by Ziv Gray
Echoes of his dreams kept returning.
Bandim, Bandim… Dear brother, I will find you…
Johrann placed her hands on his arm. He snapped, sudden as unseen rot.
‘How do you know?’ he bellowed. He grabbed her by the fronds, forcing her down the steps. ‘How—do—you—know?’
He thrust her away, and she toppled from the dais. Her screech bounced against the vaulted ceilings, coming back louder. The guards remained steadfast at their posts, keeping their eyes focused on the doors.
The coldness of despair abated, and Bandim sat back on the throne. Dorai’s warmth surrounded him again, wrapping him in tendrils of comfort. His heart twisted as Johrann clambered to her feet. When she looked at him, she smiled, despite the blood that trickled from her nostril.
‘You will succeed, Your Grace,’ she said, creeping back up the stairs. ‘I know it. Deep down, you know it too.’
The spirit of Dorai returned his courage. Bandim reached for her. She slipped onto his lap. He accepted her touch. Their horn crests slotted into one another.
‘This is just your old life impinging upon you,’ Johrann whispered, caressing the backs of his ears. ‘As you become more powerful and as more time passes, you will care less and less of your life as Bandim. You are Dorai, purer and more powerful than any other. You will banish all evil, and unite us all under your banner.’
Bandim pressed his mouth to Johrann’s once more. He flicked his tongue to taste her lips.
‘I trust you, dear Heart,’ he said. ‘Our campaigns move forward. We are poised to crush the Althemerians, just as we crushed the Metakalans.’
There was a fleeting twinge in his chest as he thought of the Althemerian royals, of Fonbir and Fylica and Valaria, his friends from long ago. Fonbir had been Mantos’s close friend, but Valaria was all Bandim wanted. As headstrong and vibrant as she was, he could not resist her.
His thoughts snapped back to the present. To Johrann Maa, straddled on his lap. To reality. His plan to murder all of Valaria’s folk. The fact that he would cause her death, as well. She will die on the battlefield, Bandim thought. She will die leading her folk against a force they cannot fight. Against my force. She rejected me. Me! She deserves to die. They all do…
‘Do not be afraid,’ Johrann said, grasping his face in both hands. ‘This is the right thing to do. This is what you always wanted. It is what the world has always needed. We waited so long for you. And now you are here, and nothing can stop you.’ She pressed a hard kiss to his lips. ‘Your brother is dead,’ she said. ‘He cannot hurt you. Your old life is gone. Do not think of it. You will be Dorai. You are Dorai. You are the Harbinger of Purity, and if they do not embrace the grace of your presence, the greatest gift you can give them is death.’ She brought her lips close to his pointed ear. ‘Even Princess Valaria. Even your brother. Your mother. If they cannot accept your greatness, they do not deserve to live.’
His secret thoughts spoken, Bandim felt a strange ease. It was not that the words comforted him. Rather, with each syllable she spoke, he felt…less. Less pain. Less confusion. Less love.
All he knew was what he had to do.
Two figures thundered towards each other on giant vaemar steeds, bigger than any Bandim had seen before. One held a staff high above their head, surrounded by swirling robes of smoke and fire. The other wore shimmering plate armour in silver, gleaming like ice, an impossible great sword in their hand. They hurtled towards each other, weapons bared as the paws of their vaemar pounded the ground, getting closer, closer, closer…
Bandim chuckled.
Yes. He knew what he had to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Abide and Obey
How Rel got them vaemar, Emmy didn’t know. Astride the creature, she petted his mane and patted its thick neck. It shifted and whined, pawing the dusty ground. Why does Rel protect me? Emmy thought. And who is her friend? None of this makes sense… She glanced across the campground from the low rise, watching the last canvases come down. The healer’s tent was long gone, rolled and stuffed onto the back of a cart. Where Rel was, Emmy couldn’t say. Off doing something mysterious and important, no doubt, she thought. Emmy shook her head. Petting the grand creature was easier than deciphering Rel’s code.
Krodge had owned a vaemar, many cycles before. Emmy loved spending time with the gentle and formidable beast, often curling against its soft belly, escaping from the knives of the outside world. When it died, Emmy was still ungendered. In her youthful innocence, she decided she would never love again. Poor Zesi, she thought. My heart was utterly broken when you burned.
