearing, came a chink of metal against metal, a snapped twig, and the high, warning neigh of the horses. Perrin threw himself at the door and, in that heartbeat, all kinds of thoughts flashed through Tansy’s mind: he’d betrayed them after all; he was running to Wanion to collect his blood-money; he’d condemned them all to a horrible death; she always knew you couldn’t trust a Gani –

  Then she saw him thrust the heavy bolt across the door, the big bolt that protected Elvie’s box of rust, and a tide of relief surged through her.

  Skir groped for his dagger. He gulped for breath, his mouth wide open in panic. Perrin looked around wildly. There were no windows, no other way in. Elvie shrank back against the wall, bed covers clutched under her chin, her blank eyes flicking madly back and forth. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Fingers is here,’ said Perrin. ‘Balt Army.’

  ‘Not Wanion?’ said Tansy.

  ‘No.’

  The door shook as the soldiers hurled their bodies against it. Thud. Thud. The bolt would hold, but the wall was fragile. A few more blows and it would splinter apart. Perrin cried, ‘Tansy! Bash a hole in the wall so we can crawl out. Save whatever you can.’

  Skir grabbed the poker and swung at the wall on the opposite side of the hut.

  ‘There’s a loose board!’ Elvie scrambled off the bed. ‘Here, behind the clothes-chest.’

  Thud. Thud. And a faint smell of smoke.

  ‘They set the hut on fire!’ shouted Tansy. Skir heaved at the loose board, his face contorted with effort. Thud. Thud.

  Tansy shrieked, ‘Perrin, help us!’ But Perrin shook his head. He turned away to face the door. The loose board wrenched free, then another. Skir pushed Elvie through the gap.

  Thud. Thud. And Perrin just stood there –

  Then Tansy realised he was singing. She heard Sedge and Penthesi scream, and the yells of the soldiers as the horses’ hoofs thrashed down. Skir shouted something, and she turned and began to hurl things through the hole, whatever was under her hands: the bag of onions, a blanket, a boot. The smell of burning grew stronger, and there was a crackle of flame in the thatch of the hut. Elvie and Skir were outside, grabbing whatever Tansy shoved at them and throwing it clear. The horses screamed again and again as they reared at the soldiers and struck them down with their flailing iron hoofs.

  Perrin gripped Tansy’s wrist and dragged her to the hole and pushed, and she was outside in the clear cool of night, the air fresh on her face. The hut was on fire, and the horses rea
red back from the flames. Perrin wasn’t singing now. One of the soldiers saw them and shouted, and Tansy’s sword was in her hand, and she’d never been so scared. ‘Come on!’ she yelled, and ran forward.

  There were four soldiers – no, six – in full battle-dress, as if they were facing the whole Rengani Fifth, thought Perrin, instead of a few raggedy kids. One Rengani soldier, he corrected himself as he swung and parried, and a couple of raggedy kids. He moved as if in a dream. His body knew what to do. Swing and duck and thrust and turn, behind him, turn again, thrust and swing and parry.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Tansy twist and throw one soldier to the ground as he tried to grab her. Skir slashed wildly, randomly, back and forth with his dagger, hemmed against the burning hut. The two soldiers who had him pinned there weren’t trying too hard, they didn’t force him back into the flames: probably under orders not to hurt him, guessed Perrin. But then, the men around Tansy weren’t trying too hard either. Confused by her hair, shining copper in the blaze, they weren’t sure which of the raggedy kids they were supposed to capture unharmed. One soldier went down with a surprised oof ! and didn’t move again. Good for Tansy, thought Perrin grimly, and he wondered briefly what had become of Elvie in all this. Then there was no more time to think.

  Swing and thrust and pull and spin. The men kept coming, and Perrin fought on, swift and methodical as he’d been trained. Nothing was real but the centre of his own body, his own sure right arm and his own two feet, smooth and easy, thrust and duck and parry and dance. There were grunts and blood and cries of pain, but Perrin barely noticed. Like chantment when it flowed true, he felt something greater than himself move through him – part of him and yet more complicated than he was. And the next, and the next, swing and thrust and turn.

  Perrin stepped back and almost fell over a body lying face down. The grass was black with blood. Sedge screamed, and her eyes rolled white as Skir scrambled onto her back.

  ‘Perrin! Come on!’