This beast didn’t share Zesi’s doe-eyed calm. As soldiers formed columns of anticipation, Emmy tried to calm the vaemar, who tottered on uncertain legs.
‘Shh, now, shh,’ she cooed.
The soldiers’ blue surcoats and mail shirts gleamed in the paleness of the early morning moons. Dato was low, hanging just above their heads. We are but small things, Emmy thought, rubbing circles on the vaemar’s neck. If you’re real, please protect us.
The soldier-slaves were split into groups, depending upon their weapons. Emmy stood in her stirrups to catch a glimpse of her friends. Charo was at the front of the sword-wielders, her face too old under her burnished helm. Zecha was near the back, a huge bow slung over his shoulder. Neither could see her, but she supposed they might notice her on the road. Riding astride a vaemar, she would be a conspicuous sight.
The animal whimpered again, and Emmy murmured words of comfort into his tall ears.
‘I’m afraid that vaemar is named well,’ Rel said as she padded to Emmy’s side. She rode a fearsome beast called Jawbone, whose coat was as dark as the night sky. ‘That is Skitter. He’s a nervous sort. But you will manage. There’s a lot to be said for a kind word and a gentle hand.’
Emmy nodded. The vaemar whimpered a little more, but as Emmy petted and cooed, he settled. Rel winked.
‘Very good!’ she said. ‘I got Skitter as he cannot be ridden and cannot pull a cart—or so they think. They’re cruel to him, so he will not obey. But he can read your heart. He knows you are kindly.’
Emmy allowed herself a smile as she rubbed Skitter’s neck again.
‘Good boy,’ she whispered. A shout in the distance made her turn. ‘When are we moving out?’
‘Any time now,’ Rel replied. ‘The ranks are ready. When Pama gives the order, we will go. We’ll ride behind with the carts, so we should wait there.’
Rel led in a short arc across the compound. They stopped their vaemar in front of the group of carts and trucks, ready to haul the army’s provisions. Their drivers were Metakalans, the worst of the soldiers, or those kept as servants for the captains. Emmy pulled Skitter beside Jawbone, and watched the sea of soldiers ebb and flow. They are true soldiers now, she thought. Their lives, and mine, depend on how well they’ve taken to their new roles. That, and a lot of luck.
Rel’s penetrating gaze was on her, and Emmy tilted her head back.
‘What?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You look too much like a soldier,’ Rel said. ‘Here.’
She detached a cloakpin. The heart-and-eye glimmered in Rel’s palm.
‘Put it on,’ she said as she rearranged her now half-loose cloak. ‘You need yata, the Mark of Medicine, on you. It won’t save you, but you won’t be mistaken for arrow-fodder.’
Emmy wiped the surface of the little badge with the flat of her thumb.
‘Thank you,’ she said. Rel bore the yata, but wore the soldier’s mail shirt and blue surcoat. Her wrists were bedecked with hundreds of bracelets of many materials. There were leather and cloth ones, and rings of very metal Emmy could name, and more she couldn’t. Rel’s pointed ears were newly dotted with piercings of stone and metal. There was even a stud under her lip that Emmy hadn’t seen before. The Belfoni saw her look, and winked.
‘I have seen many battles,’ Rel said. ‘I wasn’t always yata, as you know. When I first came he
re, the Althemerians called me Bonebreaker. My friend and I fought on many battlefields. I am a lowly officer and no leader, but I earned each one of these.’
She shook her wrists. The bracelets jangled.
‘How do you get them?’ Emmy asked.
Rel looked away, then held up her arms. Her ring caught the light.
‘These,’ she said, shaking her right arm, ‘are for death. These,’ this time, she shook the left, ‘are for life. To my shame, there are more for death than life, but you will see that some others leave their left arms barren.’ She looked at Emmy for a moment, a slow turn to her lips. She removed a metal bracelet from her right, passing it to Emmy. ‘Have this. One for Charo. You saved her, so you should show it.’
‘But it’s yours,’ Emmy said.
Rel pressed the bracelet into Emmy’s hand.
‘Yes, so I can do what I like with it,’ she said. ‘May your left arm be full and your right empty. I didn’t learn that lesson soon enough.’
She held up her right arm again. The bracelets clinked and shimmered. She let it drop. As Emmy slipped the metal ring around her left wrist, Rel’s grin returned. Something caught her attention in the distance. She sat up and grunted.
‘Ah, we’re moving,’ she said. Her eyes were soft. ‘It is time.’
Clinking and shivering, the columns moved out. The soldiers’ pace quickened as Althemerian officers produced drums, beating a march. The parade was still flanked by mounted soldiers, but the difference in the Metakalans from their initial march was stark.
The soldier-slaves hadn’t known of their fate on the long walk from Athomur. Jubilant at first, then deathly fear descended. Now, there was no fear. Instead, a vibrating tension rose as Metakalan feet marched in Althemerian boots. The red of their armour contrasted the blueness of their uniforms. Emmy looked at her arm. The surcoat matched her pale skin. It was not a detail she relished.
She looked at Rel, elegant astride Jawbone as they followed the parade, her long fronds glistening. She’s worn Althemerian colours for many cycles, but why? Emmy thought. Why has she stayed and not taken her freedom? Why didn’t she go to her friend? Why did her friend want her to stay?
An unwelcome answer sounded in her head.
To wait for you…
No, Emmy replied. There must be something else. I’m just…me.
‘Rel?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Emmy?’
‘Why are you here? With the Althemerians, I mean. I know you said you were waiting for me, but why here?’
‘Ah,’ Rel said, though she did not look at Emmy. Her head bobbed up and down with Jawbone’s strong strides. ‘That is a boring story.’
‘Will you tell me?’ Emmy asked. ‘I know you weren’t happy in Belfon, but I think there’s more to it.’ She cast Rel a sidelong smirk. ‘There always is with you.’
Rel shrugged, chuckling.
‘You know me too well,’ she said. ‘I suppose I could tell you. It will pass the time. As I said before, Belfon is not like Althemer or Metakala or Va Chress, or even the slavers in Valtat. In all these places, the female is the soldier, the ruler. The female is power. In Belfon, things are tipped on their heads. Males have the power—like with the Masvams—and females are permitted little.’
‘Right,’ Emmy said.
‘Females are expected to abide and obey, and stay at foot of the male.’ The muscles of Rel’s jaw clenched. ‘But l didn’t want that, so I left, and you know the rest of that story.’
Emmy nodded.
‘You said you earned your freedom a long time ago,’ she said, ‘so why are you still here?’
Rel blew out her cheeks and shrugged. The rising sun painted her green fronds gold.
‘I had nowhere to go,’ she said. ‘I cannot go back to Belfon, even though it is my home. I am emdatu. Evil. I don’t belong there. I found a new home with my friend, but now she is gone. She said I had to stay, and so I did. And here you are, and here I am.’
Emmy nodded, regarding Rel with round eyes.
‘I know how it feels to have nowhere to go,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to go back to Metakala. In fact, I don’t know where I want to go. Folk treat me like a demon.’ She chanted, singsong: ‘“Darkwitch, darkwitch. Go back to your hole and die…” That’s what they said. Everyone.’
Rel bellowed. A handful of outriders stared.
‘Let me tell you about emdatu—“Darkwitch,” in your words,’ she said. ‘The Darkwitch is a fable, a made-up story to scare little younglings into obeying their parents. They say there are demons in the Dark and the Darkwitch is head of them. These demons spread their wings across the sky to bring eternal night, and all that their shadows fall upon are doomed to eternal punishment, darkness, never-ending pain—ha!’ Rel pointed across the heads of the marching soldiers. ‘What is this, if not evil? Evil comes from folk, not gods. I do not believe in any kind of Dark. Do you know what the Uloni god Meia does for punishment?’
Emmy sat up in the saddle. The name of her folk sent her heart fluttering.
‘What?’ she asked.
Rel shook her head, spreading her free hand to the sky.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Folk bring their own punishment. If you turn from path of goodness and do not turn back, you turn from god. You push yourself away. And what could be a worse punishment than being far from your god?’
Rel’s question rang in her mind as Emmy sat back. I wonder where Krodge is now. I wonder how close Bose was to his god.
Finished them off, I did.
‘Will you tell me more about Meia?’ Emmy asked.
Rel inclined her head. The green of her eyes was touched with gold from the falling sun. There was no blue in them.
‘I will,’ she said, ‘but the best one to ask is Bomsoi. She will tell you all you need to know when we see her.’
‘Bomsoi?’ Emmy asked, one eyeridge drawn low. ‘That was the name Commander Pama mentioned. Was your friend here?’
Rel waited before she answered. She licked her lips, the stud below them bobbling.
‘Yes, she was here,’ she said. ‘She earned her freedom and stayed for a time, but she had to leave.’ Her eyes crinkled. ‘I miss her, very much. I think you will like her when you meet.’
Staring out at the undulating march, Emmy shivered.
‘If we meet,’ she said. ‘First, we have to stay alive.’
Finished her off, I did…
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Safe as Prey
When they arrived in Athomur, the city that sealed their fate, the air was taut. It was like their arrival sounded a death knell. There was no revelry. There was only the chalky taste of anxiety, and worried whispers on the wind. The light of the morning sun brought no cheer.
Emmy stretched her neck to get a better look at the remains of the city. Rel was impassive. It was nothing like the vibrant place they marched through as fresh shipbait. A thick blanket of fog slunk in, and it was impossible to tell where the water ended and the land began.
There were no carts or stalls along the narrow streets. There were no traders shouting out bargains amongst the rattle of rolling wheels and idle conversation. Instead, there were the remains of broken axles, tatters of cloth, and a suffocating emptiness. Echoes remained of those who had fled. Small children wailing. Fathers shouting. Mothers marching forth. Emmy pressed a claw to her temple and squeezed her eyes shut. It was her imagination—but it seemed so real.
‘I must go to the commander,’ Rel said. ‘Set up the healer’s tent as far from the shore as you can.’ She pulled Jawbone’s reins to lead him aside. Then she paused and looked back. Her eyes were dark. ‘After that, Emmy, look for a place to hide.’
Before she had a chance to respond, Rel kicked her beast into motion and padded to the head of the column. She and the rest of the officers disappeared, a small colour party at their head.
Chest tight, Emmy followed the column as they marched to a paved square. It was surrounded by tall stone buildings,
already filled with soldier-slaves from other nearby camps. The babble was quiet, as if the city hushed their voices. Mist settled on Emmy’s brow, cold and unwelcome.
Taking her cue to break from the crowd, she pulled Skitter around. The animal pawed at the ground and whined.
‘Ssh, now. Ssh.’
Feeling far from composed herself, it did no good. Skitter pulled to the side and Emmy held on, trying to ignore the laughter from the onlookers. Once the animal was under control, she pulled away and swung in behind the carts.
Soldiers broke ranks and unloaded supplies. Most were organised into drills, and stood with expressions of thinly veiled dread. She picked her way through the throng, glad for a vaemar even as nervous as Skitter. When she found the cart containing the healer’s supplies, a pockmarked Althemerian was perched on its raised seat. She chewed slowly, looking Emmy up and down with narrow eyes. Then she saw the yama.
‘So, you’re the Medicine-freak,’ she said. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘That’s yours. Get rid of it.’
Emmy stared at the pile of bags and boxes, poles and canvas, and made no effort to move. What do I do? she thought. Where is right? Rel said to do it as far from the shore as possible, but how far is far enough? The pox-scarred female grunted and called to the crowd.
‘Can someone get this osos off my cart?’ she asked. ‘The Medicine-freak doesn’t have the brains to do it.’
A ripple of laughter rolled through the fog. Emmy winced. Most of those laughing were her former neighbours. She went to retort, but Skitter wheeled around and whined, retreating from the cart. Emmy expected another wave of hilarity, but it never came. When she calmed Skitter, she turned. She realised why no one was laughing.
The path from the inland camp hadn’t afforded a sea view, and the fog had covered any evidence of water. The only indication of the shore had been the sharp tang of salt and the smell of seaweed languishing above the waterline. The blanket of fog burned off as the sun rose. Now, as Emmy saw the sea for the first time, she wished it would return